Cold, so,
So unbearably frigid,
You can feel the chill penetrating
Deep past layers of muscle tissue
Straight into thy bones, bitter frost
Enveloping you in its embrace; you
May try to avoid the blistering frigidity,
But there is no escape. None at all.

All around, as far as the eyes can see, is a blanket of
Thick, white, endless snow, obscuring the ground
Under its smothering, vast presence. One could concur,
Indeed, all is dead and lost…this be a land
Of no hope,
No future,
Visual representation of that numerical value

But the ancient trees still stand, bare, but proudly tall, and critters
Still find time to frolic with gaiety, while others
Have tucked themselves away to endure
What may appear to be the end times
In the eyes of the unfamiliar, the uninitiated.

Life hath not been vanquished.


Donned new appearances, new forms.

Pity to those who couldn’t
Make it; woe unto the unfortunate
Unable to withstand the mad howls of
A fading year’s rushing winds.

No way out, is all thy mind
Can seem to tell itself
On repeat.

Where, o’ where,
Doth the exit reside, in these
Harsh, cruel lands?

Trudging forth, it all seems so
Futile, as your body does its best to
Spread heat into every square inch of
Your being, eyes growing weary and blurred as a
Result of the vicious assault
Committed upon thee with
Great fervor, for Nature is
Often cruel, even when it’s so
Strikingly gorgeous and
Awe inspiring. Exhausted, tired, every
Bit of exposed skin stung by the burning
Pain of thousands of pointed, invisible needles,
Morphing into a deep crimson hue. Every step
Feels weighed down,
Unbearably heavy,
Senses turning numb
Whilst a blankness of
The mind overtakes.

Yes, this is all such a wondrous sight to
Behold, bear witness to…

Glory be to the picture-esque scenery,
A true monument to the
Sheer artistry Nature is capable of
With its brushstrokes and molding hands…

Preposterous, it would be, to not take
Note of the way the full moon
Bestows the only constant source
Of illumination; one
Mustn’t be hopeful
In regards to the
False hope given off by the
Rays of already dead stars that are
Impossibly far from our little abode.

Crawling still towards a
Non-existent path
That leads out of this

It begins to
Dawn on you…

What you hope for is not there.

Subsist? Survive? And how?

Via the lethally icy substance
You tread through?

Or the bits of food you were not
Programmed to detect…least of
All, here?

With no recourse left,
The snow is the last thing you
Feel as your body plummets
Right into the ground, unable to
Keep mindlessly wandering through this
Place, of which you cannot recall
How you wound up in.

Heart rate slows to stand still
As you let your heavy eyelids
Begin to fall shut, breathing becoming
More labored, more…difficult,
Lungs and throat singed, lacking moisture,
Only dry bitterness remaining, but the
Energy to cough and wheeze is
Dissipating fast.

Curious shadows begin to approach
From the edges of your field of vision.

Noises of a most disconcerting
Variety fill your ears, and you wonder
What will take you first.

It’s close…

The reaper’s scythe…

Departure is inevitably; tis coming soon.

But it will wait…

As the cessation of your life
Begins to take place, where being alive
Slowly turns to being a corpse, the
Puncture of Death’s eternal blade
Makes itself known in your back.

Jaws of what had been following
You since you entered into this space
Now indulge in the reward for their patience…

O’ it hurts, but the ability to scream
Left you long ago…



Planets, stray bits of cosmic matter, asteroids and comets, belts, solar systems, clusters, nebulae, stars and their dust, debris, light itself…all lost into its inescapable grasp. Nothing can hope to evade it, as it feasts on any and every single thing it comes across. A silent, deadly predator, floating through an ocean of vast, empty darkness. Extinguishing the signs of activity in entire areas spanning light years. Vampire lurking in the haunting abyss, growing ever larger off of the life they consume. Leaving voids in its wake. What was there? That has been forgotten. All that remains is the pitch black stare of a lonely graveyard. But there’s nothing to mourn what once was here. Nor would it care if anything did. For it is unceasing in its gluttonous hunger. Unfazed, for all it can do is follow its path. Suffocating the heartbeats of any and all celestial bodies that are unlucky enough to be met with its presence.

The utter coldness and callousness is the most unsettling part.

