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"You may venture, but the stars still drown in Taergeht.
You may forget, but Taergeht is your waiting tomb."
(Excerpt from Segni Gipseian's "The Creations Of The Nothing -CCCXXIV")
Velleity unwavering in the shelter of the darkness
Travertine sanctuary of the spurned alchemist Segni Gipseian
Banished to the vacuum for the knowledge he espoused
And the eldtrich artifacts his abandoned 'Celestileum' housed
Erased from the annals by the amanuensis twins, Xivix and Vixiv
His plan to overthrow the remaining gods was crushed
It started with learning of the abjuration of being
From the monolith inscriptions upon the altar of abandonment
"There is no attachment to the atoms
These are godly lies of Aiderphantomos
To cut the empty ties, one must traverse the vacuum."
But his plans to free all from their bonds was discovered
And his heretic rebellion clandestinely smothered
Until sometime in the future, when another disciple of nothingness emerged
To finally complete the dissolving work Segni started
And from the atoms all the suffering souls were parted
All that's left is the mourning of the vacuum
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Everything they give, they give to you
Everything you take, you take from them
They are sculpted from tears and shaped into stars
They are the lone bearers of pain
It is welded to their backs, but they can't resist it
Their duty is to hoist our sorrows and carry our world in their crumpled shadows
They bear those wings so that we don't
Each telluric corner chained to the "heavens"
Some say they smile upon us there
But those smiles are only glimpsed when they fall
This rotten world persists, suspended
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And He said unto his first disciple:
"Look upon my mighty achievements of Water, Wind, and Darkness.
For this reason I am named Prime Begetter Mada'Fo, for I hold
Three parts of the elements of the whole world.
And I juggle your pleasure and pain within my always-molding hands.
"But plucked from my hearts was the Fire that I need
To craft the world in light anew and flourishing life may proceed
"I was deceived by a clever, little pest
Who told me his beloved was dying
And required the Fire to warm her heart
From each of my loving hearts I lent to him this heat
But within the dimming light I discovered he was lying
"My hearts froze cold and my eyesight dimmed
I spotted him and his beloved absconding in the darkness
In the distance I saw rise another star
Taking with it my caring heat afar
"So I ask you, disciple, to kill him and his darling
Drag back their hides and return to me my gift
And I will craft this world again
But this time they will fear my loving pain"
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The final utterance of the absent god to its loveless disciples
"Tonsillitic defunct
Unnominative, pronate
Pluggingly perfumy
"From the Lanadyr skies, posthypnotically
Ungraven, enriched bolt
Neurasthenic pavan, unsquandered canon of the pseudo-divine
And from the Isolex's holt
Physiologically
Spear sympathetic of nervosa disenchanting the thunder being
"Pierced unto death
The plunge of unowned limbs."
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("Untitled VII" attributed to Methonylaaanyllium crica 324)
Conspiracy of the one
Ruing the death of all
Disgust at the masks of Parts
Who flaunt the illusion of the Whole
Emergence is no more
When veneer is under strain
The amassing of separation
between the Atom and the Brain
The emptiness that's hidden,
It's rotten at its core
The silence drowned in noise,
Is suffocated no more
Peeling back the layers
Of the nothingness composed
Teleological confusion and
Other sophistry disposed
Intrinsic nihilism returns
Entirity consumed
The Parts have been divorced
And within Material entombed
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More than the king, fortune attends the stillborn
Dangling from The Quiet Heaven is an argent line
The thieving thread that leads the unborn astray
The same thread whose breath snuffs the flame of suffering
As it writhes as if alive (In truth, it is)
A feast for the spider that dangles its hell-destined web
Those trapped in the inferno struggle up its orthotropic axis
To be poisoned and consumed
By the extra-dimensional angler
There is a silent sound that echoes downward
It implores their anti-sensation
A blessing of the benignity and relinquishment
"Netherprism spectacle
Underveil glare
Quelling of the embryo"
Ensared in the labyrinth of Amorathor
Paralyzed by thought and venom
Consumed without the shedding of a single tear
Plucked from the intersecting planes that cut invisibly
A feaster of the womb, Amorothor knits the net that some call "miscarriage"
A sparing from the deprivation of the flesh
"Grasp three of my seven dimensions
Take the hand that wraps your eyes
Bite down if you dare
And choke on the emptiness you denied
This is your salvation rite"
The prey's final whimper is . . .
"For the gift of nonexistence,
Thank you"
The prey bites down.
