Lovecraft art by Francois Launet.
Funeral Mist: Blessed Curse from the Maranatha album (2009).
They scoffed at his feast of love, now they shall be dragged to his table of justice and made to drink their due deserts.*
They scoffed!…at the feast of the Lord and now they will be made to drink of their due deserts. Those of you that are away from God, I’m warning you, there’s coming a time, you would give anything for the cup of salvation, you would give anything to follow in the Lord’s steps and take up your cup and drink it whenever he calls you to do with the Christians; but it’s too late! So you were an angry man on the Earth? I’m an angry god in heaven.
Don’t forget our test tonight, for in the hand of the LORD there is a cup, and the wine is red; it is full of mixture and he poureth out of the same. But the dregs thereof, all the wicked of the earth shall wring them out, and drink them. (Psalm 75:8)
Friends, the judgment. The punishment of the wicked is prepared, God holds it in his hand, in the chalice of his wrath he holds it.
…The wine of the wrath of God which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and the presence of God.** (Revelation 14:10)
Take the wine cup of the fury at my hand, and cause all the nations, to whom I send thee, to drink it. And they shall drink, and be moved, and be mad, because of the sword that I will send among them. Then took I the cup at the LORD’s hand, and made all the nations to drink, unto whom the LORD had sent me. (Jeremiah 25:15–17)
Cursed shall be the fruit of thy body,
And cursed shall be the fruit of thy land,
Cursed shalt thou be when thou comest in,
And cursed shalt thou be when thou goest out. (Deuteronomy 28:18–19)
I gave you everything —-. He will force you as a parent forces a child to take medicine, he’s gonna force you to take the cup of the Lord…The wine is red! That signifies, my friends, the retribution! The payment! Vengeance! Blood for blood!
And thou shalt grope at noon-day, as the blind gropeth in darkness,
And thou shalt not prosper in thy ways:
And thou shalt be only oppressed and spoiled evermore,
And no man shall save thee. (Deuteronomy 28:29)
The stranger that is within thee shall get up above thee very high;
And thou shalt come down very low.
He shall be the head, and thou shalt be the tail. (Deuteronomy 28:43–44)
And thy heaven that is over thy head shall be brass,
And the earth that is under thee shall be iron.
The LORD shall make the rain of thy land powder and dust:
From heaven shall it come down upon thee,
Until thou be destroyed (Deuteronomy 28:23–24)
You’ll cry! You’ll cough! You’ll choke! And you will be…trapped. You’ll see the dregs, you’ll see the bottom of the cup, you’ll see the soupy mixture but you’ll keep drinking it and drinking it and drinking it and drinking it; my friends, Hell is forever! Damnation is forever!
It’s not a day in Hell, it’s eternity. When the Rapture takes place all hell is gonna explode. Then you will be within the sodomite hordes, when the Rapture takes place, you will not make it…you’re not going up. Why? You made a choice. You made a choice. It’s a horrible tempest! This shall be the cup, the portent of their cup. Death! Every last sin —. Don’t hold back at me; ‘cause when you hold back, friend, you’re dropping into the cup, it’s being stored up. And you will be forced to drink it, it will stand over you. And judge you.
The LORD shall make the pestilence cleave unto thee,
Until he have consumed thee from off the land,
Whither thou goest to possess it.
The LORD shall smite thee with a consumption,
And with a fever; and with an inflammation and with an extreme burning,
And with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew;
And they shall pursue thee until thou perish,
Because thou wouldest not obey the voice of the LORD thy God. (Deuteronomy 28:21–22, 62)
— It sayeth in the — saying with a loud voice: If any man worship the beast and his image, and receive his mark in his forehead, or his hand, the same shall drink of the cup… (Revelation 14:9–10) …It is full of mixture, and this represents, friends: spices of anger, justice and repeated rejections of mercy. How many times has God tried to warn you?
You’re mixing the cup! You’re the ones dropping every ingredient in! You’ve stirred up wrath! And if you don’t believe what I’m speaking then you read the word! You’ve mixed his wrath! And it’s poisonous. It’s not the church that is causing the wrath to come down, it’s you! Drink it! Drink it! Not only will you have no choice, you’ll never reach the —.
You won’t — to do it. He will —-
All the dirty work done by Aceres, used with kind permission. Thank you!
Chichen Itza, northern Yucatan, Mexico
“Behind me, towering almost 100 feet into the air, was a perfect ziggurat, the Temple of Kukulkan. Its four stairways had 91 steps each. Taken together with the top platform, which counted as a further step, the total was 365. This gave the number of complete days in a solar year. In addition, geometric design and orientation of the ancient structure had been calibrated with Swiss-watch precision to achieve an objective as dramatic as it was esoteric: on the spring and autumn equinoxes, regular as clockwork, triangular patterns of light and shadow combined to create the illusion of a giant serpent undulating on the northern staircase. On each occasion the illusion lasted for 3 hours and 22 minutes exactly.