It operates on logic so bizarre and foreign to anything’s understanding, it appears simply as a marauding monster in search of more vulnerable, easy prey. What sounds would it make, if it could? A haunting cackle? Deranged howls? Maybe none…none at all.

Bright rings form around its impossibly large, impenetrable core. From a distance, there’s a certain beauty that surrounds this…thing. A whirlwind of enticing and exquisite spectacle clouding the very definition of sheer terror.

Onwards it shall go…


Their diseased, choked, stifled breathing sounds haunt your ears, letting you know that they are all around, out there in the thick, crimson fog. Where? One cannot say, for only the strange sounds they make alert you to their presence. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of them, obscured slightly by the mist. Lurking, skulking, jerking, howling…watching. Eyes as green as the noxious fumes given off by the ancient reactors, the ominous noises emanating from them reminiscent of…cackling. As if they were mocking you. Knowing you were trapped, without a way out.

Perhaps there were cruel smirks hidden under their hoods and masks, toying with you agonizingly as you tried to navigate the dark, confusing layout of this old villa. But they were, truthfully, empty husks devoid of expression and feeling. Your brain wanted to humanize them…yet they were not such. Were they ever? A menacing grin or a hardened glare would’ve less horrific than that ceaseless, many mile gaze. Piercing right through the crimson fog. And perhaps that was worst of all. The utterly mechanical, otherworldly way in which these…things…moved about. Just pure, relentless instinct. Operating on nothing else but the faint, dim remnants of neurological signals. What propelled them forth? No one could say. Certainly not them, for they’d lost any and all ability ages ago.

Creaks and groans reminded you that centuries had weathered this place, in addition to the already poor design barely holding this nightmare town together. Doing your best to not alert them, footsteps as light as could be. The gas liable to suffocate you and take you as another victim. Wise to its presence, avoiding thick concentrations of the blood-colored hue. How its oppressive presence ruled the villa with an iron fist. And the watch dogs that came with it…thrived in it, lived in it, reveled in it…only seemed to reinforce how it maliciously smothered and choked the area. Forever waiting for the chance to strike. Knowing them being here kept you from going so far.

A battle of attrition. One in which you’d cave.

Leaning your head out of openings rewarded your eyes with the far away silhouette of some grand monument to opulence, arrogance, and ignorance. Its very shape, both shadowy and clear, beckoned all towards it. Daring would-be adventurers into its cold, dead embrace. Standing proud atop the hill. A fetid body propped up as a symbol of a bygone era. Oddly enough, it wasn’t hidden away by the pervasive, rancid toxin that made your skin itch and nostrils burn. Huh.

How long had you been here?

Would you ever leave?

Leaving…that was impossible, wasn’t it? You were going to die here. Trapped. Forgotten. Alone, with the exceptions of an eerie recording of a woman singing the same mournful melody on repeat echoing in certain parts, and the indecipherable ramblings of some old, isolated kook. Who somehow realized…

You were here.

Noise rouses them. Riles them up.

Food was scarce here…


We squabble over notes in pockets and wallets. Mass produced pieces of paper, hardly much different than what I write these words upon. Only reason it means so much is because we repeat over and over that it does. The ghost, the phantom, of the dollar, still haunts this home called Earth. But we must seek to exorcise this nuisance, this demon. All things, as a result of this jealous god’s vicious influence, are reduced to matters of money. “Redistribute the flow of money so everyone is equal.” “Let the money decide what it wants.” “Only the most deserving shall receive the money.” Truth is, the only correct idea is to discard money altogether. While a certain philosopher came to this conclusion (one I despise), it is, indeed, true. We are Homo Sapiens, not Homo Economicus. To say that the musings of ideologues who draft up state-supported modes of vulgar production who care nothing for nothing else but what makes their precious, darling child breed and reproduce more of its wretched spawn (or more of its corrosive influence)…is a tragic error. The dollar is but a secular deity, another idol we worship. Its churches? Banks. And it is a pervasive, totalist god. It demands subservience. All discussions, in its eyes, must boil down to its existence, and how it can still be able to dominate.


