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.
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…
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 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…
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...
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.
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