(Check video here)
I passed by and made my way to the foot of the steep steps that led up to the adjacent Temple of the Warriors.
At the top of these steps, becoming fully visible only after I had begun to ascend them, was a giant figure. This was the idol of Chacmool.
Weighing on my mind was the unforgettable fact that the ritual of human sacrifice had been routinely practised here in the pre-Colombian times. The empty plate that Chacmool held across his stomach had once served as a receptacle for freshly extracted hearts. ‘If the victim’s heart was to be taken out’, reported one Spanish observer in the sixteenth century, ‘they conducted him with great display … and placed him on the sacrificial stone. Four of them took hold of his arms and legs, spreading them out. Then the executioner came, with a flint knife in his hand, and with great skill made an incision between the ribs on the left side, below the nipple; then plunged in his hand and like a ravenous tiger tore out the living heart, which he laid on the plate…’
What kind of culture could have nourished and celebrated such demonic behaviour? Here, in Chichen Itza, amid ruins dating back more than 1200 years, a hybrid society had formed out of intermingled Maya and Toltec elements. This society was by no means exceptional in its addictions to cruel and barbaric ceremonies. On the contrary, all the great indigenous civilizations known to have flourished in Mexico had indulged in the ritualized slaughter of human beings.
Villahermosa, Tabasco Province
I stood looking at the Altar of Infant Sacrifice. It was the creation of the Olmecs, the so-called ‘mother-culture’ of Central America, and it was more than 3000 years old. A block of solid granite about four feet thick, its sides bore reliefs of four men wearing curious head-dresses. Each man carried a healthy, chubby, struggling infant, whose desperate fear was clearly visible. The back of the altar was undecorated; at the front another figure was portrayed, holding in his arms, as though it were an offering, the slumped body of a dead child.
The Olmecs are the earliest recognized high civilization of Ancient Mexico, and human sacrifice was well established with them. Two and a half thousand years later, at the time of the Spanish conquest, the Aztecs were the last (but by no means the least) of the peoples of this region to continue an extemely old and deeply ingrained tradition.
They did so with fanatical zeal.
It is recorded, for example, that Ahuizotl, the eight and most powerful emperor of the Aztec royal dynasty, ‘celebrated the dedication of the temple of Huitzilopochli in Tenochitlan by marshalling four lines of prisoners past teams of priests who worked four days to dispatch them. On this occasion as many as 80,000 were slain during a single ceremonial rite.
The Aztecs liked to dress up in the flayed skins of sacrificial victims. Bernardino de Sahagun, a Spanish missionary, attended one such ceremony soon after the conquest:
‘The celebrants flayed and dismembered the captives; they then lubricated their own naked bodies with grease and slipped into the skin … Trailing blood and grease, the gruesomely clad men ran through the city, thus terrifying those they followed … The second-day’s rite also included a cannibal feast for each warrior’s family.’
Another mass sacrifice was witnessed by the Spanish chronicler Diego de Duran. In this instance the victims were so numerous that when the streams of blood running down the temple steps ‘reached bottom and cooled they formed fat clots, enough to terrify anyone’. All in all, it has been estimated that the number of sacrificial victims in the Aztec empire as a whole had risen to around 250,000 a year by the beginning of the sixteenth century.
What was this manic destruction of human life for? According to the Aztecs themselves, it was done to delay the coming of the end of the world.”
The above text is an excerpt from Fingerprints of the Gods by Graham Hancock.
Other podcasts of interest:
The JRE – Episode #170 Michael Ruppert (check the Collapse post for more info)
The JRE – Episode #173 Peter Joseph from the Zeitgeist movement
The JRE – Episode #127 Part 1 Chris Marcus about Ayahuasca
The JRE – Episode #127 Part 2 …and a bit about DMT as well
Also check The Joe Rogan Database for a quick overview of all the podcasts. At the time of writing there are 192 podcasts to browse through. Phew… Too much blood, not enough time.
Volumes 1–3 of Karl Ove Knausgård’s Min kamp (My Struggle) were the most crushing, honest and valuable books for me last year. Good thing there are three more volumes to read. Holy shit. I can’t wait.
