~ No picture! Nothing could ever represent it. ~
Divided we stand in the sight of a frozen sun, salivating for the wine that would assuage our inner draught only to beset ourselves with the oozing bile of desert forests and pregnant voidness.
You are not empty who feels neither world nor fellow creature sentient, who neither sees the road nor heeds primal urge line-up. You are not undone who by strain and drunk melancholy spouses your pain into caves of clanship blindness.
Do not think, but feel again the wordless voice drowned in waves of taught heartache. You are a treasury of inconmensurable power waiting to be fertilised by rightful seed and rain-falling.
If you are unsatisfied, and thereby crawling through the sewers of hopelessness, I dare say you need just wait for the burning stellar blaze which with sweetness buzzes in every cell. On that day, my dear bud, you will have come closer to yourself than all those years of nescient judgement under unawareness and preconceived notions of life and the self.
And in parting words I say, “Value yourself!”; for there is no other like you, and it would be a shame to see you fade away locked up in the mutable illusions we have come to accept.
May you find a reason to smile this new year.
Winter is here. Saturn strokes his beard, and the sages retreat into their caves to ponder upon the mysteries of death. The crows outside enliven the deafening silence, yet fall quiet with the same swiftness they took to their cawing.
In the cold breast of the sickle bearer, the dim grey world evokes an eldritch romance which human words stumble and fail to tongue. But buried in promising old tomes, I find the next stage for my atrocious play – a beauty which forlorn, a wisdom which is dreaded.
The wind-beaten lake was beset by offshore storms of confounded and weeping veils. In the midst of the tempest, awareness rose enraged to calm the waters, and the mirror-like lake became a reflection of an alternate state. All knights gathered under one plate, one flag, one creed to sustain: one-pointed laser stare beyond the conceivable extent; thus, the voice was the wordless wordly observant who severed the umbilical cord of the pre-conceptual which sat in the cave of his own reflection to execute the ways of consolidation.
As Darkness sways her regal skirt
to the dead’s drumming heartbeats,
I sit still entranced in silence until Being is
and all surroundings disappear.
Sea foam bubbles and kisses itself away in my ears –
the last remnants of the multitude storm
have no sway over the rock of protean lore.
The weathervane slightly oscillates
by the systole and diastole of breath,
reconciling lover and beloved
with the primal scent of lively opiates
in sightless search.
And to commensurate the sweetness
of honeydew, roses, and rosemary blends,
all dreams entorched wed the shadows
in the tireless dance of visceral cantus
and hedgehog air.
The crepuscular light daily sets the stage for a new pilgrimage past the mouth of Abyss into the throne of a Black Sun, which abrasive sublime rays sear away the confusion of the day; although it may as well strip the heart off desire bent after object and natural course and edge. Here in the darkness does reason bathe in purity, and conviction’s resolve illuminates the beclouded use of breath and focused target.
Donning the crown of the depths, there is no escape from the timeless folly. The frolic of pretence enrobes and weds the conscious insanity, and the tarred alchemical tears are, each one, a perforating spear from the pilgrim’s reflective pool of inanity.
Dawn is the archetypal succour for the children of the golden orb, whilst in its embrace the offspring of chimerical antics run erratic, in pain writhing, under the blistering light of consensual literacy.
Crystal mirror and moonlight dim.
Aetherial arms of rusty metal
draped in delicate fantasy.
Like nebulous blades of strings,
its concert casts the will of the puppeteer.
The beasts roam between sleep and lucidity,
yet the colossus still chases the mirage of unreality.
You will hear his screams echo in the wind,
but his ravings are speared in the wall of subtlety.
The eyes that see stare entranced at the infinite,
and thoughts flee from the chamber of wordly lunacy.
“I once was human”, a voice rustles in
from the backdrop of the scenery,
“yet I died in the pyre of my own scavenging”.
“Does it hurt?”, the undines peep out their heads
from the night pond curiously; “Do you weep?”
The voice retreats.
Silence falls on autumn’s lips,
yet the sentient architect knows
the possible impossibility.
Sandalwood, myrrh, and peppermint
outline the edges of myriad realms –
so apart, yet scarcely distant.
Above two poles of shipwrecked mariners
broken against the rocks of lawful quietness,
sits enthroned the lord of madness.
His eyes burn lapis lazulized,
and his domain is the reflection
of his inventive sacredness
Cry craven, you unfortunate sot of ghost semblance!
Give yourself to me in my melodic lunacy;
for I am Darkness of Origin,
and all the shadows in between.
Cry craven, you lily-livered caitiff!
Scald yourself for all your aeons at my feet;
for I am Spearing Light of Genesis,
and all the dawnings in between.
In clear skies and dry seasons,
mine ears be blest still
with Cyclopean weeping beads
where breath is tenuous,
and mind be indulged with dreams.
One eyed trickling in the wind of late silence
to the awakening film:
an echoing whisper and restless memory
of Furor Divinus calling beasts
to feats and banquets of love and evol.
Furor Divinus, the forest dance of atavism.
Furor Divinus, the disavowal of masks
held by public favouritism.
Furor Divinus, the thrusting horses of Abyss.
Furor Divinus, exalted bile screams of Dame Melancholy.
It is only the prerogative of an enslaved consciousness to deem the truth apocryphal. Nothing bears meaning except for that which we attribute to it. And with no escape from influence, our consolation rests in erecting a fortress of all which is supportive of our true selves; thus, being armed enough to relentlessly wage war against that which does not serve our purpose, or perish in the crossfire. The outcome of the struggle will be greatly contingent on one’s own desire to be free.
In hours of soul night passing,
breathe in the venom of the deep dark waters
to change weakness into strength, vacuity into sentiment;
that no being may ever say your power you did neglect.
Rise, warrior of the eternal well!
The verdant fields sing with upmost praise.
Lift your sword and raise your shield.
Battle forward to keep your freedom.
In the tenebrous good-bye of lass gold lights
In the sombre bosom of the afternoon cap
In the crib of night-time greyed mist
Does life blossom through
The heart-beats of Dame Melancholy
In the sultry breath of summer
In the ball of corpses coming
In winter rings of loneness
Does my spirit lift and flutter
Like aethereal butterflies
In a garden of delight
Beknownst to amore sepulchral
Serpentine opus furrows
Through the sensuous heedful romance clad
In undercurrents of Plutonian dance
And in this, my paradise,
The forgot mysteries of the diamond lithe
Trickle down with the cascading sky
The cool zephyr yearns for my skin warm
And I remember beauty
In the arms of the thunderstorm
The pale blue seeps
through the blinds,
beckoning me to dance
and perfume myself
with the tears of dawn.
Oh, how they shine
with the wistfulness of youth
and potential life!
How tender their visage,
and sensuous their cry,
upon the world entranced!
And thus, I laud
a sight so bright,
honouring grace at heart –
a core of oceanic tides.
My willows follow
the smiling breeze
of early morning’s wet kiss.
My eaves drip
of hidden beauty.
Toll the bells of the church of self
in the funeral pyre of music flare.
A love so deep, a feral beast.
A flame so lively, now a callous memory
prancing in the torrid wilds of melody.