Has it been so long, since I last posted?

Where has my mind been? Into what dark recess has it been seething?

"What road are you taking," asked the werewolf, 'the Needles Road or the Pins Road?"

"Pray thee, what's his disease?"

"A very pestilential disease, my Lord; they call it lycanthropia."

"What's that?"

"Ill tell you! In those who are possessed with it, there o'erflows a transformation into wolves. They steal forth into churchs for the dear god in heaven can't stop them! The hunt and score the night for prey, feeding off wild deer that they chase down, howling fearfully in victory at their catch. Theirs is the wolfskin with a man's mind, and some say that they alone are beloved of god!"

85.

Borborygmi

I distrust any thoughts uttered by any man whose health is not robust. All other thoughts are surely symptoms of disease. Yet those are often beautiful, and may be true within the circle of the conditoins of the speaker. And yet again! Do we not find that the most robust of men express no thoughts at all? They eat, drink, sleep, and copulate in silence. What utter proof of the fact that all thought is dis-ease? We are Strassburg geese; the tastiness of our talk comes from the disorder of our bodies. We like it; this only proves that our tastes also are depraved and debauched by our disease.

Satyr

"I would rather be a Satyr than a Saint."
-Nietzsche

Sin

"Doubt as sin. ... Christianity has done its utmost to close the circle and declared even doubt to be sin. One is supposed to be cast into belief without reason, by a miracle, and from then on to swim in it as in the brightest and least ambiguous of elements: even a glance towards land, even the thought that one perhaps exists for something else as well as swimming, even the slightest impulse of our amphibious nature - is sin! And notice that all this means that the foundation of belief and all reflection on its origin is likewise excluded as sinful. What is wanted are blindness and intoxication and an eternal song over the waves in which reason has drowned."
-Friedrich Nietzsche, The Dawn (of Daybreak)

Tacitus, commenting in Germania about the Germanic warriors wrote:
"They begin all battles and always fight in front."

Madman: "I am like you, darkest Night, naked and laid bare! I walk a flaming path above daydream."

Night: "No, you are not like me Madman, for you look backwards and your ankles are crooked!"

Madman: "I am like you, great starry Night, silent and still, for in my lonely heart lies a Goddess in childbirth, whose navel touches heaven and hell."

Night: "No, you are not like me Madman, for you bark at the moon and lap-up blood spilt into the abyss!"

Madman: "I am like you, wild Night, terrible Night, for my ears are crowded with the screams of religious nations and the moaning wail of a past that never was."

Night: "No, you are not like me Madman, for you are little and petty and call monsters 'friend'!"

Madman: "I am like you cruel and aweful Night, for my heart rips at my chest and my lips drink the blood of all dead."

Night: "No, you are not like me Madman, for you are infectious ignorance!"

Madman: "I am like you Night - joyous and glad - for my shadow is drunk on wicked wine and lies ... beautiful lies!"

Night: "No, you are not like me Madman, for your soul is barren and your heart shriveled. Nor can you ride the tempest and grasp lightening!"

Madman: "I am like you passionate Night, for my blood pumps with the thrusting of lovers, and I am caressed by their withered kisses."

Night: "No .. you are mad, Madman! I am mighty and high, and yours is a throne of fallen kings. I wear a cloak of starshine, and your garment is torn with dried shit. I am loving thoughts and gentle whispers, and you speak no language, but babble on saying nothing!"

Madman: "You are right, I am not like you Night, but more than like you, for we are Brothers Twin. Where you reveal empty space, I reveal my soul."

In Repetition, Kierkegaard asks:
"How did I get into the world? Why was I not asked about it and why was I not informed of the rules and regulations but just thrust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings? How did I get involved in this big enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager - I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint?"

Some 150 years later, David Byrne of the Talking Heads wrote:

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautifulWife
And you may ask yourself - well...how did I get here?

And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!

Same as it ever was...Letting the days go by...water flowing underground
Into the blue again...in the silent water...Under the rocks and stones...there is water underground.

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?

Once in a lifetime...Same as it ever was...

Faith is more than a fleeting sensation, more than a step towards something else. It is the release of identity through the existence of an external power. It is the beginning of loss and despair so deep and intense that entire civilizations have succumbed to its horric power. Yet it is simple and mono-dimensional, and for this, its darkness should be admired.

"You who do not wish to die with your body, cut out and cast in the fire, from your habits and ideas, all that can be destroyed. The indestructible will reveal itself."
-Isha Schwaller de Lubicz

"In the classic novel by Pauline Reage, Story of O, there lies concealed a great philosophical, and virtually mystical, message. It is a message of personal transformation and change, of the path of the human soul on the road to empowerment and even transcedence. ... O..allows herself to be 'given', and since this is essentially an act of her own will, she succeeds in further objectifying her ego in yet another step toward self-realization."
-C. Dawn and S. Flowers, Carnal Alchemy: A Sado-Magical Exploration of Pleasure, Pain and SElf-Transformation

"Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread."
-H. P. Lovecraft, The Dunwich Horror

Working Class Hero

As soon as your born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
A working class hero is something to be.