So, the list of good books I read from 2011’s batch goes like this (mostly Swedish stuff):
Tomas Bannerhed – Korparna (Weyler förlag)
Roberto Bolaño – Amulett (Albert Bonniers förlag)
Mircea Cărtărescu – Dagbok. 1994–2003 (Albert Bonniers förlag)
Jacques Cazotte – Den förälskade djävulen (Malört förlag)
Noam Chomsky – Hopes and Prospects (Haymarket Books)
Magnus Dahlström – Spådom (Albert Bonniers förlag)
Crister Enander – Skiftande speglar (Bokförlaget h:ström – Text & Kultur)
Daniel Goldberg & Linus Larsson – Svenska hackare (Norstedts)
Ted Goldberg – Legalisera narkotika? Ett diskussionsunderlag (Academic Publishing of Sweden)
Michel Houellebecq – Kartan och landskapet (Albert Bonniers förlag)
Ika Johannesson & Jon Jefferson Klingberg – Blod Eld Död (Alfabeta förlag)
Karl Ove Knausgård – Min kamp 1–3 (Norstedts)
Jon Kristiansen – Metalion: The Slayer Mag Diaries (Brazillion Points)
H.P. Lovecraft – Cthulhu vaknar och andra ohyggligheter (Hastur förlag)
H.P. Lovecraft – Skräcknoveller (Vertigo förlag)
Kristian Lundberg – Och allt skall vara kärlek (Ordfront förlag)
Arthur Machen – Den röda handen (Hastur förlag)
Markis de Sade – Juliette del 5–6 (Vertigo förlag)
To begin with, four movies that I haven’t seen yet. I believe they are more than ok:
Le Havre (Ari Kaurismäki), Play (Ruben Östlund), Shame (Steve McQueen), The Adventures of Tintin (Steven Spielberg) and Tyrannosaur (Paddy Considine). I need to check these out ASAP.
My favourite movies of 2011:
1UP – One United Power
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (Tomas Alfredson)
Martha Marcy May Marlene (Sean Durkin)
I Love Trains – The Movie
Bobby Fischer Against The World
Jens Pulver: Driven
Pearl Jam Twenty
Warren Ellis: Captured Ghosts
Zeitgeist: Moving Forward [blog posts]
Some truly great movies unleashed in 2010 that I saw later on in 2011:
Biutiful, Black Swan, Blue Valentine, Incendies, Inside Job, Into Eternity [blog post], Senna.
40 Watt Sun
The Inside Room
This is THE album of 2011 for me. Total bölfezt.
The lyrics are truly soul crushing and the music is overwhelming. I ain’t got much more to say, but if you like this one you need to check out all releases by Warning as well. Pretty much the same band.
40 Watt Sun is playing the Roadburn festival in Tilburg this year. I’m gonna hide in the back and probably cry my eyes out.
This is – by far – one of the very best bands ever. Inspired by Neurosis and Amebix, rising from the ashes of the unparalleled grindcore band G‑Anx, these dudes and their music are unique in a world of conformity. All of their stuff is top notch, their old songs having more of a crust edge to them (listen to Prospects (1995)).
They’re getting slower and more powerful for every album, and on Nothingness I can feel the vibes of the mighty Wovenhand and Morte Macabre, so you better start drooling. This is their most consistent release to date.
It’s hard to describe their style, but apocalyptic beauty, darkness and melancholy might say something about the atmosphere. Just listen to The Truth Will Remain and bend over.
The World. The Flesh. The Devil.
I couldn’t wrap my head around In Solitude’s debut album. I wanted to worship, but I just couldn’t do it. I really can’t put my finger on what was keeping me away. It’s far from bad, but I just didn’t get it. Great lyrics, ok songs and such, but not as good as I wanted it to be.
Everything, and I mean everything, changed when I got a hold of this masterpiece. This is the essence of occult heavy metal darkness. It’s like a sinister and dense version of the kings of the genre (Mercyful Fate), performed by highly dedicated freaks. And this time the songwriting is nothing but flawless, it’s just fucking epic.
Their upcoming tour with Watain, The Devil’s Blood and Behemoth should be killer.
Looking For An Answer
I can’t even remember the last time I heard a seriously good grindcore record. As I write this I’ve just heard a couple of songs off the new albums by Napalm Death and Terrorizer – bands who once were gods of grindcore. That was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, and now they aren’t really that interesting. The new songs may be good, but they sound like shit. Modern day metal production was what made grindcore so terribly boring in the first place, and these guys haven’t learned a thing since 1990 (Napalm Death) and 1989 (Terrorizer) respectively. In my mind, grindcore should sound like Napalm Death’s Peel sessions, Arsedestroyer’s Teen Ass Revolt, or when it gets technical and/or metallized, like Assück’s masterpiece Misery Index (listen to the whole album here).
