27 sep. 2016

Shed not tears in awe of my dying, ye daughters of a barren earth;
But weep instead for yourself and ye daughters and sons.
Blessed are the wombs that never bore and teats that never nursed;
Surely must even death die before we can glance at salvation?

when i was 18, i listened a lot to deathspell omega. (personal cringe)

The eyes of man are stirred, their hands tied backwards, like the limbs of a hog.
The skin is fattened, the intestines clogged, the teeth are black.
Religious lepers praying for water, sundried lips and downcast gaze,
The eyelids could no longer be separated from the eyes themselves.
Tunnels without a sun of hope, eyes sewn shut with obtuse thread.
That distant silhouette dying amongst the blemished clouds…

The blessing hand retracts and the fingers close,
The doves no longer peck from their palms
The Cunt of origin does no longer bear the blessing of Shekhinah
A virgin mocks herself with her own fingers,
Nymphaes open and breathe at the end of days
Her festive garments dripping with stale menarche,
Crust black fluid leathered the silk…

Temples of the earth destroyed to their foundation,
Puzzles of the mind infected with dementia
The womb of Eve subject to an awry abortion
The bosoms of whores untouched for millennia…

… Do those gleaming irises vigil over our sleep?

The eyes of Cherubim blinded by cadaveric dust, the ashes of the burnt bones
They wash their praying hands in the sluice of their own meconium,
Adorned with Elizabethan collars, like hounds,
So engulfed in desperation as to forget the uncurled tunnels
Mazes of vacant graves, these walls are coffins...
They blot the name of the Lord - Logos raped, drenched...
The effigy lies expounded amongst the black stones of sacrifice.

Lo, a lord of lords with a thousand halos, its Self reveals,
Abysses, the heinous chorus of life, the fields of failed harvest
The rats in the walls and those set of eyes, elated, with an aura of foreboding...
The hissing of the verdures, the purling holy poison smeared on the plumage of every bird,
The serpentine skin molted afore their every step.
Here lies the absence and completion of peace, these gardens rot and they grow,
They breathe in the absence of life, and they rot in the absence of DEATH
And of those poignant bacteria, and its adversive effects, they have no inkling;
Where all common distinctions fall unto their ultimate deaths,
where all combined Ecumenical values are shattered against the rocks.

Entheo-genus is a Cunt!
Motherwhore Chalice, womb of life and death
The fruit of your whoredom, an inner war for every temple
Where siblings spite each other with venomous swords,
And howl mockery with contagious tongues
A breathing phallus roils amidst the damp leaves:
This serpent shall spew holy poison, and make you with child,
And in every of that child's veins shall flow that poison…

Iam enim securis ad radicem arborum posita est
omnis ergo arbor quae non facit fructum bonum
exciditur et in ignem mittitur...*

Ephphatha!
Mote that radiant light shine where his sun fails to reach
Dive deep into the Eye in which you are the phosphene
Explore its tunnels and you shall get a glance of salvation
Keep not your eyes but gouge them with violence
Surely must that widen your horizon merely a little!
Burst your veins and flesh to dust and let loose scavengers therein
Holocaust of Worms and the Rape of Dignity
Ares is he, to Hawwah, the bringer of War.

Dissonance devours the silence, the tranquility lies broken.
Let the hobo of the serpents tongue bring war upon war.
Let the echo of his sermon bring plague upon plague.
Sow in the morasses of manure, compelled by these abominable bowels!
Breathe with gay grin amongst these horrendous cesspools.
…Eve in convulsion, yawning from the abysses of massacred providence…

Ephphatha! Funeral firmament...
And the nymphaes sweep like wings, the heavens clove like an abominous vulva
And the moist of its menarche stain the soil, drenched in the paltry failure of its labor
Let flow the amnios of its foul parturition: Tabula Rasa smeared in gaudy vulgarism –
Excrement clots this canvas
The Abortion of the Dream of Heavenly Utopia...

Woeful astroblemes, chasms of the Earth
The Garden of Eden writhe amongst stench and gall
Ecstatic Cherubim seek refuge in the bosom of their LORD
And necrotic tears blur their pure white eyes
But instead of consolation and the marsupe's warmth
They are smothered to death ---
Black gall churn in the dreary womb of light,
To clog the fissures of man, and run in the veins of the world

Hawwah raises her hands towards that burning sky
Consumed by the venom of the Earth
And chanting, rambling Logos through sharpened teeth
With tongues contagious with disease
Carried beneath wings smitten by leprous filth
Death, the bitter aftertaste of an awry harvest
The ordure of life falling over the Beloved Paradise
Traitors nurture the holy teats
And sow in the soil of a LORD dethroned
O ye cherubim trembling in ye ghastly white garments,
swords of fire and faces wan with moribund joy
Verily, say unto me, why dost thou breath gay-heartedly amongst these gardens?

