Wonderful View XV

Because I love you, my youthful, youthful dear…

Therefore I tear you, and return you to those that sustains…

Red Sky

Once, in a time long forgotten

The skies would turn red

Every now and then

And thus come forth

The signs of celestial time

Signatures of our fate to come

Arrival

How would true infernal majesty arrive in this pathetic mudball called earth? Would it be as an uncanny, medieval-like experimentation, on dismembered limbs?

Perhaps such majesty will come as a pair of darkly-hallowed couple. A couple with whom death seems to smile as bright as the midday Sun. 

Or it could also be coming forth from the barren, cold dimensions, as a portal in a damp, hazy swamp. Oozing with darkness, brimming with vices…

People’s Windows

It may sound a bit too old school to believe I guess, but a person’s eyes are indeed the owner’s window to his or her soul. After a while of trying it out, you’ll be surprised how much you can tell by another’s glare…

I know I’ve seen quite a few intriguing sights in my lifetime. Everything from murderous to lustful and wary, the eyes are the most interesting thing in a human’s physique. Nuff said.

An Acquired Taste

One of the most nostalgic thing about the snail-mail underground days, is probably the excitement of buying recorded things that you just can’t be sure whether you’ll like or not, until it’s turning on your  audio player.. It’s one of those things that are just impossible to guess or fathom from flyers, band photos and assorted bad-ass bullshits on interviews. 

Something that takes weeks if not even months to get your hands on and yet still not knowing how it’ll turn out even then. Not until it spins on your tape deck or record player. Hell, nothing beats that excitement as far as this old fucker’s concern.

Of course, every now and then, you’ll end up buying shits you wish you hadn’t. Shit, you might just as well end up getting ripped-off clean. However, there might also be some of those intriguing moment when you’ll bumped into stuffs that grows on you, little by little, sometimes even years after. 

Those ‘acquired taste’ types of goodies that, in hindsight, you’d feel lucky of betting your measly allowance money for it.

Catharsis

Nothing beats a little violence on the pit. 

To get rid of all that pent up aggression.

A great catharsis for the warrior at heart…

With Fear

Those claiming to be fearless are either reckless or ignorant. This is especially true when it comes to dabbling in the enigmatic realm of the Occult, even more so when it comes to the darker sides of the realm.

Darkness, as one very wise and now very dead friend once told me, is a capricious harlot. Something that should be kissed with a delicate balance of fear and admiration, as an excessive leaning to either emotions could lead one to possession or slavery…

Always wonder if that good ole fuck is enjoying a delicate balance in darkness now?

Smellin’ It Everyday

If you know death, as some of us do, then you’ll see it, hear it, and smell it, every single fucking day. It’s an endless presence of morbid desire that sticks to you like some nightmarish memories.

Like an old wound that never heals, it haunts and taunts you to the brink of sanity. And nothing is more wonderful in this world than that foresight of death, lurking behind every shadow and laughter.

Buttering Up

What’s the point of buttering up someone? No matter how many times I think about it, seen it happen, or heard about it from others, I’ve never been able to grasp the purpose of that disgusting act. 

Is it about gaining some sort of access to ‘power’, or ‘influence’? Is it about survival? 

What if you get caught by others doing it? Does that make you refrain in shame or just continue in complete disregard for anyone other than yourself?  What if you get caught by someone who hates all manners of hypocrisy? 

What if you then end up being decapitated, along with the asshole you’re buttering up to, and made to have your severed heads kiss each other, in some beautiful postmortem type of artistic expression?

Well. I guess there’s always worse ways to die.

Holy Mead Tree

The End

Why do we put so much concern about the way things ends? Celebrate the ending of a year, a season, a cycle of time. What the fuck for? 

On the other hand, when thing end it does imply that they really do cease to exist. Now that’s not such a bad reason to celebrate. But to celebrate the end as a sign of the beginning of something else is just ridiculous. 

About Old Nick

“I cling unto the burning Æthyr like Lucifer that fell through the Abyss, and by the fury of his flight kindled the air. 

And I am Belial, for having seen the Rose upon thy breast, I have denied God.

And I am Satan! I am Satan! I am cast out upon a burning crag! And the sea boils about the desolation thereof. And already the vultures gather, and feast upon my flesh.” 

- Aleister Crowley, The Vision and the Voice: With Commentary and Other Papers

Necro

If you’re going to keep claiming something that you have musically produced as being ‘necro’, then do be prepared to expect psychotic dickheads such as me to demand a few prerequisites in relation to the claim.