Lo and behold! In 2011 God gave us the new Looking For An Answer assault, and holy shit, this one is a killer! Hail to Spain! Mixing the finest bits of grindcore, crust punk and old school death metal, Eterno Treblinka rocks all the way through. Great hooks, quite memorable songs, awesome production (punkish, but yet with a thick wall of sound) and funky nods to what once was (Running Through The Blood is a Fear of God cover (the great band from Switzerland), and starts off just like the old Master song by Master – awesome! Original live version here and LFAA cover here). The vocals could use some variation in style, maybe, but what the heck… I like it raw and brutal, and I got all hyped up about this release, so if you once enjoyed old school crunchy grindcore back in the day, you might want to give this one a couple of spins.
I had the chance to check out LFFA on stage once, and they were awesome live as well.
If you’ve got Spotify you’ll find it here.
Lie In Wait For Blood
The best black metal release 2011 – alongside Burzum – was executed by two unknown personas hailing from Sweden. I posted an article about them here and wrote a piece for Sweden Rock Magazine #89 (the massive Ronnie James Dio tribute issue). Listen to the demo on the bandcamp site or log on to Spotify.
I’m listening to a new song right now, Juridical Doctrine, and it fucking slays! One riff running for 8 minutes. Sheer brilliance. If you’ve got the slightest interest in Deathspell Omega, Ofermod, Malign, Negative Plane, Mgła, Funeral Mist and the likes, you need to check out Rite. Now.
Two years ago I declared Roffe’s debut Ormar i gräset the number one album of 2009. With Barrabas, his third and final statement, his career is over. At least for now. And by the way he’s saying it in the last song, I think he really means it. Whatever happens, this album is as solid as it gets, and – to quote the UFC – as real as it gets. People cry when they listen to Fröken Anderberg, because this is stuff everyone can relate to. It’s about life, and life pretty much sucks, so of course it’s depressing. If you’re not affected by this, your life is too good.
However, Mr. Rolf’s got the humour and wits to back it all up and make this a true feast. Roffe’s a truth-teller of epic proportions (L.I.M.B.O.).
Of all three albums, this one is easily the best, although all of them must be downloaded and worshipped. He’s really that good, so do believe the hype. I’d say even if you don’t understand Swedish, this gem is worth the download. The production is crisp as fuck, and I believe you can hear this dude’s honesty just by listening to his voice.
Anima Morte – The Nightmare Becomes Reality
Arckanum – Helvítismyrkr
Autopsy – Macabre Eternal
Nicklas Barker – El Último Fin de Semana
Barn Owl – Lost In The Glare
Björk – Biophilia
Blodigt Allvar – Promo 2011
Bohren Und Der Club of Gore – Beileid
Bong – Beyond Ancient Space
Bonnie Prince Billy – Wolfroy Goes To Town
Brighter Death Now – Very Little Fun
Burzum – Fallen
Craft – Void
Deutsch Nepal – Amygdala
Erik Enocksson – Apan
The Giesagöebbels – Demo 2011
Gösta Berlings Saga – Glue Works
Hell – Human Remains
Hills – Master Sleeps
Invidious – In Death
Krux – He Who Sleeps Amongst The Stars
Macabre – Grim Scary Tales
J. Mascis – Several Shades of Why
Mogwai – Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will
Morbus Chron – Sleepers In The Rift
Necros Christos – Doom of The Occult
Opeth – Heritage
Pentagram – Last Rites
Plastikman – Arkives 1993 — 2010
Portrait – Crimen Laesae Majestatis Divinae
Primordial – Redemption At The Puritan’s Hand
Primus – Green Naugahyde
Pyramido – Salt
Ravencult – Morbid Blood
Reveal – Nocturne of Eyes And Teeth
Swarm – 2011
Teitanblood – Purging Tounges
Terra Tenebrosa – The Tunnels
Today Is The Day – Pain Is A Warning
Tormented / Bombs of Hades – Split
Undergång – The Mother of Armageddon
US Christmas – The Valley Path
Usurpress – In Permanent Twilight
Vanhelgd – Church of Death
Victims – A Dissident
White Hills – H‑p1
Year of The Goat – Lucem Ferre
Yob – Atma
”The flames sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened and paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate upon the ground before them and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, the first fire and the last ever to be. By and by the judge rose and moved away on some obscure mission and after a while someone asked the expriest if it were true that at one time there had been two moons in the sky and the expriest eyed the false moon above them and said that it may well have been so. But certainly the wise high God in his dismay at the proliferation of lunacy on this earth must have wetted a thumb and leaned down out of the abyss and pinched it hissing into extinction. And could he find some alter means by which the birds could mend their paths in the darkness he might have done with this one too.”
