The Lover of Styx.
icelus
There is no sorts of lifestyle that can be easily influenced by the media. All people have some sort of mechanism against invasion of thoughts and deviant strains of disease and advertisement, but, impossible is not a word to be understood or properly believed in. In life, we think, live, shit and breathe. In death, we rot and grow stiff and feed the worms. But, the eternal question is - what if there was a middle ground between the two? People believed in it for so long in a milieu of formats; of life and death and afterlives and ghosts and monsters and all sorts of nonsense. Truth is, between the great dichotomy of life and death lies the Void.
The Void does not belong to me. I wedded into the Void.
Life is something I refused to choose. So instead, I passed my love to God and sympathy to the Devil and set foot in idle idolness and the everlasting cascade of interaction between life and death. Watching her, my unloving bride ferrying consciousness from one side to another.
Perhaps that makes me the biggest traitor of them all; convincing people on both sides to revisit the respective other side. I create psychics and I create suicides and I sit on my throne of my shadow kingdom. This is reality. This is fiction. I am a simultaneous orgasm of paradoxes and oxymorons.
A friend of mine so long ago called me Sweeney. But that isn't my name. I prefer to reside in insolence and ignorance. Within ignorance is the ability to exploit the mind into fear, paranoia and self-hatred. So, call me anything you please. I prefer the title of Phobetor. I sow the seeds of thought in people's minds and I watch my Queen ferry them across from her lovenest high above the river, bones and throbbing consciousness moving from here to there.
Contradictions a plenty in my memory, The gods have cursed me and I curse them all back in turn. Shall we meet in Death's Dream kingdom, you can strike a bargain with me. But all should be forgotten except this: never trust a man of dual intention and duel loyalty.
Germinate the thoughts and come to me, children of the universe! Shall we meet again? A million times, we shall see and no such love would tear me and my Mistress apart and with that bind, with that binding light we survive and trick trick trick again.
There's no escape from the shadow kingdom. Not from I nor my Mistress.
Not even in your nightmares.
The Void does not belong to me. I wedded into the Void.
Life is something I refused to choose. So instead, I passed my love to God and sympathy to the Devil and set foot in idle idolness and the everlasting cascade of interaction between life and death. Watching her, my unloving bride ferrying consciousness from one side to another.
Perhaps that makes me the biggest traitor of them all; convincing people on both sides to revisit the respective other side. I create psychics and I create suicides and I sit on my throne of my shadow kingdom. This is reality. This is fiction. I am a simultaneous orgasm of paradoxes and oxymorons.
A friend of mine so long ago called me Sweeney. But that isn't my name. I prefer to reside in insolence and ignorance. Within ignorance is the ability to exploit the mind into fear, paranoia and self-hatred. So, call me anything you please. I prefer the title of Phobetor. I sow the seeds of thought in people's minds and I watch my Queen ferry them across from her lovenest high above the river, bones and throbbing consciousness moving from here to there.
Contradictions a plenty in my memory, The gods have cursed me and I curse them all back in turn. Shall we meet in Death's Dream kingdom, you can strike a bargain with me. But all should be forgotten except this: never trust a man of dual intention and duel loyalty.
Germinate the thoughts and come to me, children of the universe! Shall we meet again? A million times, we shall see and no such love would tear me and my Mistress apart and with that bind, with that binding light we survive and trick trick trick again.
There's no escape from the shadow kingdom. Not from I nor my Mistress.
Not even in your nightmares.
♠ ♠ ♠
concrit?