THIS IS THE DARK –LIGHT.

triquetra (1)

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

The emperor of the Tarot as ridden through the stygian river of hell;

The Queen of the gambling pack is death to those who cannot feel.

The tidal wave that corrupts emancipation from the top down is falling apart.

As above so below; the new tower of Babylon is crumbling before it can be built.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

The world as we perceive is in chaos. The dark-light cannot hold.

The world spins around revolving clocks that wind down to finite nil.

‘The centre cannot hold’. ‘The centre cannot hold’.

When the centre cannot hold we all fall down; we all fall down; we all fall down – dead!

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

Burning. Burning fires. Explosions and land grabs.

Greed is not energy, it cannot instil, it cannot create; it is a black hole.

Greed is not what you want but what others want from you.

Burn. Burn. Burning fire lost is the emptiness of found.

Round and round the sacred bush on fire.

God is the child of fire; God is the child of water;

The earth requires neither but is flooded with fire and water.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

This is the dark-light. This is the whole ideal.

Advertisements
Posted in magic, magick, prose | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

EGG, SNAKE, MASKS & SYMBOLS

404983_332636656799427_276471289082631_960504_1208248795_n

The egg is the symbol of the soul the snake spirals the egg: the symbol of the snake is the ring.

The ring the symbol of union; the promise of the union is the unborn child. The promise of the unborn child is the unborn fate that awaits its birth.

The color of folly is gold; the want of man from gold is greed. The mask that greed wears is gold. At midnight the dancers stop their waltz and remove their masks. Beneath the mask of gold the color of greed’s face is red. The color of red is war; war is the face of hate. Hate is the pillar of hope that is lost and can never be found. Loss is the color of blue; blue is the colour of the cloudless sky. A corpse with no sight stares at the cloudless sky reflected in them is the color of blue.

Tears form as clouds across the blue sky to drop as rain below and upon:

The children at play;

The lovers at tragedy;

The corpse with no sight;

The cities and towns in prosperity and ruin;

Pools form streams that trickle into rivers,

Rivers that flow into seas;

Seas that become waves as they enter the oceans.

Oceans that are kept in flow and ebb from the land by the spiraling dance of the moon as it revolves around the Earth.

The Earth is the symbol of the egg;

The moon is the symbol of the snake.

The want of the union between the egg and the snake is that of the creation of life.

The masquerade of life is the improbable made possible,

Between the egg and the ring.

Posted in mystic, prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment

PROPHECY AND PRAYER

study-time-and-effort-makes-more-effective-magick-rituals-e1344131983177

DO I LIKE THIS DISMAY; UNDAUNTED BY TIREDNESS THAT FRETTING WEAVING WOE. THE CARELESS PURSUIT OF UNMANAGEABLE THINGS. WHAT IS THE TRUTH BUT THE PERCEPTION OF LIES.‘BELIEVE IN ME FOR I’M THE TRUTH OF THINGS, THE LEADER OF KINGS, IN THIS IMMORAL LAND.’ SCREAMS THE CRUCIFIED FOOL.

THE TIME OF INCARENATION IS NOW. THE TWELVE HEADED DRAGON IS GORGED ON THE NATIONS REPRESENTED BY SIX-POINTED STAR WHO HAVING BEEN SUBJEGATED BY NEAR ETHNIC CLEANSING NOW SITS ON THE THRONE WITH THE BEAST ON THE LEFT AND THE ANGEL OF GENESIDE ON THE RIGHT. ALL THE PORTENDS ARE NOW IN PLACE THAT YOU WHO READS AND I WHO WRITE WILL HAVE TO DIE. AS BROTHER TURNS ON BROTHER AND WE ARE NO MORE.
DESOLATE AND EMPTY DIVIDED WE FALL SCATTERING IN THE DESERT FOR A BRIGHTER SEED TO TAKE PLACE. A HARVEST OF PLENTY ON THE CARCASS OF THE OLD.