First of all is the cavernous, murky and guttural quality of the recorded works presented on the platter. Anything short of morbid, uncanny whispers and groans as would be expected on gatherings of sketchy personages, within the confines of darkened rooms and hallways, of a dusty candle lit mansion, is simply unacceptable.

Then of course come the musty, filthy feel of the music itself to be considered. Anything less than the semblance of a darkened, foggy night shade in a damp and densely wooded valley, colored by none other than a pale moonlight, are absolutely NOT ‘necro’. 

 

Even worst, any attempted charade, to artificially present the aforementioned nuances, will definitely guarantee your talentless musical endeavor a place in ‘our’ psychopathic hateful killing-list…

Wonderful View XIV

“It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.” - Voltaire

Negative People

I've just learned from an acquaintance that I belong to a unique group of distasteful people called ‘the negative people’. The reason is because I supposedly focus too much on negative things in face of other stuffs that I should instead be grateful for.

So, some say it’s that “not seeing the tress for the forest” or something like that. What a wonderful concept.

Instead of bitching about how the world is so fucked up, I should be grateful to be living it. I should be grateful that about 2% of people enjoy the world’s total wealth while the rest (including me) have to fight over crumbs falling off their tables. 

What is wonderful about these ‘positive people’, is that the moment you remind them about how the world’s creator doesn't even want to life in this all-good world they would immediately cut any association with you. 

Why is this wonderful? Why, because it provides the benefit of you feeling a lot less inhibited to show them the power that being negative imbues, the next time your paths cross each other.

Which One?

So, which one's your poison?

Communion

With good ole Halloween coming in, I do believe it's high time for all misanthropic souls to hold a feast. Say, a communion of sort, with the dreary and disgusting plight called life as its centerpiece celebratory focus.

A blissful communion of hatred, where blood, entrails and sermons of self immolation or mutual homicide shall be keenly shared, from dusk to dusk...  

Seven Minutes

Some of the more intriguing, though-provoking conversations, takes less than or just about 7 minutes  to last...

Wonderful View XIII

Rest

It is time to rest the weary senses, in joyful feast and carnal gatherings. Let the mind wanders away and away, adrift forever in limbo.

In wanderlust, walking the fiery paths of indulgence…Seeking refuge on necromantic planes.

Friends and Foes

I don’t believe in coincidence. Not when every fiber of my instinct tells me there’s a manipulation going on. You can dug in all the schemes, out of sight, as deep as you can, well trained instincts can never be fooled.

And yet, it is amusing how some poorly staged pretence continue to be displayed by those claiming to be your friends. For some reason, it seems as if they believe that they can always outsmart all manners of instincts that an untamed soul has for smelling sugar-coated shit. 

I can’t wait for the joy of inducting such self-assured meat into the joys and tales of terror. The only place where all lies, masks and charades are stripped down to bare bones, pain and blood.

WTF

I think it is clear that I don’t fucking understand anymore what people are saying when they say Black metal, now, 12 or 13 fucking years into the gloriously violent 21st century. It’s probably an age problem, not!

Strangely enough, twenty something odd years ago, the same kind of “WTF??” pops up whenever one is forced to understand what the hell everybody was talking about when they say ‘Death  Metal’. Because the name used to mean a handful of incredibly talented bands that, despite playing the same type of music, just don’t fucking sound so similar to each other, you could easily forget their monikers and think they’re all one and the same fucking band?!

Well, at least, back then, carbon copy sounds notwithstanding here and there, everyone was playing heavy, sick and aggressive as hell. I guess that’s much better than being all confused, half-assed, aimless, and all other manners of crap, while also sporting morbid, sinister artworks or concepts?  

How the fuck does that work, anyway? Playing under a certain set of established imagery, and yet sounding like something that should be categorically different? Maybe that’s progress, yes? What the fuck do I know? 

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...

Ancient

In the long gone days, problems are solved fist-to-fist, sword-to-sword. No public mass protests. No mob riots. Every fucking dick and cunt settled grievances on a lethal scale, a battleground. None of those crap non-violence movement or whatever…

In the ancient days, when you do decide to take up sword as a group, you don’t do it in broad day light. You don’t wait for adrenaline junky press’ dicks and cunts to ensure your conflict is taped and shown around the globe. You don’t video fucking tape your roadside bombs’ hits and kills, to publicize around the world.

