Summer 16'? We found a book of poetry at the community college while flyering. It wasn't good. All poetry should just be music and here is the proof. College poetry played by a lobster boy in the key of Johnny Hobo.
Before Dust is something i wrote about what I have encountered in my magickal practices. I don't claim this to be gospel, just what I have seen. This is intended as an inspiration to those with the courage to explore.
As someone who had always wanted a family of my own, news from my doctor that I was infertile hit me hard, and I returned to drinking too much in an effort to nullify the daily pain of that realization. He really did tell me, with a pally smile on his face "at least you don't have to worry about contraceptives", and left the issue at that. What an ignorant prick. At least I'm a stepfather now - that role takes a certain rare breed of stoic, determined idiot. Also, those l still take alcohol, I have reeled it back in to slight/social levels. The coccyx damage has partially healed also, to as much as it will, but l get occasional twinges. I used to be heavily into adventure hobbies and sports. I miss them all now. I exercise readily and frequently though, so thankfully I'm no longer a big, fat bastard. Oh well, back to the quiet tumbleweeds of Harwich. I hope you like this early foray into composing slam poetry.
1. The Theatrocrat opening 2. The Testament of a Vivisector 3:19 3. The Testament of a Man Forbid 16:52 4. The Testament of an Empire-Builder 29:47 5. The Testament of a Prime Minister 1:13:29 6. The Testament of John Davidson 2:09:56 7. St. Valentine's Eve (Fleet Street Ecologues) 4:26:51
Tyler Haagenson performed an exceedingly good guitar part for the original version of this song. That can be found with a little digging - this is not my main sales platform.
I thought I'd just recite it alone though, and without any distracting effects. I'm growing very tired of YouTube.
I hope this makes sense. I'm not a nihilist (or the rest). I tried to tap into the mindset though, as best I could, and illustrate some of the damning flaws, or at least what one could have to cope with, were one to accept it, and the very baseness and flippancy of that.
I think I'll lose YouTube followers for posting this; their attention primarily. Or gain more enemies. Or they just won't give a shit. Either way, and regardless, it felt like good art.
Of course, it could just be a very anal-minded and sub-standard attempt to gently troll those who have irritated me on YT recently, but I do feel the poem has some small merit on its own, even if the framing is a little confrontational and grumpy. They liked the original thrash version; I'm sure someone or other can stand the words. It's certainly not one of my best pieces, but I originally wrote it around age 17 - you do have that sort of ultra-pessimistic, self-righteous view at that age, sometimes.
"If you're going to try, go all the way. otherwise, don't even start.
if you're going to try, go all the way. this could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs and maybe your mind.
go all the way. it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days. it could mean freezing on a park bench. it could mean jail, it could mean derision, mockery, isolation.
isolation is the gift, all the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. and you'll do it despite rejection and the worst odds and it will be better than anything else you can imagine.
if you're going to try, go all the way. there is no other feeling like that. you will be alone with the gods and the nights will flame with fire.
do it, do it, do it. do it.
all the way all the way.
you will ride life straight to perfect laughter, it's the only good fight there is."
A "preview" poem based on excerpts from the lyrics to this new song. It'll be along in finished form in a little while - currently just working on mastering my instrumental work.
I hope the verse appeals. It's extremely grim, but has matched my current mood, and what I have been researching and educating myself on politically, and with some thorough poetic bluntness. If we can cope with Yeats and the masterpiece that is "The Second Coming", or indeed the grim excesses of Wilfred Owen et al. then I'm sure we can chew through this humble spasm of decayed words. It's a bit shit by comparison, granted, but I think it still possess some mild merit.
I based these disquieting lines on a bleak yet passionate document provided to me by "Dark Phoenix", first translating her French, and then comparing it to her original English translation. I then tried to make a composite of my own, both in augmented word choices, and also then in grammatical layout. English lends itself well to assonance, alliteration and slant-rhymes. Especially the compound slanting at the end of my longest stanza, in which I was tempted to use the word "morrow", but decided on a fiddlier concrete metaphor to try and describe breakdown and dissolution - an endzeit. I could have done the same with "dawning", but there is no ready dawn in this. not without great, wrenching darkness.
The meter came naturally to me, based around six-counts. I'd have to look up the technical term for that; that regular stress pattern laying on the first and fourth syllable. It's another obvious choice tied in to the opaque Satanic nature of these condemnatory verses...
I am not a Satanist. It all pisses me off a wee bit to be honest, the "lefty" takes on it in particular. I go with Aleksandr Dugin over the issue. If it's good enough for V. Putin, who am I to disagree, at this level? As i've noted before in places between-the-lines... I genuinely prefer Russo-Slavic Christian authoritarianism-of-sorts to some of the other bloody options out there right now. I have no doubt in my mind that my Dad would not agree with me on this in the slightest. Oh well... what a pain. I don't care much if anyone else agrees. The UK has been a very irritating places for me to live in, for quite a while. It deserves better than what it has rampantly devolved into. Anyhow, I've gloriously digressed from the point now.
The full song can be found on the new "Risen" album, by Vore Complex, whenever I pull my finger out and actually finish it.
Odd note: I have never been particularly fond of Nietzsche either. Not at all really - the ramifications of his works, usually, and the huge pile of wanky, nihilist twits following in his lunatic wake. I do read him now and again though, in places, and I think I feel a mite of pity for the man sometimes.
..you might need to go below to 'comment' section for a better link. A solid positive construction is poetry in motion. This is the shortest simplest yet deep explanation of true trade. ..with the distinction of where truth or lies takes one and all, thrown in! In support of all 'yellow vest' movements world wide.
A small segment of the much longer poem that I decided to focus in on and "remix". The lyrics to it all were originally written in late 2013. It took me a good few years to sort the music (and my voice) out though. The original was initially part of my Skomorokh project, till I incorporated that into Vore Complex itself.
The video is, once again, just me testing out various combinations of effects for my future reference. As for the music, it's a very grim, bitter topic for a song at all. Most of mine are, albeit not always this linguistically visceral. Sardonic, but without any real humour, bar the blunt, irreverent phrasing. A few weirdly understated British-themed reflections on Establishment ruling class atrocity and the trickle-down into (or overlap with) the hardcore fetish communities.
The screen glitches and other visual aberration parts are deliberate, don't worry. I was trying to create an analogy to a camera malfunctioning and switching off, as an issue gets increasingly more complicated, and then eventually just dying away unreported. The unsettling backing image is just an adjusted piece of macabre art based on a pair of human lips, dripping bloody saliva.
Chris, Nate and I talk about G.K. Chesterton's poem "A Song of Defeat" with digressions on the state of today's journalism, early twentieth century click-bait, perfectly good terms gathering unfortunate luggage, and the aesthetic qualities of beating one's grandmother to death in the park.
Nate, Louis, and I discuss George Gordon, Lord Byron's poem "Written After Swimming From Sestos to Abydos." Along the way, we cover Byron's general lunatic badassery, why brains AND brawn is better, and holding Byron's beer (in a goblet made from a skull).
Nate, Louis, and I discuss Rudyard Kipling's poem "Hymn Before Action" with diversions into good morality and bad theology, dying an honorable death, and why you shouldn't piss off the British. Also, we'll have to start a petition to have Sabaton perform this as heavy metal.