Wonderful View XXVIII

To lose or get lost is to be immersed in the thousands fold of conscious and subconscious realities…or so some say to me, in a bad acid-laden hunt, once upon a long, purplish, crimson night ago… 

Saintly Death

I used to dream of dying a heroic death. Defiant to the last gasp of breath. Clad in loincloth, armed with big-ass swords, axes, like Conan in the comics..Bathory and Manowar in the band photos…Defending justice, in self- righteous, brutal carnage.

Of course, one eventually grows up and realized heroism has no value other than in Hollywood. That violence and big weapons belongs to the sole monopoly of state apparatus on whom we can always rest our utmost trust and reliance for fairness, safeness and squeaky-cleanness….

No more needs for dying saints…we just need more saintly gadgets and applications to solve whatever little problems we have left in the world now…

Spirituality

One cannot stress enough the importance of vetted experience, for anyone professing proficiency in spiritual guidance…If you haven’t been to the darker paths you surely cannot talk about leading others to it.

Why are we, or some of us, so addicted on being lead, spiritually, intellectually, technologically, culturally, anyway? I suppose that deserves its own thread doesn’t it?

Optimism

Someone ask me once if I could ever be an optimist with such misanthropic view of life. Truly, it is interesting how some very unsettling and most intriguing questions, or conversational topics, could come up while you are out on a hunt, regardless of who brought up the questions/topics.

Since we continued talking about it at a ruin chosen before hand for proper homage to the hunting gods, I chose to reflect my thought on the surrounding circumstances. That in the face of structural decay, one could feel optimistic about a possible renovation of the structure, or of an inevitable destruction of the structure, both plausible in the future.

Surely, optimism is but a ‘function’ of each individual’s viewpoint is it not?  Just as music in its many genres/forms always appear to me as a reflection of the musicians’ true desire/heart. If the desire/heart is dark, so shall the music expression be dark.

If the heart/desire is misanthropic, so shall the ‘optimism’ be misanthropic.  

Teasers

I do like it when a fresh, bold approach to a certain familiar music genre teases my brain in such delightful ways, that one doesn’t even think too much anymore about who shall be the next game on the hunt. 

I’m sure my shrink will approve of this therapeutic approach of musical “teasers”…which also stop me and the knives in my heart from being constantly feeling ‘teased’ by her lovely legs, and disgusting jade-green brooch.

Pain

I gave you lust and genitalia so you can procreate

Spread across the planet with your kind

Master the land the sea and the skies

Spread wanton destruction on your scorched paths

For which you shall be grateful

And pay me by blood, in full

Children of pain and dying hopes

Old One, Again

The Old One told me there is no evil but the underbelly of the sacrificial holiness. No light without darkness, and no love without hate.

Duality is the law of this existence, and so shall it be the bane of this realm. Let there be no prudence without ignorance, and no peace without horrors.

Triad

Is three pair really such a crowd? If it is so, could it perhaps explain why the Judaeo-Pantheon is such an oppressive and confusing matter? 

Didn’t we first learn about a divined triad form the Egyptians? Was it a crowd back then too, when Amun, Ra and Ptah had to co-exist in the Sinai pantheon? 

Was it equally crowded when Josef and Mary and their newborn baby huddled together in a barn, and welcomed the three wizards, who were led and witnessed by the unholy star?…

Commemorate

What would be better to commemorate the slaying of a leader, than to slay one’s own flesh?

So bring your knives to the hills and forest, tonight, mighty disciples of the infinite light….Let the night bath in blood as the supreme leader hath done to our enemies, in times immemorial…

Old One

I have had a most intriguing meeting with the Old One, last Samhain. It must have been the most inspiring banquet I have ever attended.

A dinner fit for a wise King and the hardened souls of infinite light…

Whip

Man is, essentially, wicked. Therefore, the need for men to be whipped with a Moloch-ian flaming, searing, flesh ripping lash, is, essentially, unavoidable and very much warranted. 