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, 1985
As a way of finding some meaning to the void, as a way of understanding the eternal quest for the answer to the unfathomable ”Why?” question, here are some quotes of true mindfulness. If read carefully, you will see that they range from the pessimistic and hopeless to the exact opposites (well…), only to return to and end in the abyss of the void.
Pain and pleasure – life and death – indivisible.
”Brief and powerless is man’s life; on him and all his race the slow, sure doom falls pitiless and dark. Blind to good and evil, reckless of destruction, omnipotent matter rolls on its relentless way; for man, condemned today to lose his dearest, tomorrow himself to pass through the gate of darkness, it remains only to cherish, ere yet the blow fall, the lofty thoughts that ennoble his little day; disdaining the coward terrors of the slave of Fate, to worship at the shrine that his own hands have built; undismayed by the empire of chance, to preserve a mind free from the wanton tyranny that rules his outward life; proudly defiant of the irresistible forces that tolerate, for a moment, his knowledge and his condemnation, to sustain alone, a weary but unyielding Atlas, the world that his own ideals have fashioned despite the trampling march of unconscious power.”
Bertrand Russell, A Free Man’s Worship, 1903
”A vast, sepulchral universe of unbroken midnight gloom and perpetual arctic frigidity, through which will roll dark, cold suns with their hordes of dead, frozen planets, on which will lie the dust of those unhappy mortals who will have perished as their dominant stars faded from their skies. Such is the depressing picture of a future too remote for calculation.”
H.P. Lovecraft, Clusters and Nebulae, 1915
”No one is accountable for existing at all, or for being constituted as he is, or for living in the circumstances and surroundings in which he lives. The fatality of his nature cannot be disentangled from the fatality of all that which has been and will be. He is not the result of a special design, a will, a purpose; he is not the subject of an attempt to attain an ‘ideal of man’ or an ‘ideal of happiness’ or an ‘ideal of morality’ – it is absurd to want to hand over his nature to some purpose or other. We invented the concept of ‘purpose’: in reality purpose is lacking.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, 1954
”By my thirteenth birthday I was thoroughly impressed with man’s impermanence and insignificance, and by my seventeenth […] I had formed in all essential particulars my present pessimistic cosmic views. The futility of all existence began to impress and oppress me; and my references to human progress, formerly hopeful, began to decline in enthusiasm.”
H.P. Lovecraft, A Confession of Unfaith, 1906
”But nothing good can be said of that cancerous machine-culture itself. It is not a true civilisation, and has nothing in it to satisfy a mature and fully developed human mind. It is attuned to the mentality and imagination of the galley-slave and the moron, and crushes relentlessly with disapproval, ridicule, and economic annihilation any sign of actually independent thought and civilised feeling which chances to rise above its sodden level. It is a treadmill, squirrel-trap culture – drugged and frenzied with the hasheesh of industrial servitude and material luxury. It is wholly a material body-culture, and its symbol is the tiled bathroom and steam radiator rather than the Doric portico and the temple of philosophy. Its denizens do not live or know how to live.”
H.P. Lovecraft, Selected Letters 1925–1929, p. 304
”Unless suffering is the direct and immediate object of life, our existence must entirely fail of its aim. It is absurd to look upon the enormous amount of pain that abounds everywhere in the world, and originates in needs and necessities inseparable from life itself, as serving no purpose at all and the result of mere chance. Each separate misfortune, as it comes, seems, no doubt, to be something exceptional; but misfortune in general is the rule.”
Arthur Schopenhauer, On the Sufferings of the World
”Pessimismen verkar skadebringande och förstörande endast när den stammar ur ett svagt, slappt gemyt. Det starka lifsföraktet har en tändande, eggande verkan. Igenom de högsta alstren af den isländska diktningen, i den fornskandinaviska lifskänslan öfverhufvud, sjunger en hvinande ton af hårdnackadt, desperat trots mot lifvets makt och lifvets meningslöshet – densamma tonen som en gång klang så gällt, och väl ännu är kvar, i Strindbergs verk. — Endast vår feghet, vårt ringa sanningsbegär, vår dumma sentimentalitet är det, enligt honom, som förhindrar oss att inse att lifvet har sin källa i det onda, att det onda är lifvets herre. Hvad mängden kallar ‘ödet’, ‘gud’ o.s.v., det är mörkret, Ariman, fienden till allt framsteg, allt verkligt värde, all sann förtjenst. Ariman – det är dumheten och råheten, hvilka alltid ha högsätet i denna den bästa af alla världar. Och detta förhållande är konstant af evighet, den mänskliga karaktären skall aldrig ändras, lifvets princip är evigt en, det onda.”