SEPULCHRE LIGHT BURNING BROKEN EYES. IT MATTERS NOT WHAT I SAY OR EVEN WHAT I DO. ONLY ACTIONS COUNT FOR ANY THING IN THE LAND OF THE REAL. BLIND POSSIBILITIES; UNSPOKEN LOVE. HUSH BREATHE… HOLD IN BE STILL LOVE,…BE VERY STILL CHERUB FOR THE BEAST ROAMS THE CORRIDOR OF NIGHT. AND WE WHO ARE; WE WHO CAN HEAR AND WE WHO CAN SEE IN THE LAND OF ETERNAL NIGHT WHERE THE BLIND GOD SITS ON HIS THRONE TRAPPING OUR SOULS IN CHAOS AND DISORDER. FOR HUSH I HEAR THE CURTAIN CALL. IT IS TIME TO WEAR MAKE-UP AND FALSE SMILES AND SILICON IMPLANTS. FEED THE PROLITARIAN ON PORN… ALPHAS DECIDE WHILE DELTAS SACRAFICE THEIR LIFES. THE TIME HAS COME WHEN BOTH WORDS ARE MADE FLESH.

THE TIME OF THE TYRANT AND WHORE ACRONYMNED A.I.D.S IS HERE….
AS ONCE IT WAS; THEN SO IT SHALL BE…
FOREVER IN PRESENCE PRAY ANON… FOR NOW IS OUR LAST TEAR…NOW IS OUR LAST EMBRACE… BEFORE THE VOID IS SEALED TIGHT.

Posted in horror, mystic, prose | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

HIGH

Thyra Hilden & Pio Diaz, ’Kirche im Feuer’ (Video Installation), Katharinenkirche, Frankfurt Rhein-Main, Germany, 2008 (2)

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on midnight strolls where trolls like hunkered demons in the shadow of their own lost souls hide in blasphemous alleyways unseen.

High on helium and gasses that glow; street lamps making the whole cities cement skin, dark, unfathomable and obscene.

High on voyeur of the young souls spoilt on wealth’s elixirs of passing youths, pissing out bladders on sidewalks new; waiting for taxis to usher these newbies with pregnancy and rotting false dreams as old as brand new.

High on dark rain that falls and falls listening to cars that scars my hearing with their redundant carbon monoxide obnoxious screams.

 

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on the dizzying heights of a career only to find that all that glittered was fool’s gold that society took away from you.

High on politics, democracy and freedom while living in debt bondage in a royal plutocracy kept in control by extreme means.

High on money, coke and good times, only to find yourself alone in a pool of lost years – diseased and mean.

High on what you thought yourself to be but there it is a Dorian Grey’s prophecy fulfilled, as the ambulance takes you from the sidewalk to the grave, the NHS thanks you.

 

High on all that education and where the fuck did that get you?

 

 

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on insomnia, masturbation and butyl nitrate. Pornography, entertainment, ego-tripping-gobsmacked-media-whores, surrounds you from flat screen devices.

High on modern love, charged by MasterCard only makes you feel like a rent boy who takes a butt plug from a client whore who is all used out.

High on woman’s rights and how did that work out? No more good men, and half salary raise and a loss of motherhood but a gain in bitchy sterility will that suit you?

High on café’s serving coffees with cow’s pus entrenched milk to fill the need that dead veal and you feel now.

 

High on modern life it’s all just too fucking great.

 

High, high, high, how high do I need to get away from all of you?

Posted in horror, prose | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Little Celia Peak

black_widow

Little Celia Peak lay a sleep in bed, the room lit by bright moon-light.
When a silken strands, a lonesome beam of silver, a red and black spider ascended from the ceiling and alighted upon her cheek.
It dithered there for only a moment no more and then hither off onto the pillow and was never to be seen there, here or anywhere again.

The next morning in the bright sunlight a red mark had appeared on little Celia Peak’s Cheek her face looked a little puffed indeed.
“Mummy, mummy!” She cried “There’s a red mark on my cheek.”
“Not to worry my little Celia these things come and go, now off and have your breakfast, dear!” Said Mummy dear a frown worn on her face.