Hell no. In the ancient days, you simply go as a band of comrades, under the cloak of night, with torches and hooded robes. Bringing banners that sported your wrath and allegiance to the cold, unforgiving ancient spirits of the night…

Wonderful View XII

ex·quis·ite  [ik-skwiz-it, ek-skwi-zit]- adjective

1.of special beauty or charm, or rare and appealing excellence, as a face, a flower, coloring, music, or poetry.

2.extraordinarily fine or admirable; consummate: exquisite weather.

3.intense; acute, or keen, as pleasure or pain.

Visual Delights

What is delightful to the eyes can also be, sometimes, delightful to the mind....

Rebirth

Spirit of the Fire, Remember!

GIBIL, Spirit of the Fire, Remember!

GIRRA, Spirit of the Flames, Remember!

O God of Fire, Mighty Son of ANU, Most terrifying among Thy Brothers, Rise!

O God of the Furnace, God of Destruction, Remember!

Rise Up, O God of Fire, GIBIL in Thy Majesty, and devour my enemies!

Rise up, O God of Fire, GIRRA in Thy Power, and burn the sorcerers who persecute me!

GIBIL GASHRU UMANA YANDURU

TUSHTE YESH SHIR ILLANI U MA YALKI!

GISHBAR IA ZI IA

IA ZI DINGIR GIRRA KANPA!

Open the gates for rebirth, tonight!

Bored

Boredom can be such a persuasive thing. It can lure you and me, to do all sorts of interesting things. Like dying from being choked from your own beer-induced vomiting, for example… or trying the fun of shooting a stranger. 

Hell, why not try the new excitement by shooting a jogger, on a deserted street, near a blood red neon sign, preaching salvation to all and sundry. Lovely. No more boring nights.

Just a whole lot of death and insanity in the lock up…. What a way to end your boredom.

Wonderful View XI

Nemo Ante Mortem Beatus…

Weekend’s Here

It’s the weekends again. That momentous time that only comes once a week, where any cold blooded hunter knows it is time to sharpen some fangs, machetes and spiked boots.

Let the hunting begin!

Documentaries

If not for an acquaintance alerting me to it, I wouldn’t have bothered to think that anybody would actually make a documentary of the underground black metal-saga. But, I guess some do, and did it quite well too. That is, ‘well’ in terms of highlighting what I’ve always sensed it is going to lead to in the end.

Even without watching most of the documentaries floating about in the internet, I can already tell that it will end up as a brand. Years and years ago, when there was less fat around the belly, hairs around the mouth and scars around the limbs, all I ever dreamt of is to rid the underground of these trends. And boy-oh-boy, do I fucking hate the ‘trendies’ back then. Still hate them now, but not with the same intensity, spite and malice. At least I don’t go out hunting them down anymore… 

It was never about how commercially successful they were/are, but about how they have turned the murky, morbid and hidden nature of the music I was deeply obsessed with, into normal, accepted, everyday bullshit. It used to be out of reach, sequestered, just as this pathetic life was (and still is), so it felt ‘cozy’ to “be with it” rather than just listen to it…That is until all the morons who like to ‘dress up’ come along, and somehow make it ‘mainstream’.

But, hey, it’s inevitable isn’t it? Flocks of sheep always do need a signpost, a flag, a mustering point, to hang on for direction, rebellion, etc… no matter how little they actually know about the nature of that thing they’re clutching on. 

Alas, every now and then, there do appear those who seemed to know what the fuck this whole thing is all about. So fuck the trends, and long live the trends…

Tarantula’s Wisdom

[….]

the unhappy, the bitter and

the vengeful

need their

fix - which is

you or somebody

anybody

in agony, or

better yet

dead, dropped into some

hole.

as long as there are

humans about

there is never going to be

any peace

for any individual

upon this earth or

anywhere else

they might

escape to.

  [….]

something

is working toward you

right now, and

I mean you

and nobody but

you.

(Charles Bukowski – “relentless as the tarantula”, 1986)

Sliced heroes

I’ve always admired those who stood up courageously to try and change things that are ‘wrong’, ‘crooked’, ‘unjust’…whatever you call it. Mostly because, more often than not, they’ll always end up in some kind of tragic, bloody, pathetic death. 

Heroic death, as some like to call it. So fucking heroic they’ll write songs about it. Hell, they even create some bullshit story about how the hero will get resurrected, one day…

Reincarnated, in a new, pathetic, heroic pile of flesh. Survivor of a grim, long forgotten, severely butchered death.

Well, I don’t think this catharsis thing my doctor talks about, with this blogging thingy, is working well. 

I still crave the blood. The heroic ones..