Vilhelm Ekelund, Det ondas religion, 1923
”Tradition means nothing cosmically, but it means everything locally and pragmatically because we have nothing else to shield us from a devastating sense of ‘lostness’ in endless time and space.”
H.P. Lovecraft, Selected Letters 1925–1929, p. 356–357
”The sinister, the terrible never deceive: the state in which they leave us is always one of enlightenment. And only this condition of vicious insight allows us a full grasp of the world, all things considered, just as a frigid melancholy grants us full possession of ourselves. We may hide from horror only in the heart of horror.”
Thomas Ligotti, The Medusa, 1991
”That cult would never die till the stars came right again, and the secret priests would take great Cthulhu from His tomb to revive His subjects and resume His rule of earth. The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves, and all the earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom.”
H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu, 1926
”I have tried to show that the Outsider is a man with an unusual and acute need for a sense of values. It has been objected that almost everybody asks himself at some time: What is life all about? And that therefore everybody is, in some degree, an Outsider. But this is only a failure to understand the spiritual condition of a man who feels a perpetual gnawing instinct for meaning, a hunger and thirst: a thirst that can be so acute that its frustration can lead to insanity. […] The Outsider has a feeling that there are certain things that are absolutely important, and that, quite literally, should occupy the mind all the time, and be perpetual standard of referens for all other feelings.
The only other man who shares this belief with him is the religious man. Religion makes precisely the same demands for meaning and purpose as the Outsider. The Outsider is therefore akin to the religious man.”
Colin Wilson, The Outsider, 1954
”Att vara outsider i ett sjukt samhälle måste vara något starkt och bra, eller hur?”
Bruno K. Öijer
”My assertion that today there is no political system, no formation, and no party whatsoever worth devoting oneself to, and that everything existing must be denied, has disconcerted many. However, this denial and non-commitment do not derive from a lack of principles, but from the possession of principles, which are precise, solid and not subject to compromise. […] In the life of today it can be appropriate, for many, to withdraw in order to settle in a more interior line of trenches, so that that which we cannot do anything about cannot do anything against us.”
Julius Evola, 1964
”The press today is an army with carefully organized weapons, the journalists its officers, the readers its soldiers. The reader neither knows nor is supposed to know the purposes for which he is used and the role he is to play.”
Oswald Spengler, 1918
”Tension without cosmic pulsation to animate it is the transition to nothingness.”
Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West, Vol. 2: Perspectives of World History, 1923
Of densely coiled layers of illusion
Each of which winds itself on the supreme insanity
That there are persons of any kind
When all there can be is mindless mirrors
Laughing and screaming as they parade about
in an endless dream
Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seemed like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era — the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run… but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant…
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of ‘history’ it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights — or very early mornings — when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L.L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder’s jacket… booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got through the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change)… but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that…
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda… You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning…
And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave…
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.
I regard it as the world itself.
Evolution cannot avoid bringing intelligent life ultimately to an awareness of one thing above all else and that one thing is futility.
Cormac McCarthy’s play (which some people believe reads more like a novel) has been called “a poem in celebration of death”. I have yet to put my hands on anything by McCarthy that is nothing short of amazing, and The Sunset Limited is no exception.
However, I don’t find this play to be such an awesome literary experience as compared to Blood Meridian, for example, and that’s quite obvious since this is a play. Here is no Cormac painting pictures in your mind, here is none of that superb prose you’re used to, but here are these two men talking about the meaning and the meaninglessness of life, death, God, faith and other fairly intangible ideas, and that’s about it.
I didn’t know about this play until I found out about the movie adaptation. Starring Tommy Lee Jones as White and Samuel L. Jackson as Black, this is one tough battle for the human soul. In a way, these two dudes represent two extremes, and also, to be honest, two stereotypes. At least that’s what I make out of it. The black man being an ex-prisoner, a murderer, who found God in jail, and the white man being a professor and an atheist. That’s pretty stereotype, isn’t it? So, at times, the dialogue gets pathetic.
Black relies entirely on his faith in the Bible and White believes in Culture. Or believed, rather. Because apparently, White just tried to commit suicide. He has lost his faith in Culture and the human condition: “The things I believe in don’t exist anymore”. White has awoken to the real world around him, and the real world is evil. Interpreting the play in this way, I find it superb. It’s pretty much what I’ve been trying to say all along. Thus, I can cope with some parts being rather simple-minded.
Well. That would be the final nightmare. Kafka on wheels.