The truth stagnates without differing paths,
And of that ye must have an inkling!
...The virgin womb is fecundated...

Drink deep from the gravy of death's wretched vagins
The amniomancy of the first begotten...

Tear the ribs out of the chests of the Cherubim
And ravish their precious wombs
O Guardians of the Holy Garden
We bear your swords of fire...

...The circle of dead children rolls their eyes to the skull -
Was there not a sordid triumph at Eden's verdures?

some pictures from our everyday lives












EXISTENTIAL POEM #18

as you despise solitude
so you despise freedom
for only in the stabwounds of absence
your life will bleed free
a flowing ichor - smelling of valor - a bright red blood;
and only in the loneliness
and in the palace of mirrored walls
     can you be yourself
truly, without even the pettiest of exceptions.

as you avoid solitude
so you avoid freedom ---
a life
in the shackles
   of the world
      as it is ---

you subscribe
    to the dictum
     of intrinsic morality
and will die a loser's death.

does not a great bulk of our sorrows;
personal failures; disappointments;
betrayals; worthless efforts and the chronicality of spiritual suffering
  depend on the sociableness
  of our behavioral patterns
  and the human relationships
  that it springs forth?

loneliness is suffering
in the absence of human comfort ---
  sociability is suffering
  in the absence of loneliness and freedom;
  insoluble equation and paradox.

renunciate life ---
     it is yours to abandon;
repudiate the proposed intrinsic value
of its depressive and harrowing properties.

have you ever been told
that suicide is the
the summit of cowardice
   and that its apparent egotism
   negates and per se illegitimizes
     itself?

then let us call it the apogee
of freedom, and the personal terrorism
of responsibility;
   the hand
   that which breaks middle fingers 
          upward
   in mockery and renunciation.

the apparent immorality
of self-death,
   a cigarette butt 'neath
   our heels
suicide
is the most basic right
   of all---the voluntary death
     of the hero.

thoughts on mainstream psychiatry and mental illness

let me make it clear: mental illness is a fucking myth
and a euphemism for behaviors
condemned by the collective establishment
as malfunctional, dangerous and/or agitating;
only that which is observable through means of the scientific method
in the physiology and/or neurology of an individual
can rightfully be deduced, diagnosed, subject to treatment,
along the lines of that of bodily affliction and disease;
diseases are malfunctions of the human bodily system
of the liver; the heart; the skin; the kidneys; the spleen; the brain;
no mere behavior can in itself be considered a disease;
categorized are they in a highly scientific manner,
although the process of diagnosis roots in a subjective judgement
permeated with the interests of psychiatric authorities.



I maintain:
by calling people diseased, as they showcase behaviors that disturb;
patterns that unsettle; words that offend; actions that hurt;
the psychiatric establishment imposes and implements,
often above the head of the patient, a kind of hierarchical structure
wherein the patient is stripped of the sense of any moral responsibility,
being told that the prime mover of his or her behavioral patterns are
diseases, and as such, not legitimate; this is done, consciously or not,
in order to better control and subdue them.



Self-victimization is encouraged ---
the patient is but a piece of cloth in some kind of sickness hurricane;



the diagnosis of mental ilness,
unless measurable scientifically in the brain or in the body
will always be subjective and tainted by external factors;
the predispositions of the psychatrist as a professional;
his personal and highly unignorable opinion on the subject,
the rhetoric and conversational abilities of the patient, et cetera.



State-institutionalized psychatric establishments are cancerous
as entities, because the will and the interest of the state,
which is in relation to the people they govern,
implements standards of behavior; living; morality; value
onto the receiver of psychiatric treatment, conforming him or her
in accord with the needs and alignments of the standard;
drapetomania and hysteria are great examples of this.

21 sep. 2016

NOTE TO SELF

PASSIONS DEFINE WHO WE ARE
PASSIONS STIR THOUGHT INTO ACTION
WE ARE OUR PASSIONS
PASSIONS ARE MYSTICAL IN ORIGIN
YET POWERFUL AND THE ONLY COMPASS
I HAVE YET FOUND
WHEN IT COMES TO ORIENTING ONESELF
IN THIS WORLD, THIS LIFE, THIS EXISTENCE

DONT BE AN ASSHOLE
FOLLOW THAT WEIRD, STRANGE STREAM
INSIDE
BELOW THRESHOLDS

ABOLISH LAWS FOR YOURSELF
THERE IS LAWLESSNESS
THRIVING
IN YOUR PASSIONS

EXISTENTIAL POEM #4

the pursuit of pleasure disappoints sempiternally
as it matures like fruit, like apples, or pears --- (pears of anguish),
    in order to just die
and rot! and becoming useless, and stink, and look sad---
like the dreams and aspirations
  of all these passive human beings
  flowing like a tide of the ocean to the bleating pulse of its heart,
  through the aqueducts, via channels, gutters
     of existence.