Magick

I believe in the subtlety of Magick, ever primordial and imminent, lingering within the threshold of the conscious and subconscious mind, the cleavage and the breast of the ancient, universal goddess… 

True Magick, which lifted my spirit when burdened by the throes of life, and soared me up to unfathomable heights when burnt by the ecstasies of life…An Old Magick, that reminds me of Home…

The Old Craft

I am a being of immemorial light and endless possibilities, am I not?

What I think and want from whatever falls unto my senses, shall be so. An old cross, a dark sky, and a whole saga to bear… 

My stories are as old as my luminous being, cast down to this mundane realm by mischief, they shall survive and thrive, at the precipice of every evening tide ...

Lost in the Moment II

Give me access to the infinite skies of primal chaos and I will find myself a creeping, desolate world of nightmarish yearning…

Where darkness is a swirling mass of potent life force, churning in isolation and silence, lying in wait for the imminent days of destruction…in constant muttering of cataclysmic mantras

Wonderful View XXVI

I think I’ve heard of a perfect soundtrack for this sign….Something with ‘blood’ and ‘sixteen’ on it…

The Real Panacea

The real answer to the problem of banality is, ultimately, our mortality.

As my favorite Danish musicians so aptly put it, no medicine is as potent as death.

So bring that gun to the chin, when the banality of a prosperous or poverty stricken life comes calling….

All your problems solved, in an instant. Guaranteed

Take your loved ones along, and be faithful to the very end…

Propaganda

The key to public control is a fine balance of persuasion and coercion, a sense of freedom and an omnipresent surveillance, free speech and propaganda, with the latter supplanting the ineffectiveness of the former, whenever necessary.

Carrots and sticks…Criticism and entrapment….Shamanic meditation and sacrificial ritual 

The only truth is the lies drowning in the brainwashed hippie’s bong pipe….and the blood soaked tips of my blades

Cunt

I am the flaming vengeance of the undead hatred, frothing for pay back, in the name of my self-righteousness, and perpetual chaos.

I am the dark star reborn, from the glowing pits of hell’s embers, bursting at the seams with relentless misanthropy, to exact judgment on your filthy deeds…. 

Cunt!

Barter

Let’s trade, shall we?

A share of my hunting soundtrack mix-tape, for a piece of your soul.

Who knows, you might learn to enjoy hunting too

O Labyrinths

O Borges, is this Thee labyrinth, Thine palace of immortals, so splendidly hidden, in the dark, icy depths of Ultima Thule?

Lemurian

The night feels a bit ‘Lemurian’-like, this particular evening, for some unknown and unforeseen reasons. Leaving one wound up in an enigma, almost as depressing as that place Borges depicted in the 60s….

“A labyrinth is a structure compounded to confuse men; its architecture, rich in symmetries, is subordinated to that end. In the palace I imperfectly explored, the architecture lacked any such finality. It abounded in dead-end corridors, high unattainable windows, portentous doors which led to a cell or pit, incredible inverted stairways whose steps and balustrades hung downwards. Other stairways, clinging airily to the side of a monumental wall, would die without leading anywhere, after making two or three turns in the lofty darkness of the cupolas. I do not know if all the examples I have enumerated are literal; I know that for many years they infested my nightmares; I am no longer able to know if such and such a detail is a transcription of reality or of the forms which unhinged my nights”

Jorge Luis Borges – Labyrinths / The Immortal

Ashes

I think I just had an epiphany.

How are you supposed to tolerate the blatant, mediocre hypocrisy that is other’s life? What is the purpose of all this floating mass of ignorance, bigotry, pretentiousness, and rotting norms, that spins around and around each and every one of us? 

The answer is simple enough. As simple as the pile of mundane ashes on our future urns

We are here for fertilizers. 

So, yes, tolerate the shit, because we’re all heading to the same dirt. 

Or, perhaps not. 

Maybe it’s better to satisfy our hate while we’re still able to enjoy the bloodlust.

True Nihilism

No. You don’t have to be living in icy, northern, overwhelmingly Christian, western, prosperously boring places, to understand the gripping madness that is nihilistic misanthropy. Not at all! 