This is Cormac McCarthy without the surrounding mythos and tension and atmosphere. Also, he has left the territories he knows best: man in nature, the nature of the beast, the nature of man. A lot of true critics say he’s not working as well without the atmosphere and stuff, but I say fuck that shit… Sure, I’m a fanboy, and highly biased, but I think my mind is clear enough to say that this is some pretty good dope for the soul. The subjects he’s dealing with are pretty much the same as always, although in a more accepted way, so to speak. I think this dialogue speaks to more people than Blood Meridian, for example. The Sunset Limited is straight to the point, while Blood Meridian is almost occult and obscure in perspective.
As for the movie VS the play, I’d say I enjoyed the movie more (despite the bad editing). Maybe because I’m not used to reading plays and all, and I really like the acting of Tommy Lee Jones and Samuel Jackson.
As always, you decide.
There’s a church I might enter.
I don’t know why you keep returning to this blog since I rarely update anylonger, but about 150 unique visits a day must mean something. Are you morbid?
I will try to awaken this site for real, but the time is not yet right. Hopefully I’ll be able to write at least a couple of articles every month if all goes as planned, but don’t expect that to happen in a near future, though. Everyday life tends to get in the way of everyday hate…
On December 5 2006 I wrote this in my very first post:
”You may come to hate me for what I write because it may challenge your mind and what you believe is true”.
Sounds like something out of the X‑Files, but truth is, I’ve received quite a lot of strange anonymous e‑mails from hateful sionist weaklings over the years. None of them ever cared for an open debate. That’s how they uphold their lies, by lurking in the shadows. Facts can never be anti-Semitic.
Anyway, just wanted to post this to let all you freaks who keep returning to this hollow shell know that my work here is not yet done.
I’m coming back. I will return. And I’ll possess your body and I’ll make you burn.
‘Those who love life do not read. Nor do they go to the movies, actually. No matter what might be said, access to the artistic universe is more or less entirely the preserve of those who are a little fed up with the world.’
Time and time again I praise this magnificent essay, Against the World, Against Life, written by Michel Houellebecq. However, it seems like it’s hard to get a hold of the Swedish translation. The essay is too good not to be read, so in order for you to worship I’ll at least give you the English copy in all its PDF glory. Enjoy!
By the way, one possible anagram for ”The meaning of life” is ”The fine game of nil”.
The world of the occult and the obscure, the hidden and the haunted… It might just be a load of bollocks to most, but to me it represents the inner cravings of the human psyche. A need to discover the dark, as Jon Nödtveidt once put it.
The human mind and the core of humanity is reflected in the darkness of man, and this is what’s of interest to those who seek beyond the everyday boredom of life. If you fear the unknown, you probably prefer television before the secrets of the black arts…
Or simply put: Fantasy is more interesting than reality.
But ok, most of the writings on the left hand path are a load of bollocks. It’s pretty much new age crap. Lame as fuck. At least that’s my opinion having read or skimmed through quite a bunch of books on the subject.
However, bollocks or not, some of the texts below makes my mind wander when all hope is gone – and that’s all I crave. It’s like reading a good book of fiction. That’s how I look at most things I read. Reading academic stuff like an academic takes the fun out of reading. Most importantly, the mind must awaken and the soul must be touched, or else I could do with whatever shallow shit that’s on TV at any given moment.
So here are a bunch of basic works that I’ve found interesting in many ways. If you’re into the imagery and lyrics of the occult metal scene, you should definitely take notice.
The Egyptian Book of the Dead
The Psychedelic Experience – A manual based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead by Timothy Leary
An essay about the Tibetan Book of the Dead by Annie Shapiro
The Kaballah Unveiled
The Art and Meaning of Magic (contains the Iron Maiden quotes “I Am He! The Bornless One!”)
The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley
The Magical Revival
The Lives of the Necromancers
For deeper dwelling I highly recommend The Doctrine of Awakening by Julius Evola. It just might deserve its own article… We’ll see about that.
Related posts about religion:
The meaning of the curse
Belief and Bloodshed: The Religion of Genocide
The Louse of Holy Name
Jehova, Christ, Lucifer and Satan
Religion and its influence on society
DSO – Obedience to the point of death
Prayin’ hard – Jim Goad
Show me a man who is good
Nietzsche — Revalutation of all values!
>Yesterday, across the crowd of the boulevard, I found myself touched by a mysterious Being I had always desired to know, and whom I recognized immediately, in spite of the fact that I had never seen him. He had, I imagined, in himself, relatively as to me, a similar desire, for he gave me, in passing, so significant a sign in his eyes that I hastened to obey him. I followed him attentively, and soon I descended behind him into a subterranean dwelling, astonishing to me as a vision, where shone a luxury of which none of the actual houses in Paris could give me an approximate example. It seemed to me singular that I had passed so often that prodigious retreat without having discovered the entrance. There reigned an exquisite, an almost stifling atmosphere, which made one forget almost instantaneously all the fastidious horrors of life; there I breathed a somber sensuality, like that of opium smokers when, set on the shore of an enchanted island over which shone an eternal afternoon, they felt born in them, to the soothing sounds of melodious cascades, the desire of never again seeing their households, their women, their children, and of never again being tossed on the decks of ships by storms.
