12 mars 2023




it is done.

THE END COMMUNE 2012-2022.

the 42 musical releases of The End Commune have been released. all music can be found on the Bandcamp page.

the complete written works are completed as well. the 721-page document can be found via this link:

https://pdfhost.io/v/ChBuhKRi0_The_Complete_Works_of_the_End_Commune_20122022_FINAL

2023 will continue seeing album presses, re-issues,  new editions and merchandise, though. in that regard, TEC is certainly not dead.



19 feb. 2023

queen of the lost ice planetesimals ! her hand commands …

solar systems error and fault in planned, orchestrated failure –

despot bitch with eyes as Titan and Ganymede

chortling impishly across time and space her supernova sounds  !

 it is likely, that the person staring out the window, sees less, than the person staring into the mirror

7 feb. 2023

THE PILLAR SAINT

  statuesque pillar-saint woebegone
  in perpetual management of proprioception
  lost in a gloaming darkly psychedelic,
  vortexing all around, menace-clouds...

  a vesper without hope
  for a night without morning

  humming lullabies of endless twilight
  susurring all around !
  a stature demure !
  yet such beguiled, stupid flesh !

 Metanoia-wounds cascading
 phosphor-rain and ash of stone
 upon the tremored bodies
 supine on the wettened grass below...

   parched to death athirst
   are the witnesses to this very witness of God
   communing beneath the pillar
 
   the mysterious contemplation
   and the ever-adoration  
   of boundless human excellence
   up there on the platform  

       the golden blood of the saint !

       running downward pylons
       dripping from the gargoyle beaks
 
       downward cascading across
       the cracked mosaic of existence

   vines of vermillion veins
   fractally forming around them,
   contorting all around them,
   rooting themselves all around

     growing about them weblike,
     spinal-cordially
     like intelligence-antenna
     towards a starry sky
     as to re-connect
     with something greater…

zartosht

and not yet may he become the fire of Ahura Mazda because he has not yet enough oxygen to nurture its flame in eternity…


weary and destitute, Zartosht grabbed his wandering staff and consulted the star-sky and some air-spirits for a direction towards the silence of days ― then, during the first hours of the night, he abandoned the townsfolk and the Holy flame extirpated unattendedly the morning after

   it would have been very embarrassing―had they cared…
   no one cared ! no one could be bothered…

everyone slept in that morning because it had been a festive night before it, and it was the very same night the prophet left

the townsfolk soiled themselves with their spiritual child-play…they mismanaged and malnourished the Holy Flame and they confessed to their feasting upon every single one of Ahriman's execrable excesses !

the one about drugz

the abuse of drugs !  

an everlasting dance with devil and folly ?

   men have been architects of altered consciousness
   since men barely existed

   and, before the age of industrialization,
   a problem barely existed, but now so does 


            * * *

in the rugged badlands above Persian Empire the Sun  
and Ottoman Empire the Moon, where Scythes
and Huns and Sarmates once reigned, there are still
half-steed-half-man tribes boiling dry leaves of cannabis
and other steppe-herbs with an iron bowl in an enclosure,  
and the smoke rises from the bowl and hexes the congregants
into a warm, deep, lulling drone of cannabine stupor

   psychedelic vortices gloaming all around them !

   psychotomimetic gyrations turn into spiral warps
   penetrating even a thickness as the human mind

my pipe of hashish rests on my night-stand beside me…
seductress-demons of my Danteesque visions and worlds !

     take me home ! –
     i lay down my weapons again !

                 where is
                 my damn pipe ! ! !  

 vaporizers of dangerous Amanita life-forms
 in proto-medieval Upplandic pastures and Shamanic woodlands !

 chewers of the Kat in the slums of Mogadishu !  
 devoted followers of Great Toad God Bufo !
 and devotional congregants of the Ya Ba eucharist
 in the slums of Bangkok !

    Parisian starry absinthe nights !
    the warm opium fever, the red wine revelations
    and exotic leaves of cannabis and tobacco…
    Finnish vodka in a sauna and brännvin on midsummer’s eve !
    Moroccan desert dunes, the foothills of the Atlas  
    and eternal Afghan plains of wild ganja…

    Guangzhou dens of tobacco and opium
    and Sonoran drylands of all cacti and toads…

    Gabonese iboga lands of shrub and lichen
    and by Andean foothills, the verdure coca groves abound...

        like vultures are we all upon these treasuries...
        insectile, clustering, swarming !
        our hands breaching, clawing
        upon the gates of artificial paradise

     there are many venoms, ills, spites and curses
     weaponized by the lizard of addiction

  i ponder whether i should stop this doped folly once and for all,
  as i lose myself again in dazing fumes of nitrous oxide
  in a proud Jamesian tradition !
   
   stinky caravans of destitute Hashish-flamers
   disappear above the curvature of the earth

    i once belonged to them ! and vomit gropes my bellum…

     i now hurl curses and spites against
     the inebriated mass which moves all around me,
     but of which i am undeniably myself a part !

