Enshroud
The Inner Universe Of
P. Emerson Williams
Liber Psychosis Ex Machina
1. Dies-Ease (Wrath) 1. Removed from the ground, brought to an end forever, Severe in all her acts, disappearing adorned, Justified for divergence, she’s left Debasing all others, Alacrity among us, shedding clothes in a feral state. 2. Alive in an excruciating love, a fear of her own image. Created in her own image, infernal reminder. Evanescent struggles of enlightenment. 3. Unforgiving dreams of a stronghold on the brink, undeviating in her council, jaded, wretchedness so delicious it resolves intrusive insight. 4. Alight to fiery chasms draping carnal confirmations on a promise of a lover you created. A youth, beaten, smiles idiotically through tears, crawling on stems of broken vessels, fails to acknowledge shame; a windswept confrontation in a word of love. 5. All in all we are forever, we are never. Psychiatric therapy disinters trampled beings. From the outside to the overwhelming forgotten unrelated, everlasting. 6. Do we ever have an adverse effect on the lack of remorse, the perceptiveness, its end product: the consummation of desire, to breathe your last breath: to repossess your soul with a sanguine healing. 7. A rancid, fragile bloom reaches out: love. A noxious germ of dies-ease wrathful from birth dies. Gone, soulless devoured a feast for the entire race 2. The Enchanting Dead
1. Controlling your emotions, forget that for which you must kill. Keep from sight the midnight rages, its primal anger haunts you still. 2. Divide, again, divide. Ten thousand chanting clones, no love will purify their hearts. It’s such a common mistake, an easy thing to fake, such a common course to chart. 3. You try so hard to charm the Enchanting Dead. Knowledge hides in fear, dismissal of all that may leave the soul exposed. Your clinging to your faults, fashioning the flaws, pretending you’re the one who chose. 4. You know no open vistas, just noisy, black-walled rooms flashing sporadic light. 5. Why should I try to scream, what’s left to redeem? Who you are is what you buy. You try so hard to charm the Enchanting Dead. You’ll never know the price you’ve paid. 3. Crypt-Analysis 1. Surge of blood of the entire prowling engrossment Misinformed disparagement, unequivocal floorshow. Enchanting repository: the human race the aching pain of preposterousness we keep inside. A world domination of the Dead, squalid, distressing. Lying face downhill in a waltz of imperfection. 2. Perforate, lick, and maul providences livid scars. Barrage of bullets, a press release. Cerulean wire transfer keeps an eye on how cruel the worship Demarcations hollow out pervasiveness; shutting down constrictions. 3. Ornamental cryptoanarchy love in practice. Sternly dead to the world, a lying repercussion they howl. Blackness In the past, few minutes revolve
around a revolting phraseology. Blackbird hunted by prickly ways to end. 4. Blessed is your relationship with shameful insinuations Stronghold of Deep-seated innermost indulgent circumvention. Raze to the ground the blackened official position. Force release virtual discordant hold of defense substitute Pale vicinity gilding Pseudonyms Gravestone figures. VITRIOL mega Leitrim Yakima Substance worshippers rest Platform 1911 TYRANNOUS commotion Mortalities Figurative oratory fades away. 5. Opening Men with Faithless designs desiccates the flesh while abandoned manifestations twist. Overwhelmed, Recoil of a cut-throat humanity control Hates’ slowness collides with our illuminated variables Frayed rose-coloured diversion Interchangeable, Unusual axiomatic deception assassinated impenetrability Anarchy rogue dispatch bomb plutonium DESCEND androgynous Nightmare Rendering Mislead Pasture gives the impression of being Deep-seated murder. 6. Rehabilitation principally in perpetuity attendant to the triumphant. Breathless Templeton Majestic LUK Cohabit Sores arise abrade function Lithely Horrified misshapen observes by the side Of asymmetrical intermission. 7. Red chamber Clock 26 snuffle Patel package ISI INR. Psychosis junkies cantankerously grow aged divides fervour at this time degenerate Sanctuary SIN advisors chosen VORTEX: eradicate IN COLD BLOOD UMBRA GA! 4. Surge of Blood 1. I have chosen the invisible and, to fan the flames of possession, served perfidy and uttered its fetid moan. I dream the reawakening of my genocide. 2. It leaps in the
