Banewort : Dipping in Planes

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Vision of the lurid planet
In the glary panorama of horror.
I am going down to roots,
Down and down…

Glisten of reflections
Is still licking my nape.
But the heart has opened a pulsating anthracite.
The clear Crystal of all-eternity.

I am smelling the ash of phenomena.
It enshrouds the finished roads in grave-clothes.
Twilight Path in the name of occult is ahead.

In scattered splinters
There are entailed dreams only.
They will not blind the eyes, which were hardened to hate.
But for what are phantoms of the Past to be seen
By someone who has heard pulsation of black stone?

When withered grass wins ruins of churches,
Another temples will spire heavenward, temples of cosmic Onyx.
Initiates' hearts made of anthracite will be like altars there.
There is chaos in their planes. Their victims are souls of Worlds.

Taedium vitae ad infitum




A nude virgin is dancing about me.
In her hands there is the corpse, death-cold corpse of my Ego.
Laws of cool blood are entering the other side of the body.
Around it there is a nimbus from the extinct consciousness
Like an anadem of toneless grasses.

The mortal flesh is gleaming. I am alchemizing into furious Dust devil.
Penetrating into the bottommost universe deeps of Dissipation,
I sweep away the decaying slavish fetters of reiterated Dogmata.
I am self-initiating into the esotery of vacuum.

Black sun will enfold ossuaries of the past
And draw down the curtain fore ever…

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