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.