1. |
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This house of clay, this trick of cards,
Carved from coldest sun, told to run and hunt,
Black beneath the skin, the only binding thread in time
These bones are an echo. His blood in my walls.
All these passing threads delude us surely there is no true sight but blinded numbness.
Lies.
This house of clay, this trick of cards,
Cast in coldest stone, born to run and hunt.
Black beneath the skin, the only binding thread in time,
These bones an echo, His blood in my walls.
Now its artifice merely veils a fontanelle,
A cunt of wretched birth, a tooth upon the wheel.
Die.
All these passing threads delude us surely there is no true sight but blinded numbness.
Hauhet, accept my service, standing in my bones, balanced on those souls
The seasons flow through my eyes like smoke but my will is mercury and my death is final.
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2. |
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3. |
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These constituents, pure.
Time is unwound.
The way is cleared only by flame
Following ablutions of boiling blood.
The path is travelled only by crawling
Blindly through the dead and the crying.
Finding their hands, Finding their eyes.
Finding their tongues, finding their lies.
Finding their nails, finding their spite
Finding their spines, finding their sight.
Finding their loss, finding their hate.
Finding their end, finding their fate.
But I chose to wait in the void of Heh until the time is right
To stand and gather power, to rise like a meteor
To part the sea of rot and take it further.
To separate the dry bone from the flesh.
To flay the atoms from that which sees.
To strip the colour from the vertices.
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4. |
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5. |
SVMMAM [inverted summit]
07:00
|
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Ply twist bur, Sol at myrrh.
Cut twice and burn. Split piece turn.
Shift, glimpse truth. Smother warp of youth.
Great peak, stone beak: none.
Soft pain draw and drain: some.
Then I’ll take my turn.
Bile, dust, stitch, favour, play, moth, glitch.
Glutton, stale, oval, interred at my table.
Eaten their own cluster wedding in gloam.
Fucking the wound within eye whites bound.
Then I’ll take my turn inside it, faithful parasite.
Draining all this light infinite fill my wound then let it tear.
We will take the lowest summit, faithful parasite.
Draining all this light.
Ply twist bur, Sol at myrrh.
Cut twice and burn. Split piece turn
Great peak, stone beak, Soft pain draw and drain.
Shift, glimpse truth. Smother warp of youth.
Splinter of faith removed.
All hell in a single drop.
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6. |
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7. |
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Witness all the gutted snakes, branching worms of mutant light.
Take it in your gullet this putrid mass of mute, forcing out nine thousand limbs,
This ciliated chitin, retching as my teeth grow backward.
Tearing sight-lines through the mind. To lose and fall to none but I
Nine high. Pinwheel centred deep in Ninsars’ abyss.
Four chains to the memory, Lord in stone.
Rising through black flame from the past to the future.
Nine high, like a single tear, a cell in stasis, Luna in obscura.
Crossed by paradise and turning toward the world.
Judgement turns within me. Carving out my days, burying each night
Sekhmet rests her blade at my throat.
Longing for this revolution.
Rising like flames through ice. Rising like maggots from the soil.
Turning these thoughts like a clock. Arming my time, every second an eternal war.
Nine high. Pinwheel centred deep in Ninsars’ abyss. Four chains to the memory, Lord in stone.
Rising through the forked mirror from the last to the first.
Nine high, like a single spear, a cell in stasis, Luna in Lumina.
Longing for this revolution. Longing for the flames. Longing for the maggots.
Witness all the gutted snakes, branching worms of mutant light, Take it in your gullet,
This putrid mass of mute, Forcing out nine thousand limbs,
This ciliated chitin, reaching nirvana as my teeth grow backward.
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8. |
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9. |
MEA [bones out of orbit]
10:04
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Faceless time. Only rot. Formless and holy.
All life falling through the lidless eye.
Your blind consumption of light, this empty syllable of so many pathetic deaths.
Thyne flesh consummated at last
By a horde of gullets blind.
To become a god of death I consume eternal night.
To become gravid of hell I bathe my breath in the decay of the flesh.
To receive anima mundi I sever the cold flesh from the surface dream.
A dance of tiny cuts, ticks on a stopped clock, I gather these minerals, to fill the void with illusion.
Thyne flesh is absent.
life is the dream of the dead.
Thyne flesh is a valley of succour for a horde of gullets blind.
To become gravid of hell I fill the eye of time with eternal dreams.
To receive anima mundi I bathe my breath in the decay of the flesh.
I am the rot that waits for all, I am the horde of sightless worms, I am the festival of bacterial stench.
I am the consummation of flesh and void, I am the end of every passing second.
I am born in the moment of my death, I am the matter of future conscious blood.
In life I consumed you. Through death I have become you.
If only to drink of your sorrow. If only to make a ladder of your bones.
I’ll take your days, you’ll take my nights.
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MEAT LOCKER Records Norwich, UK
... a pipe dream, a bunch of mates, a smokey, sweaty, walk-in freezer filled with amps, mics, cables, beer cans, broken cymbals, smoke and NOISE.. Although the locker itself is now deceased its ghost drifts on..
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