   all the lusts and the sins and the vices !

   ten-thousand shames, regrets and hatreds,
   pains and torments and anguished despairs –
   the fungi from which the parasite ever feeds !

          it goes never hungry !
   the allurements of the imps of Satan
   coaxing the sorry human soul into the darkness !

   accursed truants of life itself they become,
   swallowed by the needle ocean, deep and cold…



 

5 jan. 2023

an old one from 2015-2017 but redone in 2022; was never really satisfied w it

 BABYLONIAN ESCHATOLOGY

     a hidden message
     is lodged down her mouth

     her arms are amputated
     without anesthesia
     and then she is thrown
     into the freezing waters

  her spirit chases its own tail
  and sick and tired she sours
  until she abandons, even forgets the very message
  she ought to have delivered
  at the peril of herself and her whole world

she was anointed in the bloodwine
and in the ecstasies of becoming one in the ranks
of all beautiful and canonized succubae

    the art of love and eroticism became derided
    with the moral falseness of excessive carnal wanton
    and that intoxicating ouroboric hysteria of gluttony

     it shall all sink like rock and stone
     to the sleeping Tiamat,
     dwelling in her dormancy
     at the bottom depth…

    the appalling message must reach her

    and what is the message ?

       it is

    “come soon please, return to us !

     we have turned nihilistic again,
     and we need you, mother, to set us straight”

we must reach her the message before it is all too late...


14 dec. 2022

   horizonless scapes of the beautiful unknown

 

    the shores of ataraxy

    are wonderful in the moonglow

 

      apathy and mystery as a cauldron,

      a splendid lulling sea droning

 

 

 

basically a poetry-audio-book in Swedish with one more or less coherent symbolic story/concept/theme interwoven through it, strongly influenced by swedish and french masters. this is not even remotely music at all, it is just a Swedish spoken word album recorded sloppily in the vintage endcommunean style with the voice memo app on a barely working iPhone 6S. i also left all the mistakes in there, this is basically a first take on everything. the reason i leave the mistakes are 50% authenticity and 50% pure laziness btw. it is the same material as the "Det stora owäsendet" long poem (written between ca 2012-2018) from "The Complete Works of the End Commune" but here presented audially. part of the great 2022 endcommunean purge.

29 sep. 2022

defendress of the rotten wildflowers

insane appreciatrix of old and grey dandelions

schizoid deity, the devil’s bridegroom 

your beautiful mouth knows and sows only ever confusion !

 

        your beautiful lips spill miscarriages,

        resentments, barrages of empty vitriol…

 

        your eye is a cat’s eye,

        a cat’s eye nebula,

        a darkness impenetrable, unfathomable

23 sep. 2022

a lil bit more old-school "attack poetry" nightmarish stilnoct kind of shit. ~45 min work

FRENZIED INTRUSION INTO THE

PSYCHO-SPIRITUAL BLOODSTREAMS

   a blast of anxiety and panic, a thunderbolt ! i have no control !  

   something intrusive jolts my spiritual neurons and cells...

   waves of hostility vibrate my sensory frame 

   i shake ! i twist ! i howl ! my counter-intelligence fails –

   paranoia usurps the throne as always !

   i empty my bowels and my bladder upon the earth :

   bowels do not care about my spasms and angst !

 the psychological dystonia invades the holiest of privacies,

breaching walls thought of as unbreachable, inviolable

desecrating all the sacred lines and delineations it does without even a thought of mercy – God never thinks; God happens !  

a frenzied intrusion into the psycho-spiritual bloodstreams…

  it is true ! i can no longer mentally differ  

  the parasitic force from myself !

  it festers within and it nests within

  an envenoming psychic vampirism spreading virally

  through my mortal and mental being !

   a bubble of toxic air enters the bloodstream

   as the seal of redemption is stamped on my brow…

   and not by some beautiful angel, but by an ugly little imp !

   spasm and visions from wretched dimensions manifest

   demonic deities peacocking their Satanic plumages

   from beyond the edge of other, foreign, totally unknown dimensions  

   i stand there suddenly, on a mountain !

   the floor shifted beneath my feet, and i stand now

   at the epicenter of it all, Great Abyss !

   a sun occult on the rise  !  i see all now !

   i now truly understand Dostoevsky, finally…

   we share a drink into death,

   torn by spiritual cramps and epileptic seizures,

   the Great Revelation !

i understand the total cosmic irrelevance

of our presence and existence

and how it could crush the human spirit

just the human truly understood it,

and what is more, the total form of loneliness it further implies,

would crush our spirit again and again

if the beaten human, by some feat of miracle,

would have even been able to recuperate from the first blow !

    a confrontation with the true reality of things

   is as inevitable as it is fundamentally eschatological 

   we exist meaningfully

   only insofar as we feel we do...

       i want to die !