Infernal Beauty - Midnartiis
Atheria - A Sinister Prophecy
A fragile and perturbated mind, tired of pondering through and through, is near to exhaustion : madness lies in wait… as it became clear Viglius' fierce attempts to carry the weight of the world by the strength of his thought, deplorably failed. All his strange alchemistic procedures and lude acts, the endless manipulation of weird essences, his deformed theories of all higher things… all this led to nothing, vanity… Can Viglius acknowledge his whole life as being waisted, and all efforts pointless ? The dissonance seems too strong, unbearable and calamitous : it can't be over yet, there must be a way ! Viglius wearies his mind once more, and recalls Midnartiis, a legendary and mythical world, which is said to lie beyond all what can be seen… beyond good and evil…beyond being…a strange sphere, a twisted dimension. But how is it to be interpreted ? How can it be made accessible ? Of this, Viglius is unaware; but to him, it seems his only hope and firm goal of his new aspiration : saving his mind from disastrous collapse. In agony Viglius Zuichemus runs outward, devastated, but for the last time prepared to summon the elements for guidance. In a final endeavour the mystic calls upon Fire, from ancient times onward identified with sheer rationality…maybe its virtuosic tuition can lead to Midnartiis…Nothing seems to happen, but after a while an old man walks by, bearing a sinister prophecy…
"Insanity compounds to usurpating forms,
Enlightment find I not, though my mind relieves,
is it measured then with Megalopathic norms ?
"Even my aplomb, sought illustre pleasure,
left me but incertitude, far beyond measure !
Yet through doubts and haunting,
your dispensations beam,
virtuosic tuition, makes the soul redeem !
Hear the moaning of my saphire sigh,
Availing crystallised truth to descry !
Convoke the vigourous fire to defy,
for its conflagration can my misery untie !
Glare perpetuate unlike the setting sun,
Merger of form, make chaos dust undone !
For Fire lives the death of Earth,
and Air the death of Fire,
Water lives the decline of Air,
and Earth the perishing of Water !"
"This sigh, and bazzle, embolds me to speak :
Your mind appears flaccidly too weak
Weep now not, for glimps of a dream,
a reprimand, do upon my words redeem !
If indeed you search the brightness,
emitted from the perplexity of thought,
prevent the aim of your journey being nought !
Construct thyself a vessel, and with it sail away
lest thee become an unadmonished prey,
bound to death and Heraclitic decay !"
Visions - Echoes Of Dissension
What the hell was that all about ? Viglius' astonishment is total : should he commence a journey to be saved of his impending madness ? A journey whereto, with whom and by what means ?
What is Midnartiis ? Can Viglius spend the remains of his vitality to another pursuit of a faint vision, seemingly doomed to become a repetition of his deplored mental development from naivety to disillusion ?
As these questions rage throughout the disintegrated and worn-out mind of the mystic, there resounds from afar the sickening noise of a gastric eructation, accompanied by a repulsive stench - unparalleled even by the strongest idea of olfactoric hell. There walks a burping man, a peasant, and he boldly approaches Viglius by saying he couldn't prevent overhearing the strange conversation with the delirious old arse.
In fact, our farmer never quite understood why one can sacrifice an entire life and everything that -to him- seems important on this earth to the so called 'higher things' - let alone the pursuit of an occult chimaera ! Yet here he has a chance to satisfy his pervert curiosity, to see what happens to the bedazzled minds of those who think the opposite…The farmer proposes to join the amazed Viglius on his quest.
Viglius, on his turn, had made up his mind : he'll commence the journey, for everything seems better than degenerating, and, in his lunacy, becoming as repulsive as the peasant that now stands before him.
But soon the farmer gets bored, and the mystic insulted…
"Now the tenuous, bawdily bonds
haul us no more to the spurious whore,
Dim carousals of mysery
brittle dissolve, become lecherously"
"Which grim fetters then, do shackle thee?
no knowledge or mores are here to see!