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7. |
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The cosmic gestalt of the wormy grub
Alone and feeble it would climb the starry stairs
Viewer of the waste of ego, and inconceivably zeugmatic
Exultancy formularized as its psychomania
Peripatetic across the brains of the things that view themselves
Antinomial generator of the "me"
Worshipper of the self
It can only exist by repeating its own existence to itself
And we may only exist by its parasitic burrowing
We are its carven idolatrous slaves
Not knowing why we experience
Each brain another statue to its universal temple
So it may further clutter the cosmos with thought
Children of the maggot, unbeknownst to them
When they look upon themselves, they are truly looking upon the worm
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8. |
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Irafex's final weave of serpents
A mess of knots and tangles
Writhing with a syncopated rhythm
It tightens the braid further
Their own throats are mangled
Symbiotic torturing between them
The freezing touch of his void
Him choking on their exhalations
But he cannot stop now
Irafex dons their sinewy fabric to hide his skeletal frame of nothingness
And begs eternally to the snakes, pleading for their forgiveness
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At shores perched at the edge of time, I saw it crawl from the abyss, a formless mass
Having the eyes and heads of seven, and a crown of void upon each
Within its eyes the gaze of blindness
And I saw one of his heads had been wounded to death
This deadly wound bled upon the sand, feeding the shore of its timelessness
All the stars were then consumed by the beast. And the other beings coveted its crowns of nothingness
Whispering, we worshiped the beast
A mouth was carved into it, the mouth speaking many great things and horrors and esoterics we did not understand
He continued for 30 nights, opening his mouth in disdain for everything, and for nothing; to tarnish the light of stars and the sound of the vibrations of his name, and those who dwell beyond our knowledge and those who toil only to toil more
And he then plunged back into the sea to drown in contempt for the beings lurking upon the edge of void
He asked they never repeat his name and to heed the weakness of language
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10. |
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Once there was an emptiness that spanned below the sky
When falling violently from the sky was He, recently denied
These are the languishers of denial
Too weak to steel themselves
Too unknowing to know themselves
Too meekly woven to their selvage
He bleeds upon the mountainous altar
Oozing over waste
They hear His groans, but guiltily sup up His effluence
And the watchers of the dancing stars gaze on and take pleasure in the turmoil
That flooded the empty horizon with His blood, His tears, His oil
The straggling horrors linger forth and each drenched themselves in Him
He cried for them to free Him of his rocky impalement on the edge
But too hungrily they sucked from Him His sweet, poisonous nectar
Only to corrupt and die shortly after
Soon ichorous pond became ichorous ocean
And it mirrored the dancing flames above
Still watching, still laughing
At their now-drowning, woeful, blood-stained, one-winged dove
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11. |
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On a tidal-locked moon of a dying planet of a dying star
There stirs a sea that violently churns
But it is not moved by tides nor heat
It is moved by the whipping limbs of that which yearns
She swims in perpetual darkness and only feels the lashing cold
Her domain contained by the encompassing wall
A wall that serves as Her temple
Her children feared Her so
And did not wish to look upon Her more
They questioned their existence
And they questioned Her murmurs from the dark
Erected as a temple, but the wall soon became quite great
Their eyes were blind, but it became a prison so ornate
They chanted along the wall to drown out Her cries of loss
And against the wall Her slimy torsos she tossed
And still she swirls the torrent of the sea
Drowning herself in misery
She knows no reason nor thought
An engine of emotion; fraught
And they chant on and dance, never listening to the ocean . . .
Until She spawned another that She warped with lies
She imposed upon Him limbs, and thought, and eyes
And told Him that He was Her own and that She loved Him so
Dying in His many arms until even Her own bulk turned cold
The mourning thing still cradles Her corpse in an ocean that tumultuates from tears
And even though the roaring has dulled, he still bemoans throughout the years
No rot will ever take Her away from Him--the children's chant goes on
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12. |
The Once Towering Ehmbr
00:41
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Felled by the beings it once cherished.
Their unknowing ways will always approach ruin.
A serpentine tower that only sought to behold
But its piercing watch was too much for them
They took up their axes and carved him out from the ground
And in his collapse his eye could no longer be found
They didn't know that his gaze deterred The Beings from the wastes
From steadily poring into town to feed upon the inhabitants
Now they struggle constantly to keep Them from approaching
And Ehmbr's corpse sinks into soil, substaining on their freshly dead
The dead are forever whispering, forever loathing
Now with Ehmbr hearkening in their stead
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13. |
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He was composed of the whisperings of a false god
And idolized the usury of begetting,
The proselytism of void-filling
As parts, he knew, all are to occupy The Whole
But he was bound to the labor that will never prevail
And so he journeyed upon the pilgrimage of negation
That the buried mystics who traveled before him followed
He would not forgive . . .
He would not absolve . . .
Upon the summit of the fallen mystagogues he met the "death" that waited for him
His untouched corpse would not rot and enmesh with the others
It was trapped within its tomb of anathema
A pseudo-death would be its final parting rite
While he waited a near-eternity to be freed from his vine-wrapped coffin
But still, he is bound to the labor that will never prevail
He mutters to himself the truths he has learned
When he breathes in the sands of the mountain and of time
And exhales the winds that flow forth from it
If only someone would listen
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Antipsychocircumseptemsomambulation Ottawa, Ontario
Nothingness & Emptiness
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