(Fri)day off

Instead of publishing my own experimental effort, I decided to make a space for this (avant-garde) black metal syncretism.

I can hear them ranting.
Like a choir of angels, those cunts.

Not singing nor dancing here;
All eyes down for the casting.
Spell trough scraped dry.

Practising our sincerest sorrows;
All full faced to the grind of stone.

The drag of that inert through toil of chained wrought sinew.
Ragged faces turned up to the rain.
Staring down; drawing down the rain.
Staring down; drawing down the rain.
Drawing down the rain.
Drawing down.

All our ears are open / all our eyes are smiling
Gracelessly receiving empty threats of heaven.

As grist to and from these dark Satanic mills.
A barren wasteland dreamt through streets of prescription mist.
There is no attenuating this.
No attenuating this.

Holes in the heart of this city.
Holes.

Drawing down the rain.

Heaven calling; calling through sewer-gratings.

*lyrics from entire Beware the sword you cannot see album

(I must say this is the only good song by Myrkur and it’s included in this post because it corresponds with the citation below.)

“To us, the driving impulse of black metal is more about deep ecology than anything else and can best be understood through the application of eco-psychology. Why are we sad and miserable? Because our modern culture has failed—we are all failures. The world around us has failed to sustain our humanity, our spirituality. The deep woe inside black metal is about fear—that we can never return to the mythic, pastoral world that we crave on a deep subconscious level. Black Metal is also about selfloathing, for modernity has transformed us, our minds, bodies and spirit, into an alien life form; one not suited to life on earth without the mediating forces of technology, culture and organized religion. We are weak and pitiful in our strength over the earth—in conquering, we have destroyed ourselves. BlackMetal expresses disgust with humanity and revels in the misery that one finds when the falseness of our lives is revealed.

From The Light that Illuminates Itself, the Dark that Soils Itself: Blackened Notes from Schelling’s Underground by Steven Shakespeare

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