I definitely think the opposite is more likely true…

Revival II

odd moments, passed and ebbed

lost in sights, missed by words

in darkness vibrating, damp and wet 

names are given to bear breath

to witness flesh and the tidings of death

to count the phases of the burial ground and the sky abreast

Wonderful View XXV

What a statement. All that’s missing is a Vatican-sanctioned Police Force to patrol the streets and clean up the sinners. 

The Pantheon

The moon Goddess, Ilargia, appears in many myths and legends. The Basque are very close to the moons cycles because of their agricultural background. 

Ilargia is the guardian of the dead; she leads their way to the otherworld. She also rules the world of hidden knowledge, divination, and magic

- Basque Pantheon

A Sky Full of Goddesses

“At other times, at the edge of a wood, especially at dusk, the trees themselves would assume strange shapes: sometimes they were arms rising heavenwards, , or else the trunk would twist and turn like a body being bent by the wind. At night, when I woke up and the moon and the stars were out, I would see in the sky things that filled me simultaneously with dread and longing. I remember that once, one Christmas Eve, I saw a great naked women, standing erect, with rolling eyes; she must have been a hundred feet high, but along she drifted, growing ever longer and ever thinner, and finally fell apart, each limb remaining separate, with the head floating away first as the rest of her body continued to waver” 

― Gustave Flaubert, November (1842)

A Collection of Offerings

I believe there was a time, indeed, when talented musicians make music in the dimly lighted, hate infested underground, worldwide, base solely on the desire of inflicting darkness, pain, and hate onto the world.

True. Fame and fortune may have also come as motivations for these people, later on in their paths. Nevertheless, you can always tell the distinctive difference when they were making music out of the nihilistic desire for world ‘contamination’, and when they start thinking about ‘dressing up’ for publicity stunts. These were music that will simply be hard to sell on their time (mind you, were talking about times when the internet have yet to exist as a public domain)

Those days, when music were made for the sake of venting the darkest of one’s desires, were the days of my (maybe some others too) musical upbringing. Sure, many of these musicians have changed in desire and attitude. It doesn’t change the fact that they had made music that give a fuck all to what the public wanted or cared about, once..

As this blog have always claimed since day one, that it is here to share such things, so here’s a collection of music crafted, as it clearly seems to me, by the desire of offering the world what it doesn't deserve – unbridled and uncompromising darkness, without the trappings of fame and fortune and Ebay and blogs and documentaries and youtube and musical sophistry and whatnot... 

Groupies

I suppose ever since Christian Vikerness had a handful of teenage girl trolling his trials back in the 90s, there have been groupies, as is every other imaginable banality, in black metal. 

No. This isn’t another rant. 

I have always thought of groupies as weak minded, good for nothing but exploitation, type of shit. I guess, looking back at that black metal bassist, ushered to the gates of death by his own fan, for supposedly not being truly evil, groupies can also, from time to time, be an interesting catharsis couldn’t they? 

Lost In the Moment

A good drinking buddy once told me - and it is rare, mind you, that he should speak comprehensively for more than one or two sentences - that the best movie he had ever watched was the very first ‘Alien’ sci-fi thriller, way back in the 70s.

Supposedly, the movie is so good for him, because it managed to take his mind away from some tough and shitty reality he had to face in his pathetic life back then. He was lost in the moment, or so to say, when first watching that thing on a nearby cinema, from the chest bursting baby alien all the way to young Sigourney Weaver’s sweaty underwear…

I don’t know about movies, but I have always loved to find music that truly gets me lost in a moment. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there is always not much around that is not too cheesy; over the top, or plain and simple pretentious, that it could really induce a ‘lost in the moment’ kind of ‘trance’…

Quality is never synonymous with quantity, isn’t it? 

So, here’s a first ‘Lost in the Moment’, moment, of many more to come, maybe…

Revival

bones to bones

robe to robe

did we stand together in youth 

friends and foes at hand

in mutual abuse

did we bask together in luciferian light

AM 2015

Wonderful View XXIV

...you dig?...

