Rockin’ A Night’s Attic

Sometimes you just want to rock the cold dreamy grasp of night,

In the heat of a surging moonlight, howling to proclaim the attic as my shrine of blood

Beauty

They say beauty is in the eyes of the beholder…

I’d say the same can be applied for music, particularly extreme ones, breeding in the hateful; depressed; frustrated caverns of the underground…

…where beauty is as foul as the bloodied excrement that painted a pentacle on the wooden altar of my choosing…

Trophies

The full extent of misanthropy and impurity and how it is channeled into each and every part of a living thing’s neurons, can perhaps be best captured, and thus appreciated, through taxidermy. 

There’s just nothing quite like the sight of a sinister, well preserved, trophy.

A little something to liven up the living room...