There’s something that always mystifies us about two things: the dark, and the woods. From birth, we’re simultaneously enamored with and frightened by the absence of light, the lack of illumination. It’s both awe-inspiring, and terrifying. For what lies in the dark? We don’t know. Everything we fear, despise, loathe, and wish to keep locked away in the blissful recesses of realms which cannot be pierced or seen, or perhaps more bone-chilling, nothing at all except total emptiness. Tis a frontier, one that may never be…for lack of a better term, conquered. All variables are totally unknown. Much of this can also be said about the woods. Our eyes can gaze and gaze and gaze through the dense cluster of trees, shrubbery, bushes, leaves, dirt, rocks, mounds, rivers, creaks, flora, and fauna, but…we’ll never really know what calls such a place home. That disturbs us, unnerves us, shrinks our seemingly boundless confidence. Because we have a will-to-know. And to know, is to control and command. A certain bald Frenchman had this notion, and I happen to agree. No, it shall always be a mystery, even if we have deciphered it by merely glancing at it and taking it at face value. But this uncertainty of what lies ahead, if anything does, isn’t contained solely to woods. Deserts, jungles, plains and fields, swamps…you name it. I guess you could say that two things which mystify us, always are the dark…and Nature.

We associate the pair with the creepy, sinful, evil, monstrous, devilish, etc. Because of the anxieties and excitements they cause, both wishing to plunge into them, and yet never having the guts to fully embrace all that they contain and entail. For doing so would risk madness, and remind us of what we really are, which isn’t goodly, orderly creatures of God, but instead, rambunctious and always defiant beings that, quite simply, like to naturally shirk any chains and bindings placed upon us. They show us our true face. And thanks to aeons of conditioning, we’re frightened by it.

It isn’t during the daytime I feel free. It’s at night. I love to roam around at night, or just generally be awake during the witching hours. Ironically, it’s when I feel most alive. During the day, I feel…hmm, how shall I best put it? I feel less energized. Maybe that’s just an oddity to my character. Part of me suspects this is due to the fact that, during the day, I am an actor. But when I peruse the empty streets whilst the normal folks slumber, I notice certain things. Certain things which are, funnily enough, blocked out by the light. The stray animals folks tend to forget. The grit and grime that adorn this concrete jungle which we have crafted for ourselves. The true faces of the “honest and hardworking”. The types that our waking world would rather push away and try to block out of sight and mind. The secret happenings law and order can’t account for, and never could. Everything feels more, ironically enough, vibrant. Perhaps because no one’s watching, no one’s looking. One doesn’t have to put on the mask at night.

A similar sort of attitude is brought out in me when I venture off into Nature, which around here, happens to be the woods. Everything outside of them, when I immerse myself in them, feels superfluous. Frivolous. Basking in the solitude, I feel as though I am the only person in existence. What of everyone else? From there, they look like machines. Robots. Programmed automatons. And all of the amenities of that world melt away. I could do without them, I think. As a matter of a fact, why do I maintain the façade that it is, indeed, for me? All that goes through my mind as I enter into the embrace of branches, trunks, grass, and dirt, laying down in the comforting scenery, is my desire to never leave. Wanting to forever revel and relish in the feeling of isolation, total aloneness. With my thoughts, my body, my spirit. Cut off from everyone and anyone else. Surrounded by beauty, and not held to any obligation other than keeping myself alive. Not having to obey a string of absurd rules or beat at the mercy of an authority. Manufactured to keep us all scared, petrified, unable to live and think on our own. Reducing all to dim, vapid, boring husks skulking about.

When the two converge, nighttime and the forest, when the opportunity arises to relish in both at the same time, disappear into the trees under the veil of darkness, hidden so deeply amongst leaves and branches that not even moonlight can manage to illuminate the whereabouts of my presence, I feel as though I am somewhere else…something else, even. In the presence of that which is dark, primordial, and without a care for order, regimentation, uniformity. A sharp contrast to the world of artificial light and grotesque sameness born of a god who rebelled against the chaos of Nature and the black flame. No longer belonging to the world of humans, of humanity Relinquishing myself of such a title. Feeling no kind of obligation to this species, and its false obligations. I can simply…exist. Unshackled by tomorrow, or yesterday. Only now matters. Only I, and what I want. Unconcerned for the concerned for the desires of anyone else. Which is what they want. Me to be subsumed into their dreadful world, never to know myself again. A good, groveling altruist who serves so blindly. Stumbling about in a world of light. How could I live like that, as one of the “normal”, when the passage to the other side beckons me forth so clearly?

Many might declare me an isolated lunatic. But I do not feel alone in the presence of myself in the dark, obscured by the shadows, hidden by the all-encompassing embrace of a night sky. Nor do I feel lacking in company around animals and plants, and the spirits that accompany their homes. Shall this make me raving mad? If so, then I have little use for “sanity”. A category that only can be reserved for those who submit, who bow and cave, both physically and mentally. Unable to resist internally, or externally. Even in the smallest ways.


Is what you’d be on the chopping block,
Condemned to be killed by your
Own love affair…

Nothing but foot soldiers, pawns for
Scheming men; mirroring the
Very things you despise,
And yet, you gain so much praise…

Willing slave you are, the very thing
This preaches and rails against, choking
Upon the dust of dead men…

Once your use is fulfilled,
Carted of you’ll be
Into well-deserved misery,
Unable to let go of things so arbitrary…

But I guess that’s what happens
When you let programmed machines think,
Ready to fight and bleed
For thoughts and words that aren’t their own…

Human concoctions have never stood the test of time; don’t think yours are somehow special…


You’ve got the wrong idea,
It ain’t the world I hate,
My love of this planet is so big,
For it my own grave I would dig,
Really it’s just all the people crawling around on it!

We’re reaping what we’ve sewn,
The biggest blunder ever produced,
Deserving of being cast into the dark unknown,
Forget our hopes, forget our dreams,
Empty out those empty heads
And get ready to congregate with the dead!

Chasing what we fear the most,
Shaken to the core that we won’t infinitely go on,
But it’s gonna happen; it’s we’re made for,
No one will cry when our species is long gone!

Taking everything for granted,
Even our very selves,
All we touch turns into a nightmare,
Five digits are corrosive to all that breathes!

Even ourselves,
It’s unavoidable,
What are we to do…?


Not disturbed,
Weeping cries go unheard,
Screaming hollow words,
Bats in your belfry,
False tongue speaking lies,
Mute the voices that I despise,
Peace comes as I wring the necks of those I despise…

Taboos should be broken, with ‘em I got no quarrels,
Fuck you and your hocus-pocus morals,
You aren’t gonna spook me with your fake ass magic aurals,
Screw whoever you want,
However many you want,
Dress however you wish
And decide whatever it is you wanna flaunt,
Motherfuckers tell you it isn’t ok
To not feel comfortable in your skin,
But as far as I’m concerned, that isn’t
Some sort of bullshit sin,
They’ll hate you anyway,
Zero point in trying to win,
Fuck your friends if you wish,
Whiny bastards say you shouldn’t
But they’ll go behind their spouse’s back
And fuck another guy or bitch,
Do us all a favor, and don’t
Turn into a frustrated hypocrite…

Scared to death,
Holding your breath,
Mad at what doesn’t shorten your life’s length,
Possessed by ghostly shibboleths,
Likely not upset by your own volition,
Molded this way by soul incisions,
Imitation put you in this position,
Frightened by what you don’t understand; shaking and pissing…

Orgies in the woods,
Rough love on pagan altars,
Those of genders we don’t understand with laced hands
Have bonds that don’t falter,
Relationships beyond all conventions living freely
Under this monument to death, singing Dionysian psalters,
Prudish standards concerning bodies washed away into the gutter,
Drowned out are the screeches of boring fathers and mothers,
No longer are they content to be shackled; boldly yelling “I want more life, fucker!”…

It’s a welcome catastrophe,
This degradation,
Butchering of society’s anatomy
And watching its degeneration,
People driven mad by the calamity,
Cooped up from self-imposed insulation,
Big ups to your vanity,
Demolish, spiritually, this creation,
Out of their world of fantasy,
Leave behind the realm of kingdoms and nations,
Join us in the ever-shifting, unknowable realm of reality,
Don’t be hesitant, don’t be patient,
Vanish off to a world without gravity,
Render this one empty and vacant,
Bask in depravity
While they scramble for replacements,
Harshly reminded of their concoction’s mortality,
They do not deserve to make it,
Unknown to them, the fruits of sensuality,
Content to live sleepwalking and slaving…