Angelo Vasquez

Wet embers hiss. by Angelo Vasquez

Monolithic nebula craving disaster a new beginning a blood chapter a mask of doorways and jaws of stairs always spiraling in every direction,archtypes always pose for me in dreams and in my clinging shadows.Scale tone degrees run like time some like sirens some like dying leviathans,I can see faces in the walls like everyone else,but it’s the conversations we have together that tell me of the rites that happen in the Temple ov Baal…Baldur…Belial sunfuir fyrsal paradair Galata…and is this wrong of I ?
How the shadows of the Christ like eyes surround?Why do I follow them in their deepest abyss?Guidance?Council?!This cures no illness of I!The sickness with the rest of the conditioned emotions man some how presents as enticing,the era of the victim and feminine “man”….pitiful ideas to identify’s in this spiritual famine this plague called “now” I can barely see and feel how cold it is….in here….and yet I couldn’t be more appalled. beyond is the foundation of Eliphas. what one desires is to be pure?And the thoughts of purity are malformed,to be pure is not to choose one…in that misleading path is unbalanced decay the beginning of dualities ashes,once attained duality will be another forgotten memory the Occultist tries to remember the maliciousness of the past .The craving to remember when the sights were
born where it all comes from,of the day of the rising beast from a resolving womb…Solve Coagula!The beginning has begun with the smoke of all fires turning flesh black.The soot finds its way into my flesh carving names ever forbiden,my duality has played many sorrows,cinematique projectionist delusional queries reaching the birth of the second death…happening always I fold my nostalgia to a manical vale the outer workings of heat,old charcoal guards the flames.Pentagrams,swords,chalices and wands appear forming my cardiod of perception,mirthness though not deep wound of thought has scarred my mind,scales by the blade in the talons of justice the eyes of old and I’m more at home in this cold where annilation dwells and why do they come back?A sedge under my sight with a constant set of suns it’s never light or dark always center on the balanced horizons.Layers of clay around the core,the frozen cult lore none know of the god within them selves none know where mayhem dreams ,of what this all means!Eternal blasphemy, blood of kings spill from the ram chalice and nude hags dance in trance eyes sewn shut for you to look up!Look up!Look at the the night!Glare back at the sun!See all the stars die watch them drown completely overwhelmed,all hope for paradise is gone!Dissolve in black fire this is the astral pyre!
And to you my unworthy foe my blades have already been forged because I never trusted you,loved you or believed in the mess you’ve become!I didn’t fall for the feast of memories I craved the storm forming ahead.Living today like tommorow…a cold claw rest on my skull an old crone in the Temple conjures the pale sounds running on the wind randomly vanishing for all,and there I am dead to that world though bending the tone of it forcing my will to be done…in haste,agony,war and the death of a leader for the rise of vengeance!And yet…after all this another form takes over,another dam curse takes control of my sight,moth like women pull me forward through their woods until confronted and attacked by a spirit of a tree above the arachnidesque roots it wore a talisman I seen related spirits and unknown writings though I will always know it said destruction.It was inside of it where I chose to finally decompose,how the fat yellow maggots feast on my soul…my blood is the black river the massacres cleanse through.The immolations washed away twisting the stones of every shore .
Sinking again I felt cold in the blood of December.She came to me to wonder.To never wonder alone and always wonder together as one only to find herself alone again.A time to pass with no veils to hold or push through,just innocentest,ignorantly unaware a child is a storm…a child is a storm.My Agilma I beckon with every breath for your sense awakening storms.It was sudden my feeling of basic sadness nothing of importance just another life alone another dam life decaying until my corpse fails I am nailed to the four elements of the cross and so many cling to the fifth.The pain of self,self-will,selfless and until nothing I crave the crowns of old kings,wands of the Rowan trees and a blade that never ends…a blade should never end.The eyes were sewn shut so they could look within!Look within!And you will see there is not one thing wrong with me…and it’s in these hours…in these hours O how we devour………….

Angelo Vasquez
CDC #G07505

Categories: Angelo Vasquez

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