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....

Wonderful View XXIII

Who needs hallucinogenic 

when you can trip out on everyday blood lust 

like Eugene with the rudimentary axe

passing through layers 

of jet black anger

bite 

and hack

Manners

Sat down with a couple of pigs the other night, and talked, as always, in ramblings. Every day, common, bleak, dreary life details of the most obnoxious kind. 

How could such pigs complain about manners when one decides to relieve himself of the banality, without saying farewell, is beyond me. It took a few cuts by some shredded glass pieces, to eventually settle the matter. 

Love them pigs, and their sense of manner.

Talking About Wizards

So it seems that the word ‘wizard’ was actually derived from the Middle English word ‘wysard’, from ‘wis’, ‘wys’, or, eventually, ‘wise’. At least that is what someone told me a long time ago…

It was also advised to me that the word, then, relates to either one of the following traits:

• a person with a high degree of knowledge or skill in a particular field;

• a person who practices magic; like a sorcerer or magician;

• a sage;

• a person who possess characteristics appropriate to supernatural power.

I wonder why we don’t consider wizardry a profession, if it also refers to a person with a high degree of knowledge or skill in a particular field?

Or why a person like Charles Manson is not addressed to as wizard Manson? Is or was he not highly skillful  in motivating murderous rampages?  

Wonderful View XXII

Some people on the street makes you think of how arcane song titles should be extended…

Like “Careful With The Axe Eugene”….

….“You Might Just Start the Wondrous Apocalypse”…

The Question of Pace

The question of deciding on a certain pace to coordinate your next course of action is always the most intriguing during that spontaneous, unplanned chance encounter on a hunt. 

The game is up there, a few yards away, and the smallest jolt of your muscles could lead to a twig snapping violently under your feet, and the game running away for dear life.

What kind of pace do you chose then? 

Would you carefully, painstakingly, plan your moves to get that killing moment just perfect..or would you just rush out and let that carnal, bestial instinct take control of your reasoning…into a series of giant, lung burning, hateful chase, ending in a series of ironclad, furious bites on the games’ hinds…? 

It depends on the game, I suppose… 

Drowning Divinity

One of the more amusing things to do in a bar, late at night, with only a few dreary souls left around, is to watch one or more of those wretched souls slowly decaying into drunkenness. Blabbering all of their hearts out, vomiting all the little loathsome self-pity details of a life so wrecked-full of disappointments…

And then, as you soak it all up, you can start thinking, how wonderful it must feel if you are a divine being, bounded by a weird destiny, to listen and record all these drunkards’ mumblings, for no other reason than to compel them to drown further into their bottles…and end their miserable existence in the embrace of the divine purgatory of their heady mead… 

Headless Alley

I saw this lady, one day, out in the rain 

Walking like a lost puppy

Without a head

Felt a bit strange trying to warn her, she hasn’t got a head 

Tried it anyway

No luck, she actually tried 

push me away

like a stupid fuck

I wasn’t happy, so took her down an alley

Cut her up good

And saved some for dinner 

Felt a bit strange, but I did try to warn her, she hasn’t got a head 

Tried it and got push away 

anyway

Fix her up good, down some alleyway

It was all fine

morning after

she didn't even linger

AM 2015

Wise Master

at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.

some understanding and, at times, acts of

courage

but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't

have too much.

it is like a large animal deep in sleep and

almost nothing can awaken it.

when activated it's best at brutality,

selfishness, unjust judgments, murder.

what can we do with it, this Humanity?

nothing.

Charles Bukowski – “What Can We Do?”

Audio Anesthetic I

It’s difficult to put into words how certain musical works just puts one to sleep like a baby. At times, it works almost as effective as a few shots of whiskey.

Perhaps the best way to describe is to share the listening experience…

Although, perhaps it should not be done without due concern for astrological symmetry…. 

Giant

It takes a giant, I suppose, to tolerate all the trivial, frivolous things that the dominant species on this rock could do 

At the very least, one can probably find some sort of relieve in the mental imagery of a giant foot, crushing down on all the antics that plague the horizon…

That Time Of year Again

It’s that time of year again, when people want to celebrate the moment they were pulled out from the womb in a galore of gut wrenching pain to their mothers…

Celebrate it with gifts and cakes, for all the blood, sweat, semen and stress shed for their life to come to be… Well I think this year I have the perfect gift for all.

A little something to remind us that the soothing, tranquil void is never that difficult, never that far away to reach... 

We just have to listen to it, when it advise and beckons… 

Darkness

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

E.A.P. 1845

Numbers Don’t Lie?

12.3.12 as factors multiply to this product:  12 * 3 * 12 = 432 (which is a fractal of the Sun’s radius at 432,000 miles)

12.12.12 = 1728 (the perfect cubic measurement and the number of Linear Sacred Cubits comprising Noah’s Ark)

12.21.12 = 3024 (the fractal of the base perimeter in feet of the Great Pyramid of Giza)

So:  432 + 1728 + 3024 = 5184 ./. 3 = 1728 and 5184 is 1/5 of the 25,920 Year Great Precessional of the Mazzaroth/Zodiac (or one of the Mayan Sun/Ages) whose immediate full cycle is anticipated to occur on or about Dec. 21, 2012 or 2112 – folks – we’re at the OMEGA POINT!