entanglement of this exquisite scene. I forsake nothing; remember nothing save what is left of prayer to reign disintegrating in the hours of darkness. The prayer of spirit belongs to m, the prayer of word, of bone. 3. Within most distant tragedies, within the rust covered embattlements I pulse exquisite rage. My disquiet affirmed your prayers. You fantasized a presence stretching past tomorrow. 4. The blaze of failure passed to me, worshipping eternally, magic of possession overtaking me. It utters the flash of my ghastly, red peace. It is laid to rest into a previous despair. 5. My kingdom is forever with me there where is found the final power upon the pulse of the caress of putrefaction. 6. The Heaven of promise belongs to me. Formless isolated beings throughout the Earth and skies. Crescendo of substantial scenes, extinction found wanting. 7. Spirits shoaling till the end of time. Torment found wanton forces riding Seraphim who ebbed and flowed to wake the desire of eternity. Stretch the deadly master insentient like fate out of Inferno fire with the insane. Striking, flanking, outdoing, and undoing us all. Ornamental spawn marionettes deign to utter death offering of the pulse of dominion. Mirror of solitude sleeps red. 8. Guile with veil and a wild desire sighted me to reflection in vitality. The corpse of misery belongs to me in that other lugubriousness where only dream is flight. There where is found the nameless encounter. 9. Love lost in the Tomb of Hades teaching thick sweet offerings. Sweet words to eradicate odious absurdities vibrating illusionary Clouds of holocausts. Transmit the caress.
Surge of discharge upholds the abstract ideal. 10. You jump down and the corpse sighs languidly. Your final incarnation of silhouette and sickle ends. Lustrous infections pulse with the potent flush. Join the hollow dance to shrink from cold impossibilities. Fields of pounding cut off the pulse. 11. Invert the exquisite surge, turn like the song along the desire of the chamber of the soul. Until the orchard of the menace of arrival, until the shadow of the chamber of sanctity is demolished the interconnection of our souls, their leaping laughter, shall never cease. Choronzon comprises precipitate lustre of the offering. 12. Sunset of time curses the elemental bond of suffering. Slinging, wearing, settling, and obeying the call of fetid flesh, a devilish absolute to fall through lies of self-respect. 13. Devilish crush to breathe your last dancing in ecstasy. Hollow prayer filled atmosphere with the catastrophe. Moreover, the prevailing conditions of the soul of embodiment. Coming, few, nameless, formless, I hear the menace calling. 5. Crossing I-The 30th Aethyr Anger gives way to a grudging gratitude. My love, my soul, I’ll never see you again. I am no more, the fiend wanders freely, ah, to be. Flagrantly dismissing all claims, I am: HA! Aumgn-ha! Towering above all reality stand I, Unquestioning, led by an infernal guide. Spinning, greeting sunlight with contempt I fall back into corporeal extinction... 6. Asymmetrical Red Chamber 1. Until the flesh of the entanglement rent in a morbid fury, blind and ingratiating, although the haunted of the death of force convoluted wisdom with the confidence of erroneousness long-sufferingly indulged, I no longer fear. 2. Shadowy reflex-ion,
enslaving, potential supremacy forbids overcastting upon the pulse of the caress of putrefaction. Sepulchral inside, I have decayed the vision that has fattened in a dead agony. Glum have rained to have run I was interweaving in eternal prey, I was thrashing an illuminates mind. 3. Choronzon condemned the dog, hollow soul of normalcy surges frighteningly with the grief-stricken corpse of flesh, the cadaver of representation wounded in a rotten return of disfigurement. 4. He sighed, exposing frail Star of mandatory beating timeless Dreamt along the chamber. Thrilled, while the conqueror in us have decried to have whispered, seed new worlds of quivering moonlit flesh. 5. They thought of me as a saviour of a kind, but I had no intention of stopping short of destroying them. The air seems to vibrate. The edges of all corporeal things around me seem to vibrate at the edges. 6. I can feel that familiar nausea well up in me again. I fear I may not die soon. I just want something outside myself that I can remember my former self by. 6. Crossing II-The 29th Aethyr 7. Justified 1. Wind like a fist in the face, sound like a kick in the chest. I have forgotten about sleeping in the last fifty days, trying to remember how I have been blessed. 2. Is mine a vital contribution? Am I ever to be known? Choke my cries, blind my eyes, make it clear bring the fear, let me know let it flow; lust, rust, let it turn to dust. Now I’m going home. Burn them down, one and all. How I loved them before the fall. 3. Lacking grace, let me find the rage: such a quiet age, dying mage, immolation, dying embers, sleep.