There were there strange faces of men and women, gifted with so fatal a beauty that I seemed to have seen them years ago and in countries which I failed to remember and which inspired in me that curious sympathy and that equally curious sense of fear that I usually discover in unknown aspects. If I wanted to define in some fashion or other the singular expression of their eyes, I would say that never had I seen such magic radiance more energetically expressing the horror of ennui and of desire—of the immortal desire of feeling themselves alive.
As for mine host and myself, we were already, as we sat down, as perfect friends as if we had always known each other. We drank immeasurably of all sorts of extraordinary wines, and—a thing not less bizarre—it seemed to me, after several hours, that I was no more intoxicated than he was.
However, gambling, this superhuman pleasure, had cut, at various intervals, our copious libations, and I ought to say that I had gained and lost my soul, as we were playing, with a heroic carelessness and lightheartedness. The soul is so invisible a thing, often useless and sometimes so troublesome, that I did not experience, as to this loss, more than that kind of emotion I might have, had I lost my visiting card in the street.
We spent hours in smoking cigars, whose incomparable savor and perfume give to the soul the nostalgia of unknown delights and sights, and, intoxicated by all these spiced sauces, I dared, in an access of familiarity which did not seem to displease him, to cry, as I lifted a glass filled to the brim with wine: “To your immortal health, old he-goat!”
We talked of the universe, of its creation and of its future destruction; of the leading ideas of the century—that is to say, of progress and perfectibility—and, in general, of all kinds of human infatuations. On this subject His Highness was inexhaustible in his irrefutable jests, and he expressed himself with a splendor of diction and with a magnificence in drollery such as I have never found in any of the most famous conversationalists of our age. He explained to me the absurdity of different philosophies that had so far taken possession of men’s brains, and deigned even to take me in confidence in regard to certain fundamental principles, which I am not inclined to share with anyone.
He complained in no way of the evil reputation under which he lived, indeed, all over the world, and he assured me that he himself was of all living beings the most interested in the destruction of Superstition, and he avowed to me that he had been afraid, relatively as to his proper power, once only, and that was on the day when he had heard a preacher, more subtle than the rest of the human herd, cry in his pulpit: “My dear brethren, do not ever forget, when you hear the progress of lights praised, that the loveliest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist!”
The memory of this famous orator brought us naturally on the subject of academies, and my strange host declared to me that he didn’t disdain, in many cases, to inspire the pens, the words, and the consciences of pedagogues, and that he almost always assisted in person, in spite of being invisible, at all the scientific meetings.
Encouraged by so much kindness, I asked him if he had any news of God—who has not his hours of impiety?—especially as the old friend of the Devil. He said to me, with a shade of unconcern united with a deeper shade of sadness: “We salute each other when we meet.” But, for the rest, he spoke in Hebrew.
It is uncertain if His Highness has ever given so long an audience to a simple mortal, and I feared to abuse it.
Finally, as the dark approached shivering, this famous personage, sung by so many poets and served by so many philosophers who work for his glory’s sake without being aware of it, said to me: “I want you to remember me always, and to prove to you that I—of whom one says so much evil—am often enough bon diable, to make use of one of your vulgar locutions. So as to make up for the irremediable loss that you have made of your soul, I shall give you back the stake you ought to have gained, if your fate had been fortunate—that is to say, the possibility of solacing and of conquering, during your whole life, this bizarre affection of ennui, which is the source of all your maladies and of all your miseries. Never a desire shall be formed by you that I will not aid you to realize; you will reign over your vulgar equals; money and gold and diamonds, fairy palaces, shall come to seek you and shall ask you to accept them without your having made the least effort to obtain them; you can change your abode as often as you like; you shall have in your power all sensualities without lassitude, in lands where the climate is always hot and where the women are as scented as the flowers.” With this he rose and said good-bye to me with a charming smile.
If it had not been for the shame of humiliating myself before so immense an assembly, I might have voluntarily fallen at the feet of this generous gambler, to thank him for his unheard of munificence. But little by little, after I had left him, an incurable defiance entered into me; I dared no longer believe in so prodigious a happiness, and as I went to bed, making over again my nightly prayer by means of all that remained in me in the matter of faith, I repeated in my slumber: “My God, my Lord, my God! Do let the Devil keep his word with me!”