2112  DECODED - Doug Krieger

Wonderful View XXI

Every little bunny

Has a habit that is funny.

It doesn't matter where he goes

He always wrinkles up his nose.

Ena Hawken

Sleep

For fellow insomniac everywhere, the secret to a good night sleep is not in the form of a glass of milk; warm baths; aroma therapy; reading books; sex; or sharpening of cutlery. 

It lies in a well crafted, delicately orchestrated, superbly twisted, recording of a whirlwind of psychological outbursts…with a nice touch of discordant violins and saxophones. 

Trust me. You’ll sleep like a baby, on an abandoned grave.

Nightrider

At midnight, in the month of June, 

I stand beneath the mystic moon. 

An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 

Exhales from out her golden rim, 

And, softly dripping, drop by drop, 

Upon the quiet mountain top, 

Steals drowsily and musically 

Into the universal valley. 

The rosemary nods upon the grave; 

The lily lolls upon the wave; 

Wrapping the fog about its breast, 

The ruin molders into rest;

E.A.P. 1813

Nightly Yearnings

It’s the rainy season again. White snow, pale moon for some and cold torrential rain for others. Flooded creek, frozen beak…tingle the yearnings for a different kind of rain, warm rain. 

Warm, red rain, running so thick in my mind I could actually smell the heat. Dripping endlessly from untarnished steel…

If only a hunt could be started soon tonight…

Notes

At certain moments of the day I would always notice instances where one is continuously forced to decide on taking risks or avert it altogether. These are, mind you, not the kind of overt or obvious risks that one must face on everyday life, but are more likely the subtle ones.

They beckon each individual to look and ponder the necessity of crossing a path that one has never trodden, or has not been trodden far enough. The path of the night’s harlot that separates man from children, through the searing illumination of an atavistic enlightening.

Toils

Chance favors the prepared mind, some say, but we all know hard work is the key to it all. You can’t just sit down on your lazy ass and expect everything to fall into place.

You have to work hard for it. Experiment, lurk, sweat, tests. 

It is by our toils that we shall be rewarded

Wonderful View XX

Oh, how touching. A maggot with a conscience

The Dividing Line

I suppose I have really been out of touch with what’s been going on with the global underground and extreme metal scene that it just amazes me, still, to see so many documentaries floating about this lifestyle. Un-fucking-believable! It’s fucking mainstream now, isn’t it? 

Like a fucking rich tycoon walking around in gold clothing just to show that he is rich enough to do it, extreme metal really looks like a hyped new fashion just waiting to explode. Or has it already done that too?

Hell, even Black Metal is so common and understandable now that you have professors talking about it like some intellectual exercise in musicology…Surely, a long way from the hungry, penniless days of Helvete’s cellar. 

Wonderful. I’m sure this is what all of those underground years were set up for. To get as famous and as exploited as possible. I can’t wait to see a rap-black metal collaboration happening soon, to replace the outdated, out-fashioned Run DMC-Aerosmith classic bullshit. Something to listen to while enjoying a cup of black metal, satanic, coffee at a local shopping mall near you. Lovely!

In the meantime, let old school fools like me stay in the dividing line, of real filth and chaos, that is completely not user-friendly to any mainstream…or shopping mall-compatible either… 

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…

Offerings

In this joyful pagan feast, let us rejoice and make our offerings to those that sustain…

The son, the father, and the beautiful offering…

Wonderful Views XIX

Somebody Told Me Once

Somebody told me once to tilt my head to the left, whenever I see a crescent moon. Said I could possibly see the master’s shadow, somewhere in the crescent horns… All the years of trying, I could never set sight on the shadow, no matter how much I squinted my eyes. 

I wonder sometimes, why the crescent moon is adopted as a symbol for a monotheistic religion? I suppose the master has many more facets and faces than I care to or could have understand?

Look At Someone

Sometimes you’d be looking at someone, thinking I could have been or be that person. Dead and stiff as cold as the asphalt under my tires. 

You know. Like, I could have died like that sorry bastard, all decapitated and mangled beyond recognition. I could have stopped and decide not to run that bastard down.   

But why should I stop anyway? Everybody has to die sometimes, right?

Wonderful View XVIII

What’s Yours, What’s Mine

What’s yours and what’s mine, is something that needs to be subtly decided, divided…

…hacked and slashed, in absolute greed and hatred….less no decision, no division, shall suffice…

A Thought on Burials

From living to death, 

…what would one bring to the tomb?

Something to cuddle to in the grasp of cold earth…

Where one shall be swallowed by time

A Tribute

If one is suppose to give a meaningful tribute, it might as well be a tribute to the darkest of one’s desire. A celebration of whatever beastly lineage one has. 

Perhaps, on a nicely sculpted furnace, with a suitable amount of fire and a large enough entrance to fit a modest sized person…child…maybe two of each kind. 

What a lovely tribute that should be…

Dream of Cults

I’ve been dreaming of cults, strange cults, lately. Names and faces that looked familiar yet has no names to recall for. What a month of great, morbid dreams.

Dreams of nameless masses, moving as one, holding up candles, morphing as one, into an orgy of mass arson. What lovely, lovely nocturnal travels they have been.

Long live The Cult, the Mysteries of Our Time in this Flaming existence.

Hail The Cult! The nurturer of chaos and night.

Face-Kini: In Case One Forgets Why Misantrophy is Warranted