Sihir

And I turned away to thee,

Proud Evening Star,

In thy glory afar,

And dearer thy beam shall be;

For joy to my heart

Is the proud part

Thou bearest in Heaven at night,

And more I admire

Thy distant fire,

Than that colder, lowly light.

Evening Star - Edgar Allan Poe (1827)

Love Thy Neighbor

Oh, do love thy neighbor. Thine sweet, neighborly, fellow human.

In the plain wrapping of mundane existence, 

love thy neighbor with all thine might, intensity, 

and unbridled wrath….

Storytelling

Soundtracks can go a long way to expand a story, be it a book, a movie or a game. It can change a simple man heading out to a small scale, boring, several thousand casualties, separatist type of war… 

….into an epic, heroic, intergalactic struggle against scaly, fang-y, extraterrestrials bent on sodomizing earth..complete with blessed, magical weapons, and a whole line of action figures and comic franchise to boot..

Grand Master AOS

It is nice to notice that the Grand Master has finally been appropriately recalled in the era of wolves

Strength

Strength never comes with ease or mediocrity. Sometimes it has to be forged in black choking smog. Among searing flames and grinding, dull, white bones. 

A forging of solid inner discipline, of the self, to embrace or reach beyond the beautiful chaos….

Totem

Been seeing eagles, hunting around the roadways that lead to work, and they are nothing short of amazing spectacles. 

Nothing could match the grace and magnificent of those birds swooping down from the sky to grab an unsuspecting toad, or snake, crossing the road, squirming under the crushing grip of the eagles’ talons. 

What a lovely sight. 

I could think of some ‘targets’ if I ever get reincarnated as an eagle…Flying down in a relentless assault on the unsuspecting meats, feeling their lives slips away under my talons, what could one ask for more ?

Cards

Why can’t all greeting cards be so simple, truthful and eloquent? 

Sure, some may not like naked truth, even if it comes with pretty pictures. 

Sooner or later, one’s got to learn that, keeping skeletons in the closet will simply breed vengeful specters.

Some Roads

There are roads that swallow one’s chances up, even if all the bridges are left standing.

After all, some roads do require the whole man.

The Magick of an Initial Try

The very first time trying to create something is always magical. Sometimes one hit the right combination of circumstances, notes, pitches, colors, moves, and come out with a composition of an art work that simply dazzles…

Other times it just doesn’t work, until further efforts right all the wrongs through evolution. Strange thing is, once it’s exceptionally good in the initial try, the continuation of the art, whatever it is, usually descends into inferior, mediocre things…

Guess nothing ever beat that first streak of genius.

Wonderful View XXIII

you dig...? 

Scare

Sitting through a thunderstorm on an airplane is one hell of a thrilling sensation, for some. For others, it seems to be the unique opportunity to show others who are scared how much more brave, calm, or manly they are. 

Like as if death itself would stop on its tracks because one raised his or her chin up high, and shine a condescending gaze from the corner of an eye, to all the pitiful, inferior ones who are left unsettled and wary by it…

Anton

I don’t think I have ever seen so many awkward moments as in this seminal interview of Anton, somewhere in the late 1960s, on the cusp of the wonderful, modern, brain numbing, corporate media mass hypnosis.

Tastily odd…

Distance

We give names to things. Attach values and perceptions to them. Agreed to use some of them for communications, for definitions, and thus create traditions. Agreed to teach the chosen traditions to our offspring, as truths, and thus foster a hereditary forgetfulness that they are just names. Until all started to believe that names are reality and reality are names, with no distinction.

So, when somebody or something comes up that does not fit the presumed values and perceptions behind their namesake, we, or you, or just me, or just others, tend to react in a variety of negative, distancing expressions. Because we do not know how to classify someone or something that does not fit the tradition of names we grew up accustomed to as reality.

Until, of course, the ones with whom we distanced ourselves, becomes familiar; accepted; popular; named; embraced....