The next morning in the bright sunlight the red mark had become larger had become redder and fattened little Celia’s face. And little Celia awoke with horrible face ache.
“Mummy, mummy” She cried. “The red mark on face it’s bigger and it hurts so…” Cried little Celia Peak.
“Oh my!” cried her Mummy dropping breakfast plates and all in a hurry to give her daughter a cuddle as if that could ease the malady away.
“We’ll call a doctor, and if necessary an ambulance if needs be to whisk you away and get rid of that nasty boil on your face and fever you have today!” Cried a tearful mummy reaching for the phone while cuddling the sobbing Celia into loving embrace.

“Well now,” said the doctor. Looking at the thermometer taken from little Celia’s mouth as her face was flush indeed. “This is not good, this is not good”.
He smiled shaking the thermometer and putting away in bag.
“Have you lost your appetite for good wholesome meals, even sweeties and does your tummy hurt sometimes?” The doctor inquired.
It wasn’t her tummy but her face that made her feel distinctly ill. The pain that gnawed and grew day by day had nothing to do with her tummy that crumbled in a satisfied way.
The doctor looked at the mark, prodded at the mark and then prodded the mark some more.
“Does it hurt here or there or only when I touch it here?” Diligently and gently the doctor inquired when it the mark first appeared.

“Well?” She heard mummy. The door was closed but the landing was always good acoustics for Celia’s ear.
“Nothing to worry you or daughter’s pretty heads about only a fever and it looks to me like a bite of a spider or insect that’s gone a little bad caused the infection soon be right as rain and as sparkling as a new day.” The doctor said in his voice of jocular ease.
But that’s not how Celia felt. No she did not feel like that at all. She felt as if her face was growing fatter and bigger and less of Celia and more of something else; something so hungry it would eat her all up.
But the doctor had yellow and green pills to give one after dinner and one at night to ease the pain and the other to bring her temperature down and stop it soaring so eventually all that Celia would be doing is snoring.

At midnight time when the mice are on the lookout for food and owls and cats patrol the night. And sensible parents and their children are all asleep. Celia gasped and woke-up and stared straight at the ceiling above. She felt skin move as the bump erupted out and skin shredded and blood was spilt as a thousand hungry baby spiders clambered out. They moved fast and hungry swarming her face, scalp and mouth until every orifice was covered with feeding little mites that borrowed and ate as if the world would end.

The next morning fresh and bright Mummy could find no trace of little Celia, though she looked in wardrobes, under bed and all the places that little girls hide out. No trace was ever found of little Celia Peak from that day to this to the grave, even when they mummy and daddy moved away – of their daughter most dearly of her fate they never learnt.

So tonight dear child or adult who sleeps in bed makes sure that a red and black spider should not land and leave it’s children beneath your skin or else your fate could be the same as little Celia Peak.

Posted in horror | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Witch

Witches_Being_Hanged

The Witch

She arrived on a tumultuous night: screaming wind, crying rain, explosive thunder, riding the lightning bolts through the dark clouds.

Blight on crops; the milk turned foul before the teat of dead cow.

Miscarriage of all the livestock and the wheat turned brown shrivelling to nought.

And worse was still to come.

What should we do we hear her scream at the dark full moon; we hear her cackle laugh at our misfortunes most dire. She sits on the shards of our dreaming moments waking us early and leaving no rest for her bed is made of our unrest. Our babies two now and that’s two too many have been taken by her foul magic for the blasphemy she hold most dear, is the fat of a young babe as a lotion for her skin, so that she can fly through the air; worse still to come for in her wake pestilence she brings a new black death to haunt in her way.

Then we rose in union and we screamed: “How to rid of the witch from hell; this Hade’s whore who destroys our lives and kills our babes! How do we rise from the ashes of the storm that feeds on lost hope and eats our souls?”

