QUEEN OF ABSINTHINE MADNESS

 cloud-pylons, anti-matter, aether, absinthe

       outer-cosmic imperialism
       from unknown life forms

          across eternal times and spaces
          bacteria-inhabitants grow
          into the quanta of the universe

          a queen is crowned
          in a laurel-wreath
          of galactic ergot
          and holding two bottles of Parisian absinthe
          in her two black witches hands

          luminous she sits
          atop the firmament
          spewing holies upon holies
          as if a whore of cosmos
          spitting out panspermia
          into the evervoids

             bitter hag of the star-sky !

             goddess of the cosmos-disease...

             reluctant to participate in anything
             but the ever entropy of worlds !

         the cosmic queen retracts her psalmata...
 

hissa fana, hissa flagg !

gör välkomna skogens stora ugglor.

tjut med silverlunga,

skrik med djävulens skarpa tunga.

en stor krigarinnas hemkomst kungörs.

välkomna Inannas ugglor med pompa och prål,

med pukor och trumpeter och trummor av stål,

med basun och teater och spel !

mardrömska jätteugglor spänner sina vingar, sina ögon !

enorma vener och artärer

målar en sprucken mosaik

över deras mjuka fågelkött

som blodtunnlar sprängandes.

de flyger överallt.

varje åldring i säng,

varje nyfödd i krubba.

varje skog, varje hav, varje fjäll,

varje gård, varje torg.

en ospårbart gammal uggla funderar

över allt som varit och allt som sedan är.

hon finner sig snabbt tyngd

när hon skänker huvudbry

åt människans amnesiska kultur

och hennes avsomnade kampgunst.

hon suckar först lätt.

hon suckar snart emellertid tungt

när hon vidare reflekterar

över detta stora moderna skräp… –

vilket misslyckat projekt det ändå är,

denna sju miljarder stoftkorns hopning

slumrandes under Inannaugglans skuggande vingar !

 

vilka försmädelser hon får utstå av folket !

krigarinnan.

av folket, som är så dumma och förtappade att de inte ens kan begripa att det är att darra och jämra sig de borde, vid blotta åsyn av den stora förskräckliga uppenbarelse som stirrar dem rakt i ansiktet !

hennes liv kom som en häftig låga någonstans från ur i mitten av en enorm rökdimma vars kraft avlar de vackraste former ingen kan se !

halvmåneläppar,

smält kopparhår vackert mjukt.

gyllene brynja av brons.

gyllene midja, gyllene händer stålbeklädda.

ugnsglödgat malm, Nimbus guldbekransad,

dansande svärdsegg, härdat stål.

en hagelstorm av kastspjut,

ett svärmande kaos runtom.

 

tjusningen

i ett övervunnet motstånd

betyder allt

för henne.

att utvidga Guds domkrets på jorden !

en fjärils tro på vinden

och en getings tro på sötma

är en människas tro på nåd,

en cynikers på alla tings sjukhet och fulhet,

och en krigarinnas, på hennes extatiska kraft.

denna extatiska kraft har vissnat bittert, som en trött augustimaskros, till något som mest liknar grått och tragiskt stoft. det känns nästan hopplöst och meningslöst att numera fortsätta be för hennes tillbakakomst och för hennes mytologiska upprättelse.

den extatisk kraft,

som i händerna på krigarinnan

en gång i tiden omstörtade världar i plural,

har nu omvärvts besviket

i en bakvänd

f ö r b a n n e l s e v i r v e l

likt ett nyfött barn lindat hårt i den varma filt

som långsamt men säkert även kväver det,

gjorde den inget ljud ifrån sig när den försvann...

den bara tyst och enkelt

f ö r s v a n n

   

...eller kan vi ännu hoppas

att något någonstans fortfarande brinner

på svaga blågröna flammor

där, inuti det hjärta

som till synes förbittrat all sin glöd?

hennes liv spänns mellan fyra stora hingstar

som står alla vända mot varsitt av de fyra väderstreck,

och som snart ska komma att iaktta sin rasande galopp.

eteriska skuggor vimlar ur tusentals portaler av sten och huldran smyger längs förvirringens och trötthetens fjordväggar i jakt på en hemlighet som ruvats på genom alla epoker, någonstans uti det kosmiska av en vitorm med slocknade nebulosor som ögon och med en kropp skulpterad i gråsten:

ett fasansfullt och skräckingivande avgrundsdjur som vänder sig i sitt rede och ruvar vidare på sitt blyga och skygga inre.

vidundret vrider sig i sitt enorma gryt och oroliga drömmar och sömnparalyser från helvetet skälver vem som än sover någonstans i grytets närhet.

more old stuffzz, ca 2015

It seems people approximate "respect" with "common decency". It is not the same thing. I am kind and benevolent by default to people. when I say I don’t respect them I mean that I don’t admire them. But I am still decent to decent people. But average, decent people do not impress me. I wish not to waste my love, my admiration, my respect. These people are just unimpressive puddles of human mud. Nothing more, nothing less. And I do not respect that particularly. But I am still nice and they still have human decency and integrity and I accept their boundaries, but―I do not admire them.

Where are the heroes and heroines? If you want respect… then move worlds! Being “in the moment” and “accepting yourself” does not do the trick for me. Respect is a powerful world, and I believe in the power and truth of words. I am spiritually militant towards Foucault and Derrida.

You might hate the feeling of vomiting but you will surely feel better as your tummy has purged itself of its corruptive contents. Does that mean you hate vomiting, or appreciate it?

“The only thing I can see democracy doing, over longer stretches of history, decrepit as it lies today in sludgy sewers of modernity, is giving the people it so eagerly governs the illusion of jurisdiction and the balance of powers; of democratic process; of suffrage and of many beautiful modern rights. Democracy is rather built on the idea that sovereignty is handed over to the people, but what really happens is that the true mechanisms and effects of power becomes obfuscated behind the smoke-screen; from concealed and ultimately failing forces the democratic project bellows its smoke.”

“They fail to account for the underlying tectonics of history when imagining and utopianizing the future, and they scoff and spit at the librares, these irredivivous accumulations of the wisdoms! Why can they not cede that tradition is multi-dimensional? Tradition has been a tool of oppression, it is true, but as well the very wheel which turns the tide of time and anchors it to history; to our historiography. We pin down the human condition by trapping it under the heavy weights of history as if trapping a bird in cage as to let it scream from therein. Yes – tradition is multi-dimensional. Tradition – in many respects oppressive, gruelling and insensitive to the eyes and ears of modern man and to man of history alike – is of fundamental importance to everything we call and feel Holy, and it encapsules what is worthy of defense until no man stands anymore! And your pitiful attempts at philosophizing away the existential absolute of such a notion is dangerously stupid, also ridiculous and frustrating. Tradition is a hammer and there are plenty of heads to crush and there are plenty of nails to nail as well. Tradition is an essentially human behavior and a deduction of man's conditioning in material-scientific reality and as well beyond it. On the matter of what is beyond it though, much and almost none can be said – that mystery devours all.”

“A man who is indifferent to history and tradition is a man without hearing, without sight. Such a man can live, of course — but what a life?”

THE DESTROYERS OF MYSTICISM, PARTS I-VI

                 I

   you can not just believe in yourself
   and in the matter by which you are surrounded
 
   you have to believe in something other as well,
   otherwise the human in you
   can not continue being human

   to doubt is to foster health !

   blind faith is blind seduction
   and is to be dealt with at one's peril

   blind faith is spiritual possession and it is bad

   it is a demon of blindness
   which possesses your faculties then !

                     II

   never mistake mysticism with this blindness !

   not everything you cannot see,
   is the result of this blindness

   some things you cannot see
   are indeed nevertheless true,
   though very, very mystical

        i know this much :

   it is not evolutionarily intuitive
   to seek the otherworld –
   man does it nevertheless !

   and we do it by way of mysteries ...

  mysticism ! the compass by which
  the human finds her way out of this
inherent lostness and desorientation !

   mysticism ! the keeper of sanity
   in man as well as in woman,
   and, most blatantly, in the children
   they so beautifully beget;
   how they play and laugh and tackle and cackle  
   with their faeries and their kittens in their sagas !

     the great mysteries
     and an imagination spiritual
     make healthy provisions for us
     as well as our children !

           III

 the destroyers of mysticism
 are inasmuch the destroyers of human potential,
 because the common human being
 has always been, in heart and for all
 practical and psychological purposes, a mystic !

 to hell with these apologets of a Hetoimasia
 remaining unthroned forever and ever !

 to hell with these apologets of the secularization
 of not only the polity and our institutions
 and our cultures and councils and communities,
 but also of the human soul,
 and our minds, and our hearts !

                   IV

 firmly on the top of the hill, on the cliff,
 outlooking a roaring coast in red,
 the vermilion skies and storms in black,
 the deathly omens and tides and tempests,

 they stand
 
       and just ...
        
        sigh

    they sigh unimpressedly !

   but the destroyers of mysticism
   shall fail in their grand work ...

   because indifference is no formidable foe
   to the realities of life and our conditions within it !

     an existential philosophy
     on lithium and diazepines it is
 
and fed on this philosophy,
man will turn his path toward darkness,
and he shall render himself an endling
no one, no thing nor a God would really care about :
when the day comes,
I think he will not even care for himself !  

surely this endling shall not even care about himself
and the prospect his very own vexistential demise !

   … he outsourced that responsibility
        to machines already aeons ago !

       Orwell
       Huxley
       Boye
       i salute

      I stand in zealous, repudiatory militancy
      against the future and whatever more filth
      it shall bring upon us, with its waves crasshing
      on the dams of our ever tomorrows !

                    V
 
  the heart of the human angel fell
  through the grass and the earth and lava
  and through all the layers of dirt,
  like a great iron anchor, an old, rusty iron anchor,
  or like some Olympian titanium rod
  sinking deep and fast towards
  the ocean-chasm floor

  who really knows what happens
  when it hits abyssic bottom,
  reaches our planet's geothermal center ?
 
             VI

     but i shall (try to) leave it
     on a somewhat positive note !

    i shall extend a (somewhat perverse) olive branch,
    just for the sake of my humanity :

   at the end of days, after all,
   i think he will beg for suffering and punishment
   becaus the alternative – indifference in eternity –
   will ultimately outweigh with terror
   whatever hideous torture the Living God
   could verily scourge upon him !

i had really fun with this one

2013 maybe? 2014, 2015, something like that

  "Spiritually Transmitted Doctrine"

Hearken, lepers, beggars, the spiritually transmitted doctrine
Of love, hate, peace, war, life, death, in fusion
In fetters welded, apprehended, captured, locked in,
Tucked soft like a changeling in the crib of confusion.
Where's your hope? - in the furnace of life it is burning,
Ashen, with your culture as Oswald Spengler concluded,
Your utopian gospels and wet dreams and your yearning
Cried by children igniphobic mouthing prayers deluded;

Plow patient your fields; you'll find your Nag Hammadi
Treasures and chests under the throne of Great Athena
And though the West's still alive, I can already smell the rot of its body
And I scour in patience, hungry like the mother hyena;
Perplexing like life, yet clear as a hindsight
I unearth the apocalypse like fucking Tell el-Muqayyar,
Like an awkward social phobic caught in the limelight
But trembling with true will and scolding like fire...

You are Iraq, you are Syria - and I am the fury of ISIS
Carrying AK-47's, planting IED's of ideas
I am the randomness fated in the roll of the dices
The paradoxical conclusion; the essence of Theos
I am a Nietzsche and a horse in a yin-yang of nothing
Sobbing over each other on the back streets of Turin;
A child stillborn, arisen, leaving vacant its coffin
Canonized through hip hop and anointed with urine!

Life's an HIV syringe, and Sartre was right;
All humans are veins and I have gone lost in Bouville,
Hopelessness IntraVenous, angst, a slow burning kite
Against a backdrop of darkness, the horizon, nihil...
Spiritually Transmitted Doctrine, egalitarian hate speeches
Mixing like venom with the rancid blood that is seeping
From the wound left by the bite of the bloodsucking leeches
On the blemished skin of old Mother Europe weeping...

it seems to me impossible to refute the mythological substrate and the fundamental metaphysics of judeo-christianity once you understand it properly. however it is possible to refute some of its ethics  even if you understand it properly. and it is from this insight i take the next step in the direction towards my redemption.

is the purpose of entertainment
to simply interrupt the reality
between the person and the world ?

and is the purpose of religion
to further the divide between them ?

is the purpose of fiction
to combat the loneliness
between the person and the world,
but the purpose of art
to radicalize that very loneliness ?

What may we do in the name of justice and peace? Hiroshima? Nagasaki? My Lai? Were the killing fields of Cambodia a means to a just end? They threw children against trees until the screams silenced! That is barbarism... but the atom bombs? Can anyone believe the argument that the thermonuclear devastation of the two Japanese cities were necessitated by mercy and human solidarity? Shit! A humanitarian effort to end the war as soon as possible, and by doing so saving lives countless? I have certainly heard it being proposed. Maybe, who knows, really. It was surely an inspiring factor, at the least. If you are cynical, you would call it a propagandistic argument, but if you are idealistic, you would call it a humanitarian argument. And, while on the subject of the greatest war, I must ask you: was there a higher degree of common evilness amongst the Germans of the Third Reich than what could be found in for example the United States during the same historical period? A hideous question, but it is burning with hideousness like a light: when the collective goes insane, how does one assess the criteria of culpability for the individual?

 

The Inescapable Ugliness of the World (2016)

 It has become my life's main goal to never ever have to confess to some court of my tribunal and with the black sludge of shame and self-hatred having replaced my intestines that―"I was just following orders".

Yes, it has become my life's main goal to never fall victim to the destructive wave of the many, for my legs shall be steadfast in the morass it leaves when its waters retract with the tide of the black moon! Yes, it has become the purpose of my life to show myself―and the world―that it is indeed possible to do so. Yes, I repeat: If I ever have to confess to some court of my tribunal, with the black sludge of shame and self-hatred having replaced my intestines a long time ago, that "I was just following orders", then my worth as a human being has been irrevocably expended, and I shall be fated to a remorseless gallows... and the thought of this possibility, of becoming possessed by the many, is real to me and to everyone else, for it is a human possibility, and whatever is human in us is hard to scrape off with the blunt side of a knife―your knife, blade of impotency!

Humanity is not just a dog-shit smeared on the sole of our shoe, however much we may wish for that, and to admit defeat to the ugliest demons of this humanity is to admit defeat as a human being, and it is to become oneself a mere dog-shit on the sole of something greater; something sardonic, and something incomprehensibly Godlike...

Yes, I think to lose oneself is to become the many, and this has become, over the lapse of years, the most trepidating and anxious nightmare-prospect of my life, and indeed, it is the only existential prospect from which I feel tremendous horror... yes, that, and to die in a clumsy, accidental and humiliating way in front of people I loathe... thence, I shall do everything in my power to make sure that, if this day of somber reckoning really comes my path, if I truly find myself amongst the Echelon of the accursed and the weak, and if the judges and attorneys then smite me with the questions and inquiries whose responses I cannot formulate with a straight spine, then I shall recognize that I have failed catastrophically in my life. And then, hopefully, I shall surely have the power to kill myself out of pure and simple self-revulsion from uttering these words with a conscientious heart, "I was just following orders"!

For this reason,  I absolutely hate parts of what I am and what I am capable of. I am disgusted – sometimes in a very total way – by myself and my own capabilities. I would want to commit suicide out of shame – but maybe things have amounted, by then, to such a pathetic summit that I require fucking orders for that as well?

Who am I, even, to have the luxury of killing myself in my own debasement and self-hatred? Cattle are herded to the abattoir, and many people are killed or dead from forces and accidents beyond the scope of their control – and what can I say by this? Not all pigs cannot choose the glamour of suicide as their final statement to the world! It is a privilege to be equipped with the necessary faculties to commit the act of suicide. Tthe dark tide of history tells us this, and maybe that option will be depleted for me as well! For by this day, when it comes, if it comes, and afore the tribunal of my damnation, I have surely erased the lines I have focused a whole life to draw, the lines between the one and the many – and cowards do not deserve suicide! I am coward! Suicide as an existential option will not even occur in the mind of a coward, for cowardice is to be a single drop of water in the roaring flux of the waterfall, merely moving along, thundering down with a million others into the great and clamant noise of the river below...

But there is, though, hope – for it has become the goal of my whole project of self-improvement, indeed the focal purpose of my very life, to be able to, when the hearse comes my path, the phantom carriage of death, to be able to say, that in all my life, I never followed an order or a motivation I knew I ought not to follow.

Rudolf Höss could not redeem himself from his personal history of grotesque and repugnant atrocities by recognizing his submission to hierarchy and his indoctrination into a system of radical authoritarian collectivism, he tried that even as the pyres of his victim's ashes were still smoldering as he regretted and tried to repent himself before a world watching!

What a fool. But he was an interesting fool worthy of study. He was indeed a slave, but a willful one, because a slave of totalitarianism is one insofar as he is, by the same measuring rod, the slave of his own responsibilities. Remember: the perpetrators of the most barbaric and heinous cruelties more often than not evoke authority as the mechanism of their personal corruption – because they do not have in themselves the shame to recognize the true and premier of corrupting mechanisms, which is conformity – and not authority! Top-down authoritarian coercion is not a sufficient model for explaining the sickening crimes of the past and of the present... rather, it is my stern opinion that it should be explained fundamentally either by motivations of sheer psychopathic and/or sadistic malevolence, or by the socio-psychological mechanism of conformity; yes, I acknowledge, that sheer authoritarian pressure accounts for a great minority of the acts of malevolence, but it is hardly a foremost and sufficient model of analysis and intepretation in itself.

For example, I can tell you that there is not one single documented case of any German military or SS personnel during the Final Solution who faced brutalizing and grievous penance for refusing to execute whomever regarded subhuman. Even more abrasively – an astounding number of these perpetrators were voluntary in their participation of the systemic and industrial extermination of European Jewry. If that does not scare you, you are either totally stupid, ignorant by temperament, willfully blind, emotionally crippled, or – worst-case scenario – a vicious combination of all four of them.

new piece heavily influenced by a conversation with a dear friend of mine, working title "Eulogy" (work in progress)

we prosper at the moment and think it is eternal,
a human weakness amongst many !

and we do so without realizing the inherent fallacy of endless growth

as a consequence,  we come mock balance
and we come to worship the excess and comfort
we have deludely confused with growth,
with development and prosperity

we boast our sophistication as our bellies swell obesely,
as our minds overflow with the weakness of self-pity
and as our spines bend and cower in pathetic fatigue

we develop with greatest challenge and ordeal, and nothing about it is easy
but only the results linger in the end
and the struggle gets lost in the static aether of history

no-one remembers
no-one wants to remember
we do not have to remember
anymore

no past, no future !
only a utopia of broken glass and concrete

no nostalgia, no tradition
as long as the merchandise stays cheap

no justice, no peace !
as long as the charity of hypocrisy
ever turns its wheel

no pride, no self-respect !
on these heaps of plastic and styrofoam

we have become swine of bad standing !
and we have lost our respect
for nobility
for ancestry
for honor...

tradition replaced with decadence
modesty replaced with promiscuity
strife replaced with technology
existentialism replaced with cynicism
and the adoration of heroism replaced
with the martyrization of weakness

soulless emaciated figures creep
across the asphalt steppes
across the parking lots
across an endless decrepitude
of modernist architecture in ruination

we brag about philanthropy, humanism, 

charity, solidarity and egalitarianism
while our children are raped 

in the darkness of their very negations

but don't mention about it

here are no problems !
here are no hurdles !

we have created a culture
where people become "nice", "pleasant",
"decent" and "well-behaved",
but we have completely forsaken the art
of nurturing and fostering a hero, a warrior

we ignore the wisdom
that only kids with fucked up childhoods
become something in the end

and we shower them instead with the idea
that everything is okay

and it is a culture of mediocrity !
where mediocrity is lauded and awarded

it is a culture of indulgence !
where self-constraint and will-power
have become some ideals of history dispensed with

alienation, nihilism, spiritual emptiness
bloom in the gardens of a modern world
and all the botanists have gone insane,
feeding the flour beetles of hedonia,
nurturing its pests and vermins,
culturing a terror without value
without direction
and without moral sense

mass lassitude, erstwhile pride depleted !

equanimity and integrity but a memory fading
in the hive-mind of the shopping mall hordes
rhapsodic about not life itself
but about what in life can be purchased !

like porcelain vases filled with rotting flowers
are the cubicles and offices of our brave new world

like a pack of sorry adulterers moaning in stock and bondage,
whipped and mocked all the way to the ravenstone,
the human mass moves, yet still they are smiling -

they do not understand their fate.

they do not grasp what they have done unto themselves

but i see clearly

i carry forbearance and the werewithal to act and react

i am designed
a hunter
a lover
a person

but i am condemned
to a world
of shopping,
of hating,
and of non-persons

and upwards i turn my head
and upwards i scream my angst :

is the cobra no longer fierce beneath its reptile hood?
is the fire in the eyes of tigers no longer red and hot?
are the deeds of men and wombs of women no longer bearing culture?

nothing anymore to kill
nothing anymore for which to fight
nothing anymore to overcome
nothing anymore to explore

here we have goods !
here we have commodity !
here we have comfort and the ever proliferation of ease !

why build, why work, why create
when you can buy ?

dignity, honor, reputation and self-respect
means nothing now
when they are put on shelves
for the hungry fool to consume blindly

cheap wisdom for sale
cheap pleasure for sale
cheap comfort for sale

nothing feels different
nothing feels good anymore
nothing wills to be different -

except i !

i am different
i will to be different
i shall acquire difference
and i shall proclaim this difference
as independence

my library contains the obscure epistolary wisdoms
of multi-centennial correspondences
between dogmatic bishops and so-called heretics !

i have letters in hundreds, in thousands, in tens of thousands !

 and we shall remember when the night comes
 that only one letter differs
 a total lie from a from a life total !

    appendix :

it has been said :

"power corrupts,
and absolute power
corrupts absolutely"

this is a falsity.

power does not corrupt people.
it is people who corrupt power.

and that is what ultimately happened to us

and i horripilate !
i awe in fear and terror

i gaze deep into the **** of Gaia
and i taste therefrom what i can

i fall onto my knees
before the anti-clockwise chaos-vortex
that is love

and love opens my eyes, and i see !

and what do i see? 

i see

the end

of the world

From the upcoming cassette release of "Arktis" by LOVEBOY

(the cassette release will include "atmospheric poems" accompanying each track. it is an idea heavily inspired by what Varg did on his two ambient prison albums)

The Shamanic Worship of Arnakuagsak, Goddess of Walrusses & Sea Lions

upon the ghost mountain
a sacrificial pit of dead seals and arctic birds
gutted, embellished with their entrails
arranged as works of art
in a shamanic geometry obscure

shrubs, lichens and mosses are placed
on animistic altars

a jam of seal's fat and bearberries
smeared on wooden figurines esoteric
holding small stone weapons
and adorned with gleaming eyes of arctic sapphire

there is a skin woven over and around the moon this night,
and it is the skin of Arnakuagsak,
goddess of walruses and sea lions
and in the center of that skin
there is a miniscule hole
from which her piercing ray of light
emerges violently

the shaman becomes
epicentral to the world
through the shamanic worship of Arnakuagsak

frozen cubes of whale's blubber,
arctic mushroom dried in summer,
grinded walrus-tusk and whiskers,
tooth and fermented sea lion's marrow
are put in boiling cauldron's broth

the shaman lets it cool,
pours it into his goblet and proceeds to devour it

and the spirit of the shaman
becomes the receptacle
of a violent collision
of earthly and unearthly energies
through the shamanic worship of Arnakuagsak
tradition breathes and survives
even should the white man complete his destructive task
of melting all the ice around us;
of raping completely our beautiful homeland,
Inuit Nunangat