Grey Rigorism

1. The Golden Door

Eyes watching in contemplation
Eyes watching eyes with hunger
Eyes watching eyes watching in obscene vertigo
Eyes watching eyes watching eyes in the alcoves of the golden door, to which incongruous burning dreams have designed the way and the need. Behind the golden door is a land of storms, raging, clammy and feverish and its lightnings pierce the broken eggs of your eyes. Sacrificing to the religion of treachery and betrayal, the broken eyes slip in wet cavities, entering tunnels to the dark homes thereunder. In exaltation or in necessity, the rapes of the night carve their way through the burden of the tasteless standards of castration, feeding the rage inside, urging to enter the kingdom of transgression, its divine wildness, celebrating the wicked appeasement through degradation, ordure and impudence. Pounding the solar splendour with absurd yet passionate anger until the grey hours of little death, sign of a cosmic void, an absence just too present, choking the possibilities of it not to spread and triumph over divineless will. The golden door and its bitter rains falling of the cheeks like obscene tears, sacred gate to abnormal mysteries where the dogs are unleashed after innocence. And the vile torrents daze the soul in lascivious drunkenness to finally erase all the boundaries. The solar passage banishes the shame and let the will betray the shells of the past to better find its way towards the last of the houses.

2. Omniabsence

The daily signs, in all their irony, remind me of the absence of chance to turn to something else, for I'm bound to the Devil with unbreakable chains, firmly held by His Sons whose hearts are drunk with the liquor of deception. Faith in the Holy Retriever leaves nothing much but void, as His silent voice weakens nerves and sanity. Bleed, bleed the knuckles on the wall of captivity, covered with clumsy scribblings, emblems of deficiency, flightiness and vanity; smelling, dripping urine and lechery from the ground to the roof. Bleed, bleed the knuckles on the walls of duplicity, for there are walls, and walls, and walls, and no door... Revelations through emptiness. Omniabsence filled by His greatness. There's no way out, no chance to solve a riddle unconscious of itself, for the mystery is concealed at the heart of madness. Bleed the knuckles, bleed for tempting yet sterile appears the way to take by force and not through inner ascension what it is eagered for. Revelations through emptiness. Omniabsence filled by His greatness. Thus the way is clear, but catechism remains blank. Lost in a cold mist of unearthly thickness, the Sun abides doubtlessly, desperately, cruelly omniabsent. Alone among them all... Alone, alone in the glance of the Devil.

3. Kirjath-Ra

Filth upon greatness, like night upon the earth, the crust of aeons defacing the work of the righteous, the scabs of centuries waiting to be scratched out to unveil the dormant truth. Of this they are built, the labyrinths of sleepness anarchy, of greatness and filth, of scum and of saints running like rats, breeding like rats in the ashes of time and God.
Kirjath-Ra, here, there and elsewhere
Kirjath-Ra, church of the one and only god
There were blind towers like careless arrows pointing towards the cold sky oppressing the mediocrity below, magnifying the greatness with the glare of a dead sun; the greatness of diaphanous monoliths erected on the land of grey idiocy; grey like the concrete vomited by the mouth of an insane god and a soil of stubborn dust. As above, so below, it's raining filth on dust, like stupidity over ignorance. In the dirty rain, the scum keeps on breeding. And the dead sun may disappear, opening new temples, setting the night on fire. And men will be restless, because then the constraint gets even stronger. And new faces will appear, even less worthy. Ignorant vagabonds aimlessly roaming in mystery towards a god they don't know.
Kirjath-Ra, here, there and elsewhere
Kirjath-Ra, here, temple of the madness above
Scum of the earth, unite and take over for you are the cherished stupid children of a god too great for you.

4. La Sainteté du Mal

L’esprit du Mal est entré dans votre vie, les imbéciles ferment les yeux sur ces choses. Combien de prêtres n’osent seulement prononcer le nom de Satan ? Aujourd’hui que fait-on de la dignité humaine, le morne chant de bataille des instincts, que fait-on de la morale ? Une hygiène des sens… La tentation n’est plus qu’un appétit charnel, les Hommes ne recherchent que l’agréable et l’utile… Dans un tel monde, il n’y a plus rien pour le Saint, ou alors on dit qu’il est fou.

