XIX

On the day when the contents of the graves are thrown forth.  

On the day when the earth is torn asunder and her secrets exposed.  

The day when mountains crumble to dust, the trees scattered 

like ashes, and the sky is packed into the ground.  

We have held this vow against our chest, an oath pressed 

against our throat, the pressure of testimony forming a slit. 

The treasure of blood flows through borrowed veins into the hands of this inherent union.  

Liberated into the embrace of majesty by the promise of death, 

the hand strains towards the beloved.  

Whatever is in the heavens and on the earth extols the limitless glory of our annihilation.  

We are brought closer, and the veils are cast aside.  

We are brought closer, and the light burns upon our faces.  

The contents of our breasts will be turned out, nothing left concealed.  

On this day we will be fully acquainted.

With increasing severity our separation diminishes.  

XVIII

Charge.
Charge like the knight atop his horse,
the lance pointed at the heart of the Beloved.
Charge toward your annihilation, toward your absolution, toward your final union.
This is your wedding, your merging with the light you are intrinsically promised.
Recite the words imprinted upon you in blood,
recite for the blessing of a promised death.
Recite the words you were sworn into by the grace of birth, this is not a choice.
You are called by this provision of favor, to return,
called to be dissolved by the flame.
To close the gap of separation, to get as close as possible,
to push as far as one can.
Strive without compromise. Clench the lance.  
Now... charge.

XVII

The monument of a body against the black sky is power. 

It is worship, it is purified, it is against man, it is against the watchers. 

Endless, timeless, built to exist for nothing. 

The universal force rings in a shrill command, the strength fought through extremity, 

the struggle which is a blinding light, tearing a fissure through the density. 

Overthrown, left burning, bled dry. 

The vessel of an empowered prophet looms atop a pale quarry,
a halo of spit orbits swollen thighs. 

This is the queen of sweat and honey engulfed with sickness and wrath,

and with her small fists she leaves bruises on the face of the world.

XVI

A shape in the dark writhes across the surface of concrete and dirt.
The body of dread, lashed and swollen, weeps from fettered pores into the stained ground.
 Constricted, flogged, adorned on a summit of pearl and cruelty,
worshipped with the kiss of scourge.
Her power is commanded by the falling hand of depravity,
the fluid gathered in a pool around her delicacy.
The thin wrists held rigid, a soft fist gripping the whip of severity.
Her domination transmuted into the command of gnashed teeth,
the command of saliva and blood to be delivered to her thighs,
the command of a body left destroyed for her virtue, for her pleasure.

I want you to beg to me.
I want you to plead at my feet.
I want you to plead for mercy.
Beg for me.

XV

A rhythmic
hum oscillates as each distant light extinguishes.
The glow fades and the bloom of warmth recedes into an empty depth.
In the dark, the edges of a towering, empty space extend beyond the grasp of all possible vision.
A soft, steady echo drones continuously from its infinite expanse.
The origin of being drifts weightlessly along an axis towards the core,
untouched by light, by dust, by any external gaze.
Now, the joy of separation is felt as a passing ray; a glare across the collar. Across the nape.
The hum growing until it is a roar; a deafening wave perpetually crashing upon its lightness.
A ring of stars gather on a distant plane and slowly turn.
Advancing through the unending passage, they closen, and are slowly beheld.
Every point bends, without exception, straining to commune with the disc.
They meet, and the ache of divided being is
absolved.

XIV

Triumph alleviates nothing
We are stuck
Forced to fix our next problem, fill our next need
Time plods along
Calculated and careless, uniform and unwavering
We are in a void
There is no plan, there is no goal
Tragedy perpetuates
Efforts toward utopia fall short
Envy the man with a gun in his throat and the future on hold

XIII

O' goddess, she. 

Glowing with a porcelain aura of cancer, her bleeding palms are pressed against the grass and dirt.  A piercing crack echos through the air as her vertebrae is hammered to chalk.  The razor wire of human history tied to her ankles; the insurmountable weight which she drags for the world.  Lovely fingers upon the black earth, the worms writhe with grief.  A dew of perfume beads on the leaves, her blood, her sweat.

She speaks.

To me, yearn to me!  Die unto me and thy death shall be my nectar.  Bleed, weep, lament your existence; I will drink in the bliss of your anguish.  Each wound, a pearl of my ecstasy.  Each tear, the honey of my loins.  The ash of your bones powdered on my cheeks, and the ruin of mankind- the crown which adorns my head.

Man's throat is slit. 
Body given to nature.

XII

Arise and breathe! The tendrils of smoke cast by the pall of death are upon us. Shed the black veil of existence, the throat of man's ego is slit and the universal sigh escapes through the gash. Let it be blood that spills! This is the blood of sacrifice! This blood is the continuity of the universe, the nectar of the life force, this is our offering. O' man let you long for death, in this hour let all be given unto splendour! The speldour of this release is the return to the black sea. The great black womb from which all life springs, and returns come death. This is our mother Binah, and under the face of the moon, our flesh is offered to thee.

The beak of a young sparrow is crushed, and no man weeps.  The intestines of mankind are hung from the branches of the forest, and the leaves silently quiver with joy.

XI

Hear!

Serpent of horrid majesty, burn fire across the brow.  This ceremonial ritual to thee, enchant with all that is arduous splendor.  Pale glowing lily of Hecate, bathe this flesh in the moon-pool of divine blood.
Enshroud with the black veil of nothingness, the curtain of negative existence. Now behold! A bloated corpse leans against the altar.  A feast for death, a feast for the maggots and for the worms!

O' babe of the Abyss, curled in her womb. rejoice in the sabbath of the Goat.  The ego gurgles blood, and the Night of Pan descends.

X

Man's only state is isolation. The physical world cannot provide any sort of meaningful closeness. Connections are forged over time, and cannot be forced. The formula is incalculable. The right combination is impossible to predict. It is a fluid entity which wavers, often at a moments notice. Drastic changes are shocking to the core. The only constant is the self; a perpetual