Then one night as the moon lay naked and full we hunted her with iron-rod and salt and sedated her with wild cats they chased the witch and ripped her skin; we prayed to God and to church to help catch the witch so foul. Fallen from grace, fallen from man, the witch cursed the cats and they all fell dead. She hexed at those of the brave that hunted the fiend from hell but God doeth protect, and having no power from the devil, when the moon became the early sun and her powers of the night did fade. We clasped her then in iron chains, and her body to the first giblet and hung her high, screaming and cursing till death took its reward and delivered the creature back to hell.

The witch is dead we cheered and cheered. We buried her deep and her evil ways deeper still. The witch is dead and buried deep and can no more lay waste or take our babes. The witch is dead and buried deep she now lives in hell with the devil and is the queen in Hade’s land.

One season, one year of peace did past. Till on the darkest night of January a storm did come upon this land and freed the witch from her earthly tomb and from the reign in hell to earth her evil soul did come. To haunt our dreams and destroy our crops; lay waste to our beasts till nothing they could yield. And worse of all another two new-borns have been stripped of skin and fat for her potion – the witchcraft’s skill most black.

We can hear her cackle at the full moon midnight. When she rides the winds with lotion made so foul to spread misery, plague and misfortune upon the crowd. Her joy is our pain, her drink is our tears no more can we fight this pestilence which comes in her wake. What should we do the witch is back? Those that hunted her died at the first breath she took when earthbound she did get.

We went to a priest and prayed: what should be done the witch is back. ‘No-use to bury her deep’, said the priest ‘cut off her head, and cut out her heart, and remove her tongue, and burn her black, then sprinkle her ashes at a crossroads on the first months full moon to stop the witch from coming back’…The witch is back, we killed her and buried her deep but alas the witch is back.

So now what is left of our dying village did creep upon her at the midnight hour when by a twisted oak she stood. She laughed and spat at our hopeless crowd with taunts most cruel of how she would haunt us till eternity pass. Then all at once as if God answered our prayers and sent an angel down a young maiden of quiet continence who had lost her babe and family to the pestilence most foul, plunged a wooden stake through the heart of the blackest of the witches that hell hath sent, with a wrath born of a young woman who had lost all hope, except for the taste of vengeance against the witch. The stake had been blessed by the young maid’s tears for the love of the family all dead and gone, did burn the witch’s skin and set fire to the direst heart. On her knees the witch did fall, the crowd did fall in anger and loss did tear the blackened heart from her chest; tore the tongue from her mouth, removing her head; with fire we did pyre her body until not much but ash was left and sprinkled it at the first crossroads to the cold north wind that did howl, taking her soul home to hell.

The witch is dead and as not come back. We pray and pray the witch does not come back.

Posted in horror | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist

BOOK REVIEW

 

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN

 JOHN AJVIDE LINDQVIST

 

 

First of all I would like to point out that the book has been published in America under the title of ‘Let Me In’ and in the UK as ‘Let The Right One In’ it doesn’t matter, they are still the same novel by Lindqvist, (and for some reason the Library as the American release, but hey I don’t really care it was still a great read and it is only the title) now that is out of the way let’s get on with reviewing the book. And while on pointless trivia Lindqvist took the name for the novel from a Morrissey’s song: ‘Let the right one in / let the old dreams die / Let the wrong ones go / They cannot do what you want them to do’.

          Lindqvist is being heralded as the Swedish Stephen King. After reading the book I can see why. The problem I have with Stephen King is the same, I think that everyone has with him, namely is that he tends to go on a bit. This said I still find his books tremendous fun and a rewarding read. Lindqvist is not as prolific as King in his detail or description but he is thorough in situations and characterisation and by doing so you get to know the characters as other that one dimensional types.

          The film ‘Let The Right One In’ guts the book and gives the essential of the story making it a visual beautiful film and overcoming the short comings of the novel. (There are those who feel that all novels should be given a completely faithful translation, I am not one of them). What is probably most disturbing about the novel is the amount of violence towards children. Most horror writers try to remove themselves from anything too paedophilic, when horror should in some form or other face this as uncomfortable reality and reflect the anxieties that are inherent within society. There’s no easy way to do this and the character in the book, Hakan, that acts as Dracula’s Renfield to the vampire Eli, is both tragic and repulsive in turns.