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be.

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear,
A working class hero is something to be.

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasents as far as I can see,
A working class hero is something to be.

There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill,
A working class hero is something to be.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.

-John Lennon

Let The Bodies Hit the Floor!
http://shizzville.com/let-bodies-hit-floor#comment-850

Some call this current affairs:

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - As plaintiffs sobbed but Cardinal Roger Mahony sat silently in court, the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles and victims of clergy sex abuse on Monday finalized their record $660 million settlement.
http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSN1528797120070717

I call it old news:
Bishops ... may fuck thair fill and be unmarried."
-Sir David Lyndesay, Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaits 1534

Riddu Riddu

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8565780869789025531

Niflhel

When the light of my eyes has faded forever, then, even then I shall not forget the vast planes of Niflhel. Why? Because it is my home .. forever! The river and the thousand bridges, the white peak beyond, the sweet-scented moon glow gardens, the lilies, the pleasing noises of wind laden with myst and the music of bells .. all these are mine!

Death Tree

As I walked upon a road
I saw a man upon a tree.
I did not speak but sat to watch
The ravens pull and pluck and gorge.
Night I stayed and as sun rose
The man was born anew.
So my spear I took and stab him fresh,
That man upon the road.
Ravens came and ate fresh flesh
And night I stayed again.
Upon the morning I beheld
That man full born with strength.
Outstretched my hand to help him down
And kindly did he speak,
"Thank you friend for watchful eye,
Here, hold this rune for me."

I drink the heron guarded honeyed mead
And did those things of which others only read.
Upon brittled pages of ancient book
The wind awoke, elms and willows shook
Before the galdr spoken loud
Thunder of fantastic wings did abound.
Down from Ginnungagap gulfs Nidhogg fell,
The grey-green, stupendous, bat winged Draco volans,
Come from the cloudy shores of Hel's shores,
Black furred and iron beaked, with eyes like mirrors reflecting heat.
When upon his back Nidhogg did unfurl
His vast and mighty wings across Jotun seas.
Of space we flew amid the Eleven Rivers,
So reached at last the mythic Tree
To men forbidden and by gods adorned,
Yggdrasil, where great Norns weave
Bloodied bonds that fetters keep.

Bhagavad Gita and Druidry

"Die and you win heaven. Conquer and you enjoy the earth. Stand up now, Son of Kunti, and resolve to fight. Realize that pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat, are all one and the same. Then! Go into battle!"

"If this was the kind of creed taught by the Druids, and it seems most probable that this was the case, it is no wonder that the Romans hastily suppressed it. Few doctrines could have been more dangerous in the event of a revolt against Rome. It explains too the speed and fury of Boadicea's revolt and why she did not hesitate to sacrifice her captives to Adraste."
-T.C. Lethbridge, Survival of the White Horse Cult in Ireland

Life of Willibrord: Apostle to the Frisians

"A storm once drove a man of god to this island. He stayed until the storm lifted giving him an opportunity to sail away. He witnessed the island's idiotic religion. He also saw the island's cruel king condemn violators of the spring's sacrality to terrible deaths. He invoked the trinity and baptized three men in the spring. He also planned to kill some of the island's animals for food. The pagans looked on, think the Christians would swiftly die or go mad. But when they saw the violators suffer no harm, they fell into a terrified bewilderment and then told King Radbod what they had seen."

Driven mad because their gods did not lift a hand to smite their foe sounds like Christian propoganda.

Gardens of Niflhel

Beyond that Well, whose ancient masonry
Reaches to the Roots, moss covered and thick threads,
There are terraced gardens, rich with white fleshy flowers,
And flutter of night bird and flutterby and bee.
There are walking trails and bridges arching over
Warm indigo lotus-pools reflecting hof eaves,
And black cherry trees with delicate boughs and leaves
Against purple petals where mead-colored herons hover.
All is there still, even after old dreams flung
Open, and the gate torn asunder to that stone circle
Where drowsy streams fall upon winding ways,
Trailed by shimmering green vines dripping from bending branches.
I preserve both dreams, of wall strong and ancient, and grim and great,
The Well still stands that leads to the gate.

Down dark streets of cold moss-grown stone
I come to the shambling face unknown -
A voiceless troll walks by my side,
And to the Gate he stands beside.
Before the silent troll I make
Black sacrifice and speak those Names
That only echo in man's most fearful dreams.
The Gate groans open letting me pass,
Rightfully here by after-birthed Wyrd and Freyja's stars
Do I walk past. Cloaked I stand now alone to take the Oath
Before Hel's Elder Throne -
She laughs and draws her hood aside
To let my eyes rest awile, upon the
Mist that resides, behind the mask that never hides.

Evil Men

There is a whole secret cult of evil men - ask any magician of erudition about Hel and the Yellow Sign. This cult is devoted to the purpose of tracking down white-lighters and those who dabble, to injure them on behalf of monstrous powers from other dimensions.