I become the body of thorns
Held down under moonlight, cloaked in ecstasy ‘neath veils of dissociated dream. And you, standing there; decked in blue like soft light falling, from stars gently reflecting on the body of a lake. Sublime radiance; Witchblood; framed by Gwernen tree. A vision of boundless lustre, perfect black nocturne, lifted by a moon that speaks in silence, lodestar before the cauldron’s fire.
I saw you sense my coming, for you turned away and smiled. But you wanted me and having seen my secret being you fell upon it, set the snare of my own design. Softly nurturing my hidden beast, you whisper: “I shall make you mine”, and your sirenous voice, reverberating encephalon, unfurls a spectral forming of hands. They press your symbols upon me, pulling my sinews tight to render the sign of our compact, this is the moment of sacrifice. The bells of the stars are rung all around me, inestimable cacophony of mournful screams. Primal force ploughs into me, forging a path of torture. I Become the body of thorns, falling to the chasms of darkness and battle.
You dash my body on the rocks, and I dissolve like hailstones in the ceaseless river’s gleam. I am stained, ghoulish and bound by infernal forces, the seductive tides of my own failure suddenly rising like a storm at sea. Ravished by abomination, spiralling arms of water churn me to bloody shreds; caustic taint drips out from aciculated skin; biting; tearing; pitiless clawing; consciousness collapsing to shards; the agony of formless darkness, the engorged void of phantasmal sea. Soused in this malignancy, serous poison asphyxiates. Liquescent hands pull down to darkness. Hadal spiralling. Abyssal zones. The ship sinks, yet its place remains, covered by serpentinite sediment, resting within the dragon’s coils. From the heart of the abyss, black tides cry my name in ecstatic tongues. The demon spirals forth in a swirl of boiling scarlet and black liquid, bones torn, heads encased in fish scales, faces pushed back with hands, arms wrapped around ribs, bones dragging across form, bleached bones falling endlessly over me, hands gouging skin, arms about my neck, claws furrowed, nails digging deep into flesh which becomes a swarm of rusting tears. The storm of sorcerous flux surges forward, endless immutable force of power; yours.
Behold the garden seeded from stars
There is no light. I am again lost in the darkness, but the arcane know that the empyrean lies in the heart of Ophidian tenebrosity. So I implore you to lead me on, towards the crossroads. At the centre I behold my own grave, sepulchre as Axis Mundi, passage from loam into eternity. The earth swallows me whole; finds nourishment, witness to the birth of death. Life recoups my bones through dust, mortality feeds the earth. You have adorned this blood drenched acre with more bodies than the dirt can bear. Take all, bury all in blackest death, which demands no matter your magnificence; and give from it this brilliantly blooming ground. For I am the wayfarer without a trail, and this the sacred meeting place. Our cemetery a cosmography; behold the garden seeded from stars. Become a vessel of the dreaming multitude, transmute the body of the murdered to the coinage of timeless sacrifice. Here lieth my hand upon the lamp of the reaper and my heart is filled with amorous music. Hail to Midnight’s Eden! Hail to the tomblands of times gone by! To cross the serpent with love is the kindling of Desire between the fires of Gods and men.
Lengthening flame let loose my fetters, locked within the snake-bone trap. I am the coals of apostasy which heats the furnace to smelt the crown of life; The pyre which is forever burning unleashes the energies of death. Charred bone! Black fire! Black fire! And heart of open flame. I limn the atavistic frame of man. You are Death! A fiery bird plunging ever downward in the night sky like cascading chalices of molten iron falling ‘cross the waxing crescent moon; the whirr of bat’s wings beating ‘gainst the earth; the scraping of the coffin nails, the vicious fangs and lashings by claw. I hear myself shouting, deep gulping screams, held by the night’s black thicket. I am the prey. You plunge down to earth upon me, I am crushed by your nocturnal scream of rage, but my blood drenched hands lock your wings to earth; hold you with me. Bite down on me, I beg you, let me feel your force and ferocity. Press me to the ground; crawl across my skin; pull my flesh asunder; turn my lips to gore. I long for you, your ravening lust for blood, to fall into your savage coition. Waste me, whilst I am lying on the crescent; indomitable strength, challenge me; rend, rend, rend! From the ashes of this charnel-ground your strength burns a god within me. O flame! Come forth in the body of the dead, so we may go forward together as fire encircled.
This is the moment, the point of revelation
My senses overwhelm me, pushed as far as desire can intrude, aching flesh burns for the stars themselves, my consciousness slips, plunged into the depths of apotheosis. Only dark cries to me are music; my life rings like resonance dies. Sinister bells toll in the darkness; The bone flute calls and we dance widdershins, dropping flesh for bone and blood. Your pulse becomes the breathing of the night; this song becomes an altar and dark roads open upon it, spinning on unseen echoes of the dance. In the flensing liberation of sinew I turn as your bullroarer, through me, your voice howling; exposing excoriation; aer and aether singing through bones; spasms of flesh; turnings of the drum; the song of convulsions. This mysterious mimesis can no longer be grasped in the body, it must come from within the mystic lumina of ecstasy. This is the moment, the point of revelation; here the sublimation becomes ethereal. It is the dance of sensation, that conceives the unseen universe; that crown of all my Arte. Death hath thrust me into you, and the seed of your life forces its way into me. We are infinite bodies, yet one, eternal, the gateway opened to the endless sky beyond.
When all your fury has passed to a fine mist of blood and flesh, when like smoke doth it gird your claws, let dark wings flutter upon the twilight breeze. We slay the trinity of sacred eidolons to steal from death that anamnesis which makes all things revealed. The world now falls silent and in the silence there is joy. The weave dissolved, your image appears again, wrapped within the dew of the moon: forming sigil upon sigil, interlocking from body of earth to the vault of heaven; the cosmic seal of our compact.
What is all this sound for? Death is no journey at all.
About Author
