Before Thunder Leaves The Body
How do you keep Thunder inside The Body?
Meet the shadowself— Blanketed in churn of industrial noise, The raw, open innards of that whirring blood machine— To you, it sounds foreign. To you, the very aesthetic alone repulses. But you know, yes you do, that part of you serves death— Part of you seeks the great bloodletting— So as to make death from life! But there is an underlying rhythm, For part of you too seeks the bloodletting, So as to make life from death. And, to you, All that cacophony of steel and gore Is a glamor, Masquing that sound underneath— The sound of thunder leaving the body. How do you keep thunder inside the body? Do you process its dissonance whole, Dysphoric in your being, Vomiting up years of swallowed poisons? Turning blood into water? Transmogrifying water to bile? Transgressing bile into the bite of scourge, A scourge upon the land— A scourge in the heart of all demons— The thunderless state of a nation of blood drinkers? Or do you catch the tablet as it falls from the sky— Beseech the heavens for cleansing water, Each drop caged inside a curdled flame— Betroth the darkness to the light— Bequeath Satan to fuck thy ass, And Christ to come fill thy suckling mouth— Lo! Pleromic spitroast! The ultimate Fullness... The voice with which to cast three spells.
1 Go now and cut thy bitch heart open. Kiss thy demons on the mouth! Bring that scourge upon the world, So as to let it consume you, So as to let it be the only thing left— So as to be the shadow that swallows the world, So as to command out into the darkness, And hear back upon the winds, The forgotten spells of ancient crackling flame:
I took the sun______and I swallowed it whole
I scorched the earth_____and let the ashes fall
I drank the stars___until the heavens were bare
I made my bones______ from the dust in the air
Heavenless, I create myself______________________________
For nowhere in the kingdom of heaven___was my name written,
Heavenless, I create myself______________________________
Even before I had come into being, __________so it was decided
2 For those are the spells that the First Demons wrote, And those are the ways long forgotten by angels— The ways of the recurring whole— The dripping words of reconciliation— The maw of the Void, and the tongue of the Light Dragon, From which the call dispels:
There is nothing that exists________And there is everything that comes from
—nothing’s soul—
—
And the__solemn sorrow_
_The watery abyss_
__All the children of apeiron__
—Are one day destined back to apeiron again
—
All that comes off the tongue,_recesses into the maw
All that exists shall be synthesized—this is the reconciliation
You are both created, and creating
You are both alive and destined for death
All thy thunder is finite.
Yet still, in spite of all spell and sorcery: Urgent, resounding, desperate in essence: From the depths of thy heart: The question once again: How do you keep thunder inside the body? How do you keep it all from spilling out and Slipping through outstretched fingers? How do you guide its arc back in? How does lightning gnaw the fiber soul? What is the way to tamp essence down, Refine and crystalize sorrow, So that, as trophy, as keepsake, It may tempt the heart, forever, With visions of what might have been?
3 And then, the third and final spell you cast, Calling from within that hallowed reservoir:
_________Despair is your master__________
It is the void from which you come_________
You cannot kill despair, You cannot outrun it,
You will seek it endlessly…————————
_________Despair is your master__________
It is the void from which you come_________
I cannot kill despair, I can only name it_____
Douse myself in its sea.—————————
And so the medicine all becomes nostrum— Truth becomes lie and the sun becomes the earth, And the soul becomes a void within the body, And the flowing of thy blood turns to water. And so you patch up each hole of spouting blood, But you can’t keep it in— It longs to come out— Your blood only knows the call of the sirenic earth, Dripping down into great caverns of sanguine seas, And your soul longs only for the goetic storm, Coalescing give into try, And try as you may, you cannot stop it, As it brings upon thee the distant sound of striking lightning.
∞ And each spell is a blessing— With each, the world burns over— With each, telluric crust peels open, the heart of the bloodmegalith revealed; Each spell is a will, exposed now to you in totality, and As they leap from your tongue to scorch the earth, Three spells become three ignoble truths— The deep magick, given to thyself, which springs internal | 1 The miracle, handed down from above, for which you are but a conduit | 2 The un-magick, the un-miracle, the spell cast by anti-life | 3 Together this is the fullness — the totality of the crystal soul. | ∞ But there is that part of me which lingers... I do not crave wholeness, I crave craving. I want to fill myself with something else; I want to empty my blood of all its presence. I seek the story to tell me that which I know is not true; I seek the idol to live a life in untruth. If I let go of the terror, I let go of the beauty, And the beauty is the shadow that looms over all. And so I must eat of my own flesh, And drink of thy ambrosiac blood, And search for demons in the rhythm of my heart, To fill that gaping hole, against the outflowing tide— And if I renounce that shadow entirely, forever Would it get worse, Before it gets better? Before thunder leaves the body?
tell the girlies about the pleromic splitroast:
