A Joy So Near To Melancholy

My Spirit is beaten. I don’t want to dance anymore. I don’t want to sing. I don’t want to look up at anyone. I don’t want to look down on anyone.  I’ve always been here, my body limp and dead. Not even the predators want to eat me.  I’m still alive, I just don’t know when’s the right time to move. When she came I felt safe and protected, And went under her care. I walked alongside her… But then I got lost trying to find my way out without her. And now I’m laid bare. I could wait again, playing dead until I find the right time to move. But my spirit has decayed and now it says it doesn’t care if I survive. My body needs to move again, but my spirit doesn't easily lend to that. To move, jump into the void, and reap all of its benefits and consequences. Something I fear, something I hate, something I love, something ... what is it that I am missing? Unless this is all there is, and my spirit is truly death itself: not letting in any light from others, nor offering respite to anyo...

Forgone. Surge. The Elemental Dirge. Beyond The Surge. Devise. Inspect. Derive. Correct. Begin. “Beyond the surge, under waves submerged, grant me your blessing, o Queen of Earth!” O her eternity doves fly me to the heavens! I look below and don’t say my goodbyes, for I am here now, And the pordrone mitherlings fight for scraps, While I dance above grass, in the pillows of clouds not yet seen, at the verge of cliffs where doves come to clean, I am here, you are here. What more could I ever want, Could you make that crystal clear? Despair is known not to the one who stays, but to the one, who leaves. Who leaves to the depths of Hell, where no man should ever make it out alive? Me. Yet, here I am. Forged from the blood of God’s soldiers, alchemically altered by the transmutation of Satanic treasures, I come out alive, yet dead. My body never left Hell. But my Mind and Soul, Returned to Heaven, Just for a Kiss.

Why I Fly Why does it matter where I fly, If I never wonder why? Elephant of Doom stomps through the grounds. They haven’t seen such a sight in their lifetime— can there be a reason found? Godly and provoking, a village now stuck choking, round and round men croaking… blood forever soaking. I vanish in a flash and direct my flight somewhere else. Do I wonder why, if I fly, fly, fly? I sit upon a mountaintop, waiting for the trumpets of men to sound their last lingering note — and then stop. I count: one, two, three, go! I watch thousands of men charge, spears in hand. Hours pass by, and I can’t understand. The gutting and wrenching, the screaming, the clenching — a frenzy for a life worth catching. I wonder why, and fly, fly fly. I return to the village, curious as I am. Burnt down in the rampage of an animal, I decide there’s nothing left. I scan the hot, humid savannah: thick, ta...

 Ancient Darkness breeds inside a sacrificial pigeon     Here, put it into this pot of gold!     What will become of it? Will it grow in size? Will it feed the entire village? The world? Thick black tendrils grow out of a shadowy mass of cancer in its heart The arms sponge outwardly from tar stained bone to fragile webs of tendons, until it captures the men in a rather mycelial prison.  The spores have already taken hold of the men's mental capacities... in through the nostrils, and out through the blood stream to every single powerhouse of the cell.     I can't see anything anymore...     My body feels like it is burning from the inside... fuck!      Why is my heart screaming like a boiling tea kettle? Ancient Darkness breeds inside the men. Their lives have been confiscated. The rotting cage infiltrates their bodies with its now ten ton tendrils, imbibing them with a final shock of fate, their eyes flashing green. As the...

The First is always the hardest. But after a while, it is simply but a morning routine: One head to the block, let the gravity work the guillotine. I forget to wash the floorboards since the rich red Mahogany soaks it in nicely. I just let the bodies air out, figuring they'd learn to breathe again eventually. It's not until the raccoons come inside to take their supper, that I write the time of death. If a bird sings its song in the canopy of the forest, and there's at least one other to hear it, does the struggle of man make a sound? - Father Time, XX89AD

Death waits for the tulips to dance Therefore...          Water your Soil          Give it the Light you want to witness          Let your Garden be caressed by the Spring winds          They are well intimate with the passage of time          It doesn't matter that you bear the sour lime          The energy of the world will remember          All of your greatest aspirations in time Death is the ultimate orgasm, Therefore...          Cherish Every Moment          Let it Pulse within you          Let your body feel the warmth of the burning sun          It is there that you can feel a moment          It is there you can feel her with you          ...