          The characters drawn in the novel are far darker than portrayed in the film versions. Oskar is a tubby, troubled thirteen-year old who suffers from spontaneous nose bleeds and incontinence (he has wet himself so many times that he wears a foam piece attached to his penis to help absorb the urine which he calls his ‘pissball’). Oskar is a binge eater and kleptomaniac, and to some degree as a compulsive disorder. He is bullied constantly at school especially by Johny Forsberg’s gang of friends, some use to be Oskar friends a few terms back, but now call him piggy and help to corner him for their amusement. The difference with the bullies here is they actually intend on killing Oskar certainly at the end of the book.

          There is no doubt the most disturbing character is the servant of Eli, the paedophile Hakan. In the film little is known of him, other than he is the servant and father-figure, in the book he is brought grotesquely to life. He is deranged by guilt and tortured by his lust for children. He was once a teacher but the community found out about his tendencies they hounded from his position. He eventually became a down and out drunk, making passes at small boys. That was until Eli found him and took him as her servant so that he could do the killing for her. As part of her bargain she would pose and sleep naked with him but no other sexual contact would be given. Thus he could indulge his desires in a voyeuristic fashion without guilt (Eli may look and for all purposes be a twelve year old but she is actually a two hundred year old vampire). Hakan eventually caught pours acid on his face to obscure identification is then taken to hospital where Eli flies to the window where he is held and drinks his blood throwing him from the window thinking she killed him from the fall from the top of the hospital, however, he is now vampirised, he kills the mortuary attendant and goes after Eli.

          Eli is, oddly enough, the least grotesque of the main characters in the fact that she has no choice in what she does taking on Haken so she doesn’t have to kill. We find some back story to her. How she was brought as a child to a castle to be used in ritual and vampirised ( there is something else about her that I won’t give away in this review. I’ve already given far too many spoilers).  She was going to kill Oskar but he touched her hair as she bent forward which she did not expect and couldn’t go through with the attack instead became friendly with the Oskar. Eli is far from glamorous. Oskar mentions that she should wash as she smells. At one point she takes a shirt from the rubbish and Oskar points out she could have at least washed it. Lindqvist doesn’t alter vampire lore too much she must be asked in and she can sharpen her teeth when feeding and metamorphose her fingers and toes into talons and hooks in order to climb and fight. She can also metamorphous skin under her arms giving her the ability of flight.

          As for the background characters:Tommy who is the closest to a friend Osckar has.  Tommy knows of Oscar bullying but feels that Oskar is just one of those children who will have to endure it. Tommy, who has an extensive back story himself, is already at logger-heads with, his potential step-father (a policeman who is investigating the murders committed by Haken ). He steals a few trophies from the police-man’s house and setting a fire in the church where Tommy is invited one Sunday for a practical joke. But Eli uses Tommy when she needs to buy some blood off of him using a syringe rather than her teeth to extract it, so she doesn’t inadvertently create more vampires

          The character of Virgina who is attacked by Eli and distracted before she can kill her is more visceral. Unknowing to Virgina after the attack she becomes extremely sensitive to the sun realising that is burning her skin and eyes when she ventures to work a day after the attack. She can’t stay long at work and when she goes home she finds herself hungry but unable to eat. A formation of brain cells develops in her chest and starts to control her behaviour making her develop a craving for blood her own as she starts to cut and feed on her own blood. Virgina starts to work out that she is a vampire or as been infected with it. She then has to decide as a fledgling vampire whether she will kill or not for her survival.

          There are some interesting observational narratives in the novel. Oskar who thinks of his father as a werewolf when he consumes alcohol. Getting drunk turning a dependable father into a self-centred and pitying creature.

          I immensely enjoyed reading this book and highly recommend it on anyone’s reading list. I look forward to anything else from Lindqvist with great enthusiasm.

 

Posted in horror, Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment