HELLO, TWEAKERS. THE ARTIST CAN'T COME TO THE BLOG RIGHT NOW.



BUT THERE IS STILL TIME TO JOIN THE DEADPILL REVOLUTION. :)

PERSEPHONE JACOBS WILL LEAD US ALL INTO A GLORIOUS NEW AGE OF LIVING (or lack thereof). SEND IN YOUR PAYPAL DONATIONS, HEAVY NARCOTICS, DEAD ANIMAL BONES, AND PRAISES. SHE WILL REWARD YOU WHEN THE NINTH CODEX (comic) ARRIVES!




IF YOU ARE WONDERING WHERE HER MISSION WILL LEAD YOU, WORRY NOT. THE ANSWERS ARE ACTUALLY COMING, THIS TIME.


T H E

R E V O L U T I O N

I S

N I H I L




COMING UP NEXT: "FACE THE ASHES!"

P.S.

FORTUNA SUCKS! DON'T LISTEN TO ANYTHING SHE HAS TO SAY! ASK PERSEPHONE FIRST!

( TEDDYMADA )

On a semi-related note, have you ever seen one of those stories on the news about a child dying of [Insert Terminal Illness], and how insanely profound and selfless they sound about accepting their mortality?

It makes me seriously wonder about the people who live decades mentally stuck in a part of their childhood, catering to their ego's, never quite grasping the fact that they're actually still living. A lot of people seem to equate self-obsession with childhood, itself, but in the early development of the brain, if anything, we take in more of the world around us than anything else. Without the proper means to express our needs, though, we resort to primal, infantile actions to achieve the end result of getting our way. But if you are truly facing something so . . . BIG as death, it has a tendancy to put the ego in the proper place -- even in a child without an ego fully even developed. I find that beautiful, personally.

As far as the perpetual prepubescents go, though, depending on many factors such as discipline, though we grow older, for some of us, these methods don't go away, but evolve, as we take in more and more of what we are, as pertaining to "everything and everyone else." Failure to achieve balance with these needs, however, is not entirely the fault of the parents or the child, in my opinion. We all share a stake in this self-obsessive cesspool, because we ALL have a "self." We all are on borrowed time here (with the exception of Billy Zane, because he simply can never die).

It has become painfully obvious to me that we live in a society that does not promote true emotional maturity in anyone. We "grow" through actions and percieved success -- through institutions and dynamics set up that cater to only certain qualities, such as how useful we are to the world around us. Partially thanks to this, there exist among us people who use their perceived knowledge of these systems for nothing more than "childish" gains, emotionally.

Essentially, it's a catch-22. We either teach our children to function in a broken, selfish society, or we shelter and emotionally stunt them in other ways. If a child, however, is to establish such a dynamic very early on as to only see things based on their needs, it's very possible that it may never, ever change.

That's not even scratching the surface of it, though. The truly emotionally maladjusted vary on levels of how they can be "helped." The worst case scenario, it seems, would be, "I KNOW YOU ARE, BUT WHAT AM I?!"

You dig?

. . . Probably not. Unless you're one of the aforementioned, you probably have no clue what I'm talking about. Regardless, to tie this up, it's not that I'm trying to be a dick by pointing the finger; I'm just in mourning. Because much like we grieve a loved one taken from us by an inexorable physical ailment, the disease of errecting dangerous dynamics that must constantly be upheld to protect one's stunted mental / emotional state is in itself a loss... with a much less beautiful meaning, except a valuable lesson in what not to be.

You know, maybe as the messiah (you all still owe me a glorious city; don't think I've run out of Swine Flu!), I should give these emotionally stunted headcases some good 'ol fashioned plague, as if to say, "HEY, GROW THE FUCK UP."

'Tis the season.

*Huffs more computer duster* Believe it.

If you still play the "holier than thou" card in any real-life conversation, then you're in desperate need of new material... maybe even a new defense mechanism, altogether. We mean both the people who accuse it and the people who actually do it... sometimes when they're one in the same. The ones who rely on bullhorns and mysticism, yet never quite fall in love with the art of it for the right reasons -- hi. We're talking about you, you sly motherfuckers. It's out of fashion, and it's a beautifully morbid season. Lay to rest your worn-out burdens. Ego is the death of brilliance in you... and it's really quite absurd.

But fuck what you heard. Moving on, The Revolution is Nihil. The Dead Rhyme Harvest begins this winter. . . and soon after . . .



*Huffs computer duster* I feel like I'm walking on sunshine. Happy Thanksgiving.

"There's got to be a pill for forgiveness / there's got to be a trigger for happiness."


*Gets mentally kidnapped by a fictional character; what plot device?*

( Some so far INSIST that there are more than two hidden numbers in this picture; all I'm going to say is that only two were intentional )

If, perchance (merchants?), you are still following this convoluted, corroding, derailing and demonic choo choo train going off inside my head (or better yet, if you happen to be tied to the tracks -- mega sexy), rest assured that I will not let you down. All questions will be answered in time, Jest and Flesh.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, drRrRRRrRRrrRRrRRrrRRrrop.

Fell absolutely in love with this song today. Feeling very inspired.

Lyrics

Strangling the sycophants with wicked webs laden with the silky spun caress of sordid rain -- threads woven seductively in hate and in her veins, she is rising. Sicker than the purest virture subjugated just to hurt you, unwinding incessant death invested, she is rising. Nothing can stop this carnal catharsis from governing, advocating suffering and sweetening the blood from here to Kingdom Come. The Spider is rising, and Bedlam is surely damned for all of time (backwards and forwards, looping and lusting after and into the infinite) on a good god's dime.

*Knows you're not going to waste the time downloading the MP3 and playing it reverse, but pretends you can read his mind*

HEY. I didn't say you could read THOSE thoughts. . .

I am not soul-bonding with Jennifer Anansi. I am just ghost-writing.

*Rimshot, gunshot, earshot, lungshot*

Tough crowd, but nice sniping.

( New Misanthropy Spider lyrics; subject to change as witches are subject to burn )

"Once you're in Hell, only the devil can help you out."

-- Saw II

This Hallowed Adam's Eve is wake of crimson leaves beside the brittle, broken trees; and if Samhain a lady be, I'd raise a cup of orange black and ask she brave the dark with me. Benighted thieves of moonlight, we estrange the danger of our ways and end the night ablaze. We're hours cast from masquerades in jest and haze -- misfit tricks and cryptic twists to treat and amaze.

October's end will quicker come in courtship of a sicker one. Let love regale the darkness hailing light, and may we all enjoy the coming night. In light of God, or spite of all, let Hallow's Eve accost the Fall.

Happy Halloween. :)

GOING FUCKING CRAZY with HIGH ON FIRE, MASTODON and DETHKLOK at the HOUSE OF BLUES. :D

(and Converge.)

It was fucking incredible.

(Except for Converge.)

This is not it.

Don't worry; I'm letting Fortuna handle the PR.



The first of many (or at least two).

Rising, rising, rising, rising, rising, rising, rising...

Alternative download link (with some shady file host).

It's not hard for me to describe it . . .



. . . Just harder to make, now.

RIP Keyboard.

So, I hear NASA shot the moon today to celebrate me turning 23. Much to my disappointment, this did not cause the moon to, in turn, break off chunks into the atmosphere causing flaming moon missiles to drop down from the sky and fuck everything all up, but even regardless of that, this promises to be the best birthday ever... and I'm not the only one celebrating.

( The Cherubic... Cannabis song? )

More lunacy to come, involving secret identities, devilish entities and ominous remedies when we Face the Ashes.

lovelikevicodin

skye_rayne

Good luck with college, CI/KB. If the pressure gets to be too much and you commit suicide, hopefully you'll think of a creative way to do it. You always were kinda... good at that.

An effective disorder and seductive disease:
this infectious and morbid self-destructive release.
Advocating abhorrent inclinations to feed,
revelations in flesh have come to be
masticated divine finality.



When the riddles and hexes concerning what the flesh is are turning simple direction more demented than our sex is -- when we push all dreams and energies further just to resonate a scream of bloody murder in wake of a true connection -- then true affection, it seems, cannot be redeemed unless the kisses, especially, are delivered deadly . . .




In slight traces of mouth spaces not yet sealed like wounds not yet healed, we forge our selfless creeds, but inevitably, eventually, we seek to bleed out indefinitely; nothing could ever be so vexing as lips beckoning in these crimson reveries. Pushing farther than the flux we harbor between a lover and a martyr, the apex of our heart's estate: the blessed Temple Gates arise in our ardent honor. Only blood is proper fodder, here. Kneeling, yielding as all of night congeals and blankets us to vanquish lust for future gain in fear, we know nothing must remain.

Now the Gates will close forever as we lay on hallowed ground; our blood will run in circles as the Temple topples down.

--



Next time: Birth of the ADVOCATE




Thank you for your continued shock and support. :)

Heh

( Rest in Peace, Felix )

Oh -- one more thing, by the way, while all medicated and gravitational...



Tweak in and tune out to find out (upside down) what Skye saw (sees?).