the pursuit of pleasure disappoints sempiternally
although possibility does not;
possibilities just are, and as such,  
           could not be considered subject to timeliness;
beyond the bounds of mere cause and effect
rages a stormquake, razors whirling in winds of suicide;
   of endless and omni-devouring possibility,
   cutting your flesh
   --- like butter ---
      or like throats.

the pursuit of pleasure disappoints sempiternally
   as it always ends in the dens of opium, syringe hells and abysses of angst ---
   the rock bottom of crack cracking lifes to bits and pieces
   the grotesque irony of pairing friendship with desperation
   and the cesspools of all greed and hedonism,
and never with the paradise you were promised: 
   now you have it; now you need more
         --- heroinist of existential utopia ---
...and so the pursuit continues
   with no opaque light --- no fucking diamond sun ---
     but some thick, obnoxious greyness
     at the end of this diabolically weird tunnel...

   ---paradism is a fraud---rape this idea

the pursuit of pleasure disappoints sempiternally
   as we all suck our life
   --- like mosquitoes ---
from what we conceive as "love";
what we embody as "love",
and what we worship as "love";

we get stuck
in the sludgy rigidity of mutually assured misfortune
between one another, that we pass along through friendship
   and we live our lives
   as if possibilites were just
   something you read about
   in some book, some time, long long ago,
   and as if the aspiration of a happy existence
            ---myth---

the applause echo strong
     and ovations come many,
from those who believe its all a facade;
a show - a performance - or a joke,
yet in the midst of their own bermuda triangles
     below
     lies something
     dormant
     slumbering
     in the deep mud pool ... that existed before reason ---

the most devastating human condition there is,
is having clearsight into the future,
     abound with its ceaselessly proliferating possibilities,
but knowing
that you will never even begin to amount
to what you really want to be ---
     and really could become---

I distill life :::::
     to a fine, old wine
bitter with the melancholy of being aware ---
aftertaste, anxiety, the inferno of spiritual becoming ---
     kierkegaard
     eternal :::::
hedonophobia
    and hedonism
    split me apart
     like the piece of meat
     i am  ---

a whore on the brink of death.

7 sep. 2016

new words!



paradism

the abrahamitic concept of unconditional solace and spiritual bliss in communion with god                 following the deterioration of the corporeal self.  the focal point of spiritual ideation                          throughout life. to me, it is very basically a compensation of sorts, in which the person tries to negate the human corporeal, emotional and existential suffering into an extra-mortal blissful, perfect, divine paradise. with few words, paradism is the ideation of a total and perfect transcendent state bliss after death. it is a moronic idea at worst and a destructive one at best.

anthropopsychcreate 

    see below

sociognostic

    the underlying patterns and structures that make basis for our social behaviors; these patterns to me feel often obfuscated beneath shallow cobwebs of materialist-capitalist societal structures and what not. for example, the emergence of religious organizational patterns and systems of belief are sociognostic to me in the sense that they are rarely touched upon, let alone understood, yet these processes, no matter how ardent the criticism, how sardonic the atheist cynicism, govern social reality.

poopface 

   the author of this text
The Abrahamitic, monotheistic tradition of anthropopsychcreating god (construcing a concept of a divine essence that exists within a human psychological framework and that is supposedly subject to the same existential human conditions we face, embodying itself in expressions of humanlike character and showcasing behavior typical human beings; the humanization of God) is a spiritual disaster and a failure.

existential poem

a train of thought
that ends in cynicism at worst
and suicide at best
takes me on a journey
into the mouth of all storms;
   i am losing control.

   lead in collars
over moors of angst
in the face of the living god
subdued
    and scourged
    i crawl
    with fellow men and women
into the grand arena
of a grotesque and ugly world;
an incomprehensible life experience
disturbing even the
     of the fundaments of the world.

i am manacled, chained like the slave,
to the totem of modern culture
and as a consequence
i lose the ability to identify
with that which stands in opposition
to civilisation by definition;
i lose myself in the absence
of intrinsical human pride
    and in the study
of the omni-devouring, socio-gnostic origins
    of human reality
in a pathetic wish and want
to become whole, to become fed on words,
and to contradict the future
with knuckles firm
of war
  and of poetry.

amongst the cold debris,
the leftovers of smiles and laughters
feel distant, and weak
and the rotting sun
  vomiting warmth
  into my face
as I am left alone
with the insatiable thirst for doubt
that characterizes the loss of expression
and the coming of life
   feels
     just wrong.