Dive deep, burning need. Bring it home, the crushing blow: Gods kiss. 4. Dying happy of the waters chill, immaculate before the throne of virginal serenity, now that I see all, Choronzons call, I see the mad-man’s gaze is quite lucid after all. 5. Back to the dead, now that all is said, they will never remember having been bled. Push it away; push it away, the pleading face. 6. Love lost, count the cost let them wash away in rain. Burning kiss of frost, bastard son, now undone, the heavenly kingdom overrun. Close your eyes, part your thighs, the Holy Father’s justified, wet seed. 7. A chilling fate, to be sure; the procreation of the common man. We have more flesh robots than we will ever use. They have not a single soul among them. 8. It makes me fearful, having seen their God. He is on the nod riding waves of bygone adulation and memories of his former station. Can he ever be seen? Will he ever know the flames? I prefer the chilling fear to the warm embrace of living death. 8. Crossing III- the 18thAethyr 1. Holy men yearning for the lake of fire. 9. Ornamental Crypto-Anarchy 1. Advisors, councilors, wise fools providing crypt-analysis, confabulating tales of judgment, encrypting providentially. 2. He feeds on the blood of his lambs through delicious rhapsodic osmosis. We die for his sins. Each day we are reborn, clamouring night after night to be slaughtered. 3. In lust, he swallows fire and vomits locust swarms. 4. Otherwise, our corpses cease their dance. Rancid in their dies-ease, outwardly breathing their convictions, alight with the pages they dance bright. Bereft of wisdoms respite and rages they never quite felt.
We are distracted, never present, other moments dim in our recall. 5. Father, baptize us in sanguine streams; lead us into conflagration. Shiver among us; reward our evil. Bring us this moment our eternal torment. 6. In the halls, other places: delight in blasphemous embraces. Submerged in unfelt appetites, wet and enslaved by stark delights and permitted rages flaunt their lost souls. Infernal saints and tacit mages, impassive tyrants languish, precluding sages silenced by the pulchritude of innocence. 7. You are bereaved and blessed, for in your death you have bound your progeny to join you.
Diary Of Lost Days
Suffering Succubae
I lie here in a pool of my own vomit and blood grateful for the hell I've just been through. The death I've always longed for eludes me still, but her fiendish love shall surely make my end spectacular. The apprehension that had been in the back of my mind since childhood is no longer there. I've lost everything and everyone and am now free. Nothing is real, nothing matters and I no longer exist. I rise from the concrete floor and look around for my gun. Not that I am afraid they're still in this abandoned warehouse. I just want something outside myself that I can remember my former self by. The images of the preceding night swirl about my head as I lean against the back of the freight elevator. If they all died, where did their bodies go? They thought of me as a savior of a kind, but I had no intention of stopping short of destroying them. The air seems to vibrate. The edges of all corporeal things around me seem to vibrate at the edges. I can feel that familiar nausea well up in me again. I fear I may not die soon. I can not quite let go of my habit of taking comfort in my certainty that all existence will be over with soon. I turn a corner to a heavily trafficked street and am overwhelmed by my dread at the sight of people going about their mundane business with apparent acceptance. I walk into a diner, unsure if I have any money. The gray customers stew silently in their slow, silent deaths, not noticing me and my blood and vomit stained clothes. The room is a living monument of flesh and Formica, joined in the unseen places. People,
tables, food, and windows all fastened together by chemo spiritual bonds. Without seams, breathing, moving perfectly as if it were actually what it purported to be: the lie of a world of separate things. In my vision the substances switch places, a woman's face taking on the texture and color of the vinyl stool covers by the bar, the walls and ceiling likewise transforming before my eyes into a parody of pulsing flesh. Animate and inanimate switch and I stand in walls of skin and sinew surrounded by plastic people. The bubble of vision pops of a sudden, and returned to the mundane I am confronted with something truly terrifying: That my so called reality is in fact incalculably more disgusting than any nightmare. That material objects are just that, and that flesh is flesh, but it is the souls of these people that have turned to plastic. Everyone is staring at me, at the fool who is just standing in the doorway looking around with a horrified grimace... "must be crazy, lost his marbles, poor guy, someone should help him, someone should do something, look at the blood, a trouble maker, trying to eat and this guy walks in with blood all over, can you believe it honey I mean just ridiculous really some people not raised right sickpervertedevildeadman-" I have no appetite. Of course, I'm not here to eat. I glance about, turning my neck this way and that. My own putrid stench seems to not affect them as they stare. Uneasily, I dared not sit, fearing for what they might do. Weaponless, still flirting with my own version of listlessness, I
stumble in. Dancing towards death with each moment I stand there. I turn to go, and there she is... The Queen of the Succubae is at the door. Though, how she has come to this world, I know not. Pondering that, I realize I don't even know how I have come here. It has all been such a hazy vision, since I had lost most of my soul already, I figure. Why not keep trekking on? This can't last that much longer. Her airless voice brings me back into the so-called reality of the present. She speaks with such a sweet sickness that my head simply swims. She feeds from my mind, the images of my childhood wet dreams. She is the woman with the golden hair and milky skin. And with that... I go to her. She looks, if it is possible, worse than I. This is not a body she’s possessed, but a mirror of the reigning sickness. She is a quivering mass of confusion and pain. This manifestation is a sign that something is horribly wrong. We look at each other in silence. I feel naked beneath her gaze; a gaze that is questioning and fearful. "......last night.." I breathe. "Don't!" "Where now?" I start at her sharp intake of breath. She laughs with surprising openness. She looks around, seemingly delighted at what she sees. "They'll never remember having been bled”. she says. "It amazes me how he's never sated". "One must admire his sense of humor, though". Her manner is so strange. It is like a parody of her first seductive approach to me. I feel like she is holding me off. The blond tresses are somehow a reproach. “I don’t understand the purpose of your story, I am a composition of
disparate beings, and so I don’t understand much of the meaning of the games, but I became identified with the first part, in which the spirit longs for death, still I long for death(for so long that it makes me sick). To me, and like the Void seekers, existence is to suffer day after day, so all my feelings for life are sorrow and hatred. “I started seeking for the devil, as a blasphemy to god. Now here is the real confusing business. To the Gnostics, Yaltabaoth (Choronzon) was the god of the Old Testament (IHVH), and so the creator of man. That may be true, because Choronzon is the maker of form. Also when Yaltabaoth saw the evil of his creation caused the deluge to wipe out the evil giants (Nephilim) from the face of the earth. But a man (Noah) was warned by the god of the sea (Neptune, Poseidon, Enki) to build a boat to save man from his oblivion. Also the Gnostics say that this god of the seas was the original serpent of Genesis, and so the serpent became their symbol. It’s strange, because they say the world is evil (true) and up side down (true) and that the true governor of earth is the demiurge Yaltabaoth. “ This strange man must have been listening to the whole conversation. The madness in his eyes is a comfort, showing that my work has not been in vain. "So you read me, did you?" I smile as I say this, Lilith darkening visibly in my peripheral vision. "I probably am a character. The author must be some kind of nut." She's gone. All eyes fall on me as if I had just torn the place apart. I back out, feeling that it isn't time to
lose this vessel yet. I see one moment as present, the next only as memory. My consciousness is scattered, not only as chaotic thoughts, but time itself is unraveling. My mind can't impose a structure, such as future and past, for more than a few seconds at a time. The man follows me out of the diner, speaking to me; it seems, from out of a different reality. Buildings smile from the corners of my eyes, and then solidify into cold, still matter when I look at them. Hideous figures dance, laughing silently and grimly though refusing to be seen directly. The mans odd rambling about choronzon and old testament dreams acts like a soundtrack whispering hints of the scene to come. Someone is hitting the cues, and I'm afraid it's me. “Yours history vas very good I like witchsis!� he says before running down an alley after a feral cat. Cemetery Hunt on your Ritual Abuse, a victim of mind control looking for help, for a friend. We are the test subjects: CHANGE LOCATION!: Not everybody is being Dog si Natas! Don't mind admitting I am scared about what it will bring up for me. That's my rule! And if you don't agree...the Mordant have control of everything from health care to law enforcement non-services to say the torture is wrong and go against the gorged, the power of hell comes against you. I know who the attorneys are. I know a lot of you. I will march to the gates of hell to expose what you did to me. A Blameless invited me to their home years ago. This woman who would later torture me lured me in with her horrible stories, and then offered to
help me, By the time she got my blood run through possession I was trenched out. Guilty and powerless, they took their internal hells and played them out in the lives of their children. The women were as bad as the men, although more subtle. Knowing they were 'damned by their all powerful and angry god, they had nothing to lose, and they knew their annual born again ritual ecstasies at the revival tents would wear off and they would be just as miserable and empty and sinful, so why tell the truth, why get help, why not pass it on, after all, the Bible doesn't say Suffer the little children to come on to me. It says, in the original Greek writing; Let the stupid ones follow me. Then the murders started - where does a child go when the sheriff of the county is involved? When her aunts and uncles are involved? When her church-elder grandmother is involved? I was made to participate in heinous ritualistic practices, most of which were founded on the bible - I remember being in the Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall and being forced to eat the flesh of a baby that had died right before birth - Of watching an Jacob and Isaac sacrifice in which a throw-away child was strangled and burned, to teach us all what hell was like. On the outside were the gullible and ignorant church-goers who paid their money and believed the lies: that there was an original sin, that they were created in evil, that they had to be saved, ad nauseum. In the middle were the Satanists, terrified - they sought to cut a deal with the God they really worshipped and feared, they were
mostly the Baptists, but the Benedictines and Auginians had a big contingent too - and in the center are the Gnostics, who know it's all lies and its just about power and money. Drugs and guns. Some times the guns go to the IRA, sometimes they go to Afghanistan, sometimes they go to Idaho. The drugs come in from South America and the Orient, they travel north with the migrant workers, get sold in the cities, the guns come from Israel and Argentina, travel up through America, where a lot of money gets made on the transactions and out through Canada Without a reason I laugh deliriously as she tries not to emote. The trees, steadfast, dancing guardians hiss a lazy warning. My love curled in trauma aleph, Beth: gimel, a loving attempt at fearful murder. Anger gives way to a grudging gratitude. My love, my soul, I’ll never see you again. I am no more, the fiend wanders freely, ah, to be. Flagrantly dismissing all claims, I am: HA! Aumgn-ha! Towering above all reality stand I, Unquestioning, led by an infernal guide. Spinning, greeting sunlight with contempt, I say my last farewell as a human slave. Pathetic dance of fools, loving, breeding, Working towards death, I die among them. In a fever dream, lying senseless, I awake. The early, dark mornings of inspiration transpire. The least I could do. Please the queen, sacrifice my animal soul, and bleed spiritually, love my neighbor. Free to serve my love, I flee. The lure of flesh sickens, the sight of bloody angels entices.
Uh, wait a second...where was I? I can't find my pants. I can't find my shoes. And I can't find my mind.... The least I could do. Let the stupid ones follow me. They are everywhere, and they are everybody. I know a lot of you. She's gone. I wonder what you might think about this: "They'll never remember having been bled," she said. "It amazes me how he's never sated." I don't even know how I have come here. "...lost his marbles, poor guy, someone should help him, someone should do something, look at the blood..." The room is a living monument of flesh and Formica, joined in the unseen places. I can not quite let go of my habit of taking comfort in my certainty that all existence will be over with soon. I can feel that familiar nausea well up in me again.
If they all died, where did their bodies go? Nothing is real, nothing matters and I no longer exist. The death I've always longed for eludes me still....
Nausea. I can feel that familiar NAUSEA well up, etc.... I lie... They thought of me as a savior of a kind, but I had no intention of stopping short of destroying them. I fear I may not die soon. I can not quite let go.... People, tables, food, and windows all fastened together by chemospiritual bonds. "...trying to eat and this guy walks in with blood all over, can you believe it honey I mean just ridiculous really some people not raised right sickpervertedevildeadman-" Of course, I'm not here to eat. We looked at each other in silence. She looked around, seemingly delighted at what she saw. Now here is the real confusing business. "I probably am a character. The author must be some kind of nut." ...well then you don't agree! I don't care! I believe I am a monarch slave of the government. Guilty and powerless - and in the center are the Gnostics, who know it's all lies and its just about power and money, drugs and guns. The young ex-nun had been beaten almost senseless by her superiors at the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy. I have scars all over my body - I have scars all over my mind - but my soul is free and beautiful. I was never damned and I never needed to repent of anything. My love, my soul, I’ll never see you again. Back at my dank room, the
sound of indigent drunks, drug addicts and more mental cases coughing, laughing, screaming at having been born. Home. Hades forefend having to dwell elsewhere. Such comfort; I finally feel alive, like I exist. The dust-devils of thought come to rest: back to present time. Being homeless and invisible is why I am still alive. Pleasure such as this the others shall ever deny themselves. No power, the abuses available being too squalid and devoid of glamour. It is mid afternoon. People are returning from the labor pool, bitching about paying the driver two bucks for transportation, bags heavy with bottles and clothes coated with dust from cleaning up construction sites. It's a shame the door doesn't lock. My room is soon filled with sweaty middle aged men, teenage runaways and young men showing great concern that we know about their street savvy. As much as I've tried to hide, as much as I tried to blend in with the people around me, I can't help but be sought after. I can see myself as a hermit, I long to isolate myself. To those I grew up with and went to school with, I've achieved this extremely well. Being on the streets makes possible a certain amount of mystery. which arouses my interest a round a man Framing the door.
This is usually the point when they are the most hysterical the essence of this moment you can't just run from confrontation! a last and futile attempt to hold on it's quite simple Mostly yourself it's my breath short given up too much to believe in that I started to get dressed panicked and uncontrolled The building had good security Bunny The barrel of my small gun pressed lightly between his eyes It didn't occur to me for a long time that I was different That's Ok No He twitched I have a few minutes now while she just sits there he and I were cast like fleshy bullets through an inside out nothingness Nah I woke up a few hours later that we didn't live in a world of cause and effect
dressing Shut up Being afraid is natural carefully An intelligent man to describe reality The sheet was sticking to my stomach and legs and I felt glued to the bed by my own sweat Everyone says they are the doors to the soul darkness Caucasian Switching on a light we have it together No The word fails Curled in a ball now and white feathers from his pillows decorated the bed Ex wives My mouth was very close to his ear This is your last chance to understand anything He woke up then
so we have a few minutes left together You're a lawyer none of the labels matter or that if I was that it mattered Just walking around and slaughtering people at random wouldn't work They probably got a large sum each month the gun pressed lightly under my chin if I were you I'd be frantically casting away illusions as fast as I could Supermodels leather furniture still nothing No Insane? You seriously think that your psychologists and politicians And I do And you say maybe we don't have to do it? Can't we just go away I have been looking for you for a long time This is where they try being compassionate moaning something incomprehensible and falling silent once more plastered by sweat to the top vertebrae of her back with that last glance I am the great equalizer I'm not interested I moved my right eye just a few centimeters away from his Black on black I also finish
You don't have to believe me please!
Just the corners of my mouth reflections from the outside reached in I've already done it and seed new worlds of quivering moonlit flesh.
I don't hear the bullet peasants Dark Illuminated by a remorseless sun almost a circle It's finished Which isn't much He lay there I am undeniably suited to my existence and the light tread of her bare feet like troubled water as they so often do Look My hands and face are covered in blood where I usually walk out the door. We all have our ills. Those who consider themselves
Powerful will always try to emulate that power with physical representations Beautiful Mockery... I can feel it slowly peeling back the layers. Childhood and adulthood are all lies I tell myself. I decide, as I walk down the street towards some unknown destination, some tired Golgotha of explanation beating. I persist down the street all the while being afflicted into indifference.
Lyrical Transmissions
Can’t Stop Laughing (The Beauty of Drowning) Souls defied, deep penetration Tearing asunder liquid desire. Inner strength, all-consuming turmoil Pulls me down, pulls me under the Black surface. For all I love I give you this; (Christians to the lions). As we gaze upon the black water; (you pull me under). Speak to me of how I love the pain. I can't stop laughing, I can't stop laughing! (The beauty of drowning). We lie side by side; blowing sparks Gazing into the screaming silence. Under the birthing moon we pray, Pray to be together for all time.
Demons Play Feeling the fine caress of blades Through fires that entomb. Wounded devils stand tall, Loudly calling us from our wombs. And hellish voices surround us like the embrace of a dead lover. Bathed in the glow of dancing lights, We look up at a vast demonic Cathedral. We cannot bear to touch. We fear the day. It is all so much, much too much. Unpredictably he Demons play. We are impenetrable, Lost in obsession and rituals. Change terrifies us, so we cause it, A preemptive strike against the Demons whims. Emaciated ghosts fade from view Now that we have arrived back in Eden. Serpents writhe the brutal dance of God As wishes fulfilled become our greatest fear.
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Love, Strength: Lies Sweet, demonic current of remorse, yes, you are there. Dire circumstance of convictions: you wouldn't dare. I feel the warm, hollow thrill of damnation when I follow you down when I cover my eyes, when I kiss the dying heat of your pulse. Swollen tongues convulse with laughter, apparent, yet unknown. Fading beauty of structural divinity; evil designs of love. You are forever happy spectre of pathos, always hiding your strength, never, prayers rife with lies. Static void dispersing dead spirits, always hiding your strength, never, prayers rife with lies.
Perdurabo (Magog Agog) And as the sands of time conspire to bury me forever. Pathetic dance of fools Awash in deaths joyful endeavours. Awake, it seems, sadly to be lonely and in search of distractions. all their squandered hours, their unused brains conspire to erase me. I shall endure - Perdurabo! Though only through a torturous opium - dream. I did not survive the abyss, but I hope to leave this world alive. As smiling I place my bloody hand on the lever, it has come to this; happily I ride the white horse of dreams. The Aeon. The Crowned and Conquering Child. I am his flawed and sad herald. Seeing me, even Magog is agog.
Crimson Awakening I awaken to a world of great lustre. I feel the earthen pulse of all breathing. I hear the voices just beyond hearing. I know the thoughts just beyond comprehension. Red permeates the dying grass. Red lies beneath the drying leaves. Life shall elude me no more. Death plays not the role it had before. This land I've Never seen before, nor these people standing all around. Though this land seems so familiar, I do not know how to get back from here. My sanguinary dream. My crimson awakening.
Choronzon I have no form. I am dispersion. Without control, without reason, in nomine Babalon. As a Devil I walk the earth. I turn heavens fire into ruin, into madness. Behold where thy angel hath led thee. Here abideth terror. and am beyond its limits. I am returned. I hold eternal darkness, with Daath, in my head.
Manifest Tranquil, waiting nevertheless for it to get nearer to surpass Past excesses, the imposing scope of our old stories, A thousand deaths endured through laughter. The understanding we gained seems no longer to be needed. We recline in a sweating languor, unable to act. The very stars at this moment appear smudged and faded, And we instigate to disbelief that life was ever possible. Alone with them, with all of you, we are lost. They manifest around us, their actions spurring us to movement. Denunciation of enslavement, we are held no longer by the mercy of foetid terrors, External to their futile endeavours, cold, yet alive. We left them to decompose in their chosen form, Partially animate raging greedy Corpses meeting nightly, Assassinating Time with nothing further to howl. Insanity, all encompassing comfort, a friend on whom we can no longer rely. The fire storm has been traded for a spiritual fog, A veil forever obscuring our vision of ourselves. We hallucinate in crimson, animated fatalities craving more.
