Sick Rabbits

Benighted

Come into this night
Here we'll be gone
So far away
From our weak and crumbling lives
Come into this night
When days are done
Lost and astray
In what's vanished from your eyes

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

Come into this night
Your plight alone
Carry your weight
You are flawed as all of us
Come into this night
Your only home
It's never too late
To repent, suffer the loss

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

Come into this night
When you're able
To undo your deeds
And atone with your lonely soul
Once you're into this night
All minds are stable
Forget all your needs
Lose the grip of all control


-Opeth

Dirty Id and the Irrepressable Urge

So here is my disgusting subconscious. It was WAY scarier animated.

Letters to a Fetishist Vol. IV

Letter 6:

Fear is the mind killer

I cannot see the moon tonight. I cannot see its smirking and wrathful grin or its halo of pseudo-permanence. It hides from me as if I know its ancient secrets and disturb its inherent belonging in the sky. There is no reason for this absurdity as I can no longer describe myself, let alone unveil the mysteries locked inside this lost divinity. Before I was sure of my impetuousness and the feeling of freedom gifted to me by my innate ability to ignore the cracks in my soul. Now I am bound.

I am a marionette attached by strings of infinite suffering to the frail hand of my capture. The hand moves me in strange and awkward ways that disintegrate the illusions I have bound myself to for so long. The shock of reality being ripped apart and reforming in front of my eyes is painfully amazing in the worst and best of ways. I realize now that I am merely a shadow of an object far bigger than myself, nothing more than the absence of a light source. My salvation is my undoing in that I can now see another shadow of this object. It looks at me with contempt and grave audacity. I fear this shadow. I fear it will destroy me but I can't look away.

I am no longer an anomie and I cannot say I want to return. The ardent creature I have become will not allow me to miss my former self and is forever changed by the alchemy of its own intrinsic design. These new self discoveries have terrifying repercussions and will forever change my perceptions. I have been destroyed. A new consciousness takes my place.

Letters to a Fetishist Vol. III

Letter 5:

Dagaz Eihwaz Fehu

The box. Fear the box. Live the box. Eat the box. Hit the moon with the faces of Odin. Rage against my pillars of truthiness for they are the undoing of man in so many lines of twisted yarn. I will build this temple from the ruins of nature and blow wind upon its feverish face. Is this not the way it was intended? To scry the meaning of pensiveness in the fires of the present? I can eat bears.

Look at the finger...the heavenly glory is unimportant. The finger is connected to the meaning behind the abstract expression of the profound individual chastising you. He is a loathsome, offensive brute. The ice of polar bears stings upon my skin before I am appropriated to the jaws begging to tear into my meaty center. What more could you want of such innate gestures of penance?

Feast upon the tired and meek. Let them fill you till you overflow. Heat the fires of the forge with their passions and insecurities alike. Let them eat cake and then, eat them. Fear the indigestion that they could cause and you will miss out on all of the good tasty giblets.

As is above, so is below.

Letters to a Fetishist Vol. II

Letter 3

This is not real...pay no attention to this advertisement.

(no body)

Letter 4

Confessions of a confused troglodyte.

Madness! Play track 3! Play track 3! PLAY IT TWICE!!! The musings of altered states cannot be described with mere smudges on physical objects. It is here in this wretchedly palpable parabola that the truth can be known. Is it all for the birds? The snakes? THE FUCKING OCTOPI!? It isn't my right to guess...

I sit here in my shell pasting pictures of languid faces on the inside. I fear the vast ocean might envelope me in chaotic disarray. I welcome the creatures that feast on the putrefying corpses of beasts far greater than myself for they give me an opportunity to nest in the souls of the sick. I DON'T WANT TO GET RAPED BY A DOLPHIN! However...what a way to die.

The bums...they're fucking wizards. All of them! You can tell by their wise beards and magic breath. They make sweet love to the sky in Hello Kitty! armor. Their swords like an over sized phallus thrust deep into an alarm clock. HOW ELSE ARE THEY GOING TO WATCH ANIME PORN!? At least they're honest about their contentedness.

I confess my sin's to you, oh great and powerful Jebus. Thanks for this slice of cheese called writing!

Letters to a Fetishist Vol. 1

Letter 1:

Fuck your eternal basking in snow-clad mildew!

Your mother speaks to me in tongues I do not understand! Even though there is a part of me that loves her, some deeper faction of my soul screams, "I am the Wizard of Fire! Eat Cthulu's delicious shapes and bask in ersine semen!" That is to say, my hazardous juice-mongering has created quite a stir in the Byzantine empire...I mean, for fuck's sake, I habitually wrote letters to Corinth as if the entire city was a personal friend of mine.

Why do you hate me? I love the face meat of David Hasselhoff, just like everyone else. Why do you reject me? FEEL MY HEATED FORGE OF ABSOLUTENESS! It feels like candy tastes...bitter and cold. I really like butter. It's like a stick of death and fire. In one convenient package. And I lick rocks. And sometimes midgets. WHERE IS MY FINGERLESS GLOVES!? THE ONE'S WITH ENDLESS HEARTBREAK ATTACHED TO THE END OF A BIT OF STRING!?

I named my pager. Isn't that cute? You should too. So what's your pagers name...I'm waiting.


Electrician's day!

Letter 2:

Subjugated light horses tear off my face!

I am the wind that screams at the hooker in stark contrast to her feverish labors! I gargle the blood of saints for the orphans of chaos so that they may partake in useless endeavors. I look like the feet of a gnat with the face of an instant hobo in the hearts of men. Many fear the great musk of the almighty swine but it is of my perspiration. My stench marks the great passing of time. None can escape it.

Hearken thee to the dismal plain of angel excrement! It tastes like marshmallows and grants the powers of extrapolation! I sit and cry in the dark with no one to care for my horrid bones because it makes me violently happy. Death eater! Death eater! Sit on the window sill of spilled formaldehyde and make haste with the cookies. Fear makes me poop.

My art is the unfortunate. I sit in the Millennium Falcon steered by God and enter the smite room. It is filled with the song of a million people stubbing their toes in unison. The grumbling of misplaced car keys and broken heels. The runner in their stockings beatifies the world one loose thread at a time.

I will leap like a freak and grab the pyramids with my still smoldering hands. You are bat-shit crazy my friend. Maximum Satan.