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

Wonderful View XVII

Maxims

For some unknown reason, flashes of intriguing maxims have been capturing my mind every now and then. It is not that flashes of weird thoughts have never come to this head, which makes these flashes seems special.

They are just so unthinkable, and for hell’s sake I can’t seem to put together where they might have originated from. None of them are original. They must have been lying dormant there, from things I watched, read, talk about…

Coming out of nowhere, like bogeys out of a misty, saturnian bog…….

If you haven’t got a penis, you’re a female

If you haven’t got a vagina, you’re a male

Those are facts; everything else is just choices and perceptions… 

Stopped Counting

When you stopped counting your achievements, no matter how excellent they are, then you should know that  you are walking on a path of no emotion. 

A blissful psyche plateau where deeds are forgotten as soon as they are committed….Under the sign of a mighty red dragon.

Wonderful View XVI

Yeah, right...

Getting Scared

If there’s one thing I’ve always found memorable about extreme metal music it must be its ghastly, morbid imagery. Maybe it is true that this type of music belongs to such imageries. Maybe it is also true what Ozzy Osbourne once said that being scared simply sells…because most of us like being scared.

But how easy would it be for us to get scared nowadays, anyway? With so much information and images being spun on the worldwide web, does anything still scare most us? A live feed beheading? Yup. Seen that.  Random shootings at schools? Seen those too. Gory disembowelments? Please. That’s daily shit on the internet.  

As we grow desensitized to all manner of things that used to be scary, it is always a pleasant surprise when you do stumble upon things that simply make the hairs on your neck stand on attention…Even more so if it is actually something from the extreme underground music scene, a place that is simply fucking over-saturated with ‘scary’ shits…

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…