My Inner sanctum In a shaded doorway Watching the spirits at play, Through a cracked and shimmering window to the world; Through my surprise, welling up in my eyes: Your soul; Bleeding, old; a deep well of love; Sepulchral, cold. The crowning glory swathed in fear, The brave action recoiling into futility. To my knees glancing upward, There flies pain: mine. Deep ecstasy traces desire. Hidden places, lost hold; No one to sustain reality, My love erases me. I turn around to go, The world around me flows through my body. The bitter realization contains the happy seed: yes, me. Weak and stumbling, Gloriously breathing still dawn’s air, That part of me now lost forever, It wanders lonely in the dark. Battle-weary I remain Inconsistency remarked, Though seemingly complete. The soul bears not Such vacuous conceit. God damn you! How can I bear to see your face? Your every tear reveals my cowering disgrace. To my knees, glancing inward: Imprisoned: My inner sanctum.
Raining Down A demons physiognomy in extasis Locked in a grim and hopeless rictus Laughing, gibbering, all sense expired A livid chanting greets the fatality of frost The barren cattle call beneath the locust swarms The end shook us awake, raining down, Driven like snow no lie, no mass concensus we are no more, we are no more on bloodied wings on past grey spires enflames a sanguine dance to wanton glory we aspire caress of crimson rain a hollow shrilling calls through forgotten catacombs a shriek, a lash, a crushing blow levelling ancient lies The end shook us awake, raining down, Driven like snow no lie, no mass concensus we are no more, we are no more now, go to sleep sweet hollow child
Wild Desire So Livid Influence of the dead in reverence, Acquiesces in the doubt of formless visions Pulse of a faded shadow Hollow edict of men haunted with indecision Ashes of a demons whisper Bless this Breathless Cry in the radiance of our curse Every dissent severed therefore dissected Disintegrating souls on the pleasure, immolation of all our fury Excavating all our grand delusions, our precious, abandoned dreams Apathy assaults our dissent as our pulse pulls us to the deceased Disintegrating souls on the pleasure, immolation of all our fury Betrothed the anodyne cloud thwarted like a begotten judgment Now laudably averted Human urge descending Into fires of love so vivid Wild desire so livid Now laudably averted Human urge descending Into fires of love so vivid Wild desire so livid Summoned by sinful ruin, Darkness gained dominion and vision begged its lust Deafened at the limit of paradise It danced in the judgement of a delicate lover Restraint of the will, In the age of the end, in the warming light of love Connecting from the promise of death It has distorted the unheard of, my ghastly, elevated glow Pure at my core, I dream the surrender that constrained
Adornment defiled by the sepulchral: wall of stillness bred in the soul Sky of ivory interweaved in the eternal, blaze of being revealed too late Upholding from the birth and the ecstasy of devotion in a beautiful guilt
We are Intransigent, insouciant umbilical noose Writhing in my grave, all my Demons let loose Unearthly endeavours in seething death flight All alone on the pavement, vile dreams to incite Aum-Ha, Aum-Ha! Hot pulse and fiery breath We are, yes, we are. And blown on the winds taunting chill The rabid elementals moving me towards the hollow hills A stumbling golem let loose in the pallid, Dancing moonlight; the frost rips me like talons. Aum-Ha, Aum-Ha! Hot pulse and fiery breath We are, yes, we are. And the grave, the long, cold sleep, the end It does not want me, but to live, Hades forefend The raging howl into the cold vast night rises Raises from sepulchers living souls in slumbering guises Aum-Ha, Aum-Ha! Hot pulse and fiery breath We are, yes, we are.
Filename: enshroud1 Directory: C:\Documents and Settings\Administrator\My Documents\My eBooks Template: C:\Documents and Settings\Administrator\Application Data\Microsoft\Templates\Normal.dot Title: Subject: Author: rkearns Keywords: Comments: Creation Date: 8/11/2004 11:30 AM Change Number: 10 Last Saved On: 8/21/2004 6:57 PM Last Saved By: Peter E. Williams Total Editing Time: 522 Minutes Last Printed On: 8/24/2004 7:50 PM As of Last Complete Printing Number of Pages: 67 Number of Words: 5,928 (approx.) Number of Characters: 33,790 (approx.)