This amalgamate absurdity, I'll ne'er indulge
but avert - and flee!"
"Midst bright rays by thought adorn,
longs now our rogue for an eerie light
To what unknown regions of scorn,
whilst thou now wing thy solitary flight?"
"Cheerless, pallid and forlorn quivery,
disposes my mind not to gaiety!
Of stilted and stir conceit an eyrie,
I'd drivel rather through zoolatry!"
"Ignorance bound…to cast a shade…utters it in this untasty disgrace!
Wherever sight…might be obtained…blindness is preferred in its place!
Images, less opaque to the light as we,…Die!
are disavowed by thy scabrous spurning! …Kill!
Searching for nothing but an evermore yearning, …Frost !
Blinded and deplorably inapt to see!"
They argue no more, 't is done : the peasant walks his own ways, while the mystic - insulted by the brutality uttered in such frank manner - bows his head in agony… how can this quest ever bring him reassurance if even this utmost ignorant and unworthy peasant is unimpressed by the divinity of its goals and the respectfulness of such high striving? Before his thought collapsed in its present crisis, he would have abolished the farmers blindness to all which isn't vulgar, he would have crushed his scull in anger, smashed the shelves which insulate his pathetic little mind… Yet now, in its present state, his firm convictions and his dogmatic persistence is only outward… As soon as Viglius is alone, and casts a quick glance at his inner life, its deprivement of certainty becomes appallingly clear, and the peasant's ignorance is just like the puss on a wound : only aggravating the horribleness of it.
But Viglius is not an imbecile : he knows this quest is more important than his inner doubts, more even, the Journey is the only way to end it, and, as the crippled old man said, save him from death and decay. Viglius understands it is of the utmost importance to suppress this wound, gnawing at the integrity of his mind, and the more it hurts, the more dogmatism and fierceness must he feign, and the more inward suppression is crucial…
"Dazzled and ablazed, by such impudance enraged!
…profanity and ignorance drag peasants down the dust
…disallows repent for the solace sought in lust!
…strenuous disrelishment compells me to disgust!
…his fucking imbicillity makes the soul encrust!
Rising, to the
My wrath alters to grief!
By the light of Amphitrite!
(- his impertinance, worn as a dress…-)
Dancing to please her gazer's sight!
(- …drags me down! -)
Erroneously, this can ne'er be
Truth, then, although he stays blind?
Enlightened, them or me ?
Conveyed to the same dimension…
yet secluded of shared intension…
This darned transsubstantiation,
illusive, led astray ?
What have I hereforth obtain'd?
-despondency, and dismay!-
Faded light of Amphitrite!
Entwined is beguiling truth dumb,
…decline my desperation!
…abolish all contestation!"
'Twas in this manner the mystic spoke, alone and upset, while the peasant was carelessly walking his own ways.
Peasant Feast - The Four Stages Of Syphilis
The thought of being alone relieves Apollodorus' mind a bit. He's fed up with the mystic, for Viglius' hypocrisy is not a vulgar deception, nor a profane display of deceit, which makes him - in the eyes of the peasant - dull, soporific and dreary. In pursuit of alleviation of his boredom, our peasant heads for the noise coming from the nearby village, for he recognises it as the commotion brought forth by a feast, where he'll engage in zoolatric eccentricities…
After his unprecedentedly virulent outburst of autohypnotical self-suppression, Viglius seems to have found renewed vitality to contemplate and explore the presupposed profoundness of his psyche…maybe it's here that the key to Midnartiis is to be found…
Meanwhile, the peasant - whose lust is satisfied, but not his curiosity - goes back to where he left Viglius. He finds him, alone and muttering in his fever : it's as if Viglius has realised his dream, when seemingly, a vision of Midnartiis appears ; as an image of a sphere this near, the mystic seems almost capable of grasping it. Yet the peasant sees nothing but an outrageous manifestation of total insanity, embodied by a raving and delirious alchemist. The peasant's insulting exclamations bring the mystic back to reason, yet he's still convinced -maybe more firm than ever- Midnartiis can now be reached, and establish thereby his and the peasants salvation.