La prudence humaine n’est qu’un piège. La vérité s’impose, l’instinct du crime… Je sais le mal que je vous fais en prononçant ces mots pour vous seul. Vous savez ce que c’est, une vocation, un appel... Là où Dieu vous appelle il vous faudra monter... monter ou vous perdre. N’attendez aucun secours humain. En doutant de vos forces et des desseins de Dieu sur vous, vous étiez dans une impasse. Je vous remets sur votre route. Je vous donne à ceux qui vous attendent, dont vous serez la proie.

5. Cold Earth Mourning

In the grey fields of terror and death, where cannons never sleep and hunger is never quenched, they die and die and keep on dying in vermin and cold rancid blood. Forward, forward! In mud and in blood! Forward, nevermind the iron storm. Ardour has passed away a long time ago now, no one could tell when, no one could tell why. But this life is not life, it's the whole world committing mass suicide. Once convicted of unity, now beholding the true face of disharmony, allies have all failed, Sofia has fallen. Whatever, the march goes on and on and on... Here in the grey fields of terror and death, far away from homeland, defeatists and traitors, the alliance of death keeps on marching, keeps on dying for the sake of eternal confrontation. Reeling skeletal shadows, sleepless and dismayed, praying helpless gods when the night is too long in quaint rosaries and rusty weaponry, though there's no place for doubt: there will still be death! In regrets and in fear, in sludge and in disease, it keeps on calling to burn what's left to burn. Forward, forward! In mud and in blood! And forget the mouths of clay that swallow forever more. Fidelity to the one whom time has passed can't prevent the ravage of his heritage by the untenable scarlet tempest brought forth from the land of his eastern akin. The illusion of peace, the hoax of defeat has planted the seeds for times of sedition, and men will be seduced and scream in jubilation as darkness and despair covers the entire world.

6. Grey Rigorism

Holy rigidity! Sharpen the frail souls, tighten the hearts so laxism is dissolved. Yes, tears have been shed and confusion has reigned, but times of water have left place to times of fire. The monk is still harassed, the demons are still crawling, but the path has been cleared, cursed be those who would dare to defy! Spiritual severity, immutable conviction, blind our eyes to dubiety and force us to the grace of God! Grey rigorism, endlessly against you all. In the times of opposition, remember there's a rope for each one of you. Shine in greyness, O splendid presence, and arm our hearts with effrontery and scorn, so the sinner can be punished and humiliated. In our times of vanity, let forgiveness die, and let penitence restore humility. Indifferent to the judgement of men, confident of the teachings of the Lord, my actions and faith are between me and my god.

7. When the Stars Align

Eyes of fire slowly open, burning through complete darkness. With majesty and determination the titanic body moves, finally awakening from death-like slumber. The flames that once were burning now burn again and none can restrain it. Deign to grab me in your claws and carry me away from decay, spread your wings O divine eagle ablaze for tonight, at last, the stars are right! The pale light from the constellations arranged in forbidden geometry is cocaine to the Phoenix and now he lives again. The word has been heard, the call has been answered. A new oath has been sealed as the light has invaded the horizon. After all the sins, after all the weakness, time has come for ascension, to elevate above the mass of infidels and to breath in glory to better welcome adversity. Let the will be purified, let the soul be cleansed. In this night of might and fire, when the stars align, see the obstacles mercilessly consumed by the scornful flames of the divine firebird. Higher and higher! Behold! The implacable flight of the glorious Phoenix, omen of greatness and domination. From the ashes of death to the fire of life, from the bottomless pit to disappear in the firmament as one with the astral pattern. Let the clouds die so these impious stars can finally shine, dissipate confusion and reveal darker darkness!