"Eerie the mystic detaches and prays :"
" We, who as fools,
dawdle across this earth,
-opaque, as shadows-
flee from its suffer
and senseless mirth,
exceed to merge innumerable worlds
to one, which is the splendour of beauty in all,
harness the realm of our thoughts to the stars,
that our mind a world of divine will sprawl.
From the confused plurality of forms,
leads us astray : the Psychopompic journey!
As the ideas are the principal forms,
- landmarks of seas of lore -
figments alike, we should form in us,
THE SHADOWS OF IDEAS !
From these shades unfolds to see…
A sphere of wisdom and purity.
Deny thy body and refuse thy strength,
Save thy semen and walk with me…
Yet our brat crepitates and frowns:"
"Ne'er shall I grasp a sigh
of thy ludicrous, wretched confabulation
More, even, does a boar's arse,
deserve my veneration
Symptom of my generation!"
"Save thy semen and walk with me!"
And yet : ...Alas ! In his boundless euphoria Viglius storms forward, thereby performing lude acts accompanied by wild and strange gestures...our mystic is in an unprecedented Dionysic trance which absorbs the totality of his remaining vital energies. Taking his vision for real, Viglius jumps forward, convinced to bridge the infinitesimally small gap remaining between him and Midnartiis... And there and then occurs an utmost deep tragedy. Instead of his jump resulting in Viglius' falling in the benevolent arms of Midnartiis, he painfully falls with his face upon the dirty ground, whereon the peasant had just urinated thoroughly. How big a failure could one imagine ? The agony, the exhaustion, the disillusion is total and unseen...Viglius collapses, and so does his tormented mind.
The Poultry's Flight
In his collapse, Viglius sends out Appolodorus the peasant, to fetch a priest for his burial...
Appolodorus is astonished, but does what Viglius asked him : he goes off to the nearby village to get the old man a priest. But while he's walking, Appolodorus starts to think and ponder...
Could this be the end of their journey, at the very point where it was just beginning to get interesting ?
Such a banal and hackneyed ending : Viglius being buried by a priest, with a soothed mind, reassured that he 'did everything that could be done' and ultimately die with an artificial peace of mind ? Appolodorus decides this has to be avoided by all means.
By the time Appolodorus reaches the village, he has made up his mind : instead of asking the priest for a service, he'll put up with a nice scandal, thereby forcing the priest to definitely refuse the request made by Viglius and to condemn both men. Haunted and threatened, Viglius will surely revive in order to flee, with him, Applodorus. When he finally encounters an influential priest, Appolodorus starts his wicked blaspheme dance and lets his poultry shit upon the face of the stunned priest. The expected result occurs... the priest and the commoners of the village burst into rage, and furiously set out to lynch the blasphemic peasant and his weird companion, the old mystic, of whom they all had heard such strange rumours.
Appolodorus was pleased... now they have no choice left but to flee... but how ? By building a vessel, a ship or a spacecraft in order to set on and discover new shores, new, unexpected dimensions ? Why not ?
"Have I observed this recklessness well,
that the crippledly-minded did tell?
Ghastly abhorrent repel,
my acrid end was sure to tell!"
"Why pledge to the sky,
that weeps upon thy pensive eye?
While thy fast decaying corpse,
is fed upon by worms !"
"Rampant ! …In the murk of death!
Tyrant ! … Do I lurk its breath?
Warrant ! … Its awfulness !
Blatant ! … Excreements !"
"Now a choice is presented to thee,
die in their hands or walk with me!
I'll build with thee a vessel whereby
we'll from out this hexaemeron fly!"
"Rather than being burned by those swines,
for this ! An ever worse end, too indign!
When life manifests itself as concrete,
the raving abstract lunacy obsolete!"
"Again, a choice is presented to thee,
die in their hands or fly with me!"
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