8. Désaveu

Chaque acte de ta vie est signé de ton hérédité. Oui, je les vois ces êtres au nom du sort, Dieu m'accorde de les voir. C'est vrai, je te vois en eux, et eux en toi. Tous ces visages se superposent et ne font qu'un, celui là même du Vice. Les gestes se fixent tous dans une même attitude, le geste du crime, partout le Mal ! Voilà le mystère de ta génération : des dizaines d'hommes et de femmes liés par les fibres du même cancer. Tu t'es reconnu dans les tiens, tu ne te distingues plus du troupeau. Pas un acte de ta vie qui n'ait ailleurs son double, pas une pensée qui te sois propre, une pensée qui n'est pas morte avec les morts, pas un geste qui ne fût depuis longtemps tracé, non pas semblable, mais exactement les mêmes, non pas répété mais unique. Tu la sens l'immense tromperie de ta vie ? Tu l'entends le rire de Celui qui te trompe ?

Chacun de tes misérables ancêtres a reconnu et flairé en toi son bien et vient le reprendre, et toi tu abandonnes tout ? C'est comme si ce troupeau venait manger dans ta main sa propre vie. Que veux-tu leur expliquer, que veux-tu leur reprendre ? Ils te laissent la faute dans ton cœur d'enfant.

Vous ne m'avez pas compris. Il est là. C'est Lui notre conscience. Il est notre conscience. Satan est prince de ce monde, il l'a dans ses mains. Il est là, vainqueur. M'avez-vous compris ? Je vous dit que nous sommes vaincus, et Dieu avec nous... vaincu... vaincu...

9. In the Halls of White Death

The journey goes on from the grey childhood to the fires of faith, the signs are followed among shadows, rats and wrecks. Through Hell and snow I go as they laugh and scream and wallow naked in the poisonous cold fields, roused in the comforting drunkenness. The journey goes on, time passes by and the sky is still grey and this greyness is the greatest of sins: the gentle snow which buries the souls and the world. And the sky is a lie, home of the cold black sun of a malignant god. Let it shine and feed the legions of fools. Let it shine and inspire those to bear its sight. And from the other side the black boy in the corner stares at me and his long time silent songs sing with a hint of despair from the halls of white death he has entered, behind the river and its black stream to which I used to drink and still drink and sing the songs of nostalgia. But no memory nor any rhyme, no matter the words, will dry Philomena's tears. And her tears feed the river, and so do mine. There is no hope nor mercy for those led astray and the roads disappear in the steady blizzard, and its knives of ice will numb your soul and kill your salvation in the halls of white death!

10. By thy grace

O Lord, the time is now to kill the silence of prayers, to scream at the face of all this vow of obedience. Give my will the strength to march toward Thee in nudity, submission and holiness. Lead me to the gates of the worlds below, O divine light from the North, to the secrets of the 11 Kings of Edom, where no light dwells but the black one that strives against creation. Let me descend, O Lord, and cross Thine Abyss and stand at Thy Left at the edge of divinity. Adonaï, the time is now that Thy Divine Ways are sought and walked to leave behind the house of mundane futility to seek Thy Breath beyond the gates of night and receive The blessing of darkness by Thy Grace, by Thy Very Holy Grace!
Adonaï, hear this soul that sings Thy Glory. These knees are made for kneeling and that is just what they do, so grant Thy Favours to this son of Thine. Adonaï, in the times of glorification, put Thy Fire in my throat, put Thy Fire in my throat! Fill it up of Thee so that I can sing Thy Perfection. Put Thy Thom in my heart so that I can die, and by Thy Grace, and Thy Grace only shall I be reborn, by Thy Grace, by Thy Very Holy Grace!
Adonaï, my one and only god! For too long have I put quietude in my prayers, for too long have I delayed the decisive moment when the pact is sealed and there is no turning back. And in Thy Very Holy Name, by Thy Very Holy Grace, shall I descend into death and bathe in Thy Divine Darkness that shall open my eyes to Thy Very Holy Truth, never to return, never! May this be my prayer for today, and forever more.
Adonaï, uphold my soul so that I do not fail; grant me the strength to withstand Thy Glance, and deny me not as I march toward Thy Victory. Do not spare me, manifest in all Thy Glory, and by Thy Grace sanctify me!
And in the end, Adonaï, I know all these words are Thine. What a long road to Thy Domain so far from life. May the pilgrimage begin, beyond the borders of this world, beyond all safety and sanity, beyond laughs and eulogies, to where I shall find Thee at the edge of transcendence, by Thy grace, by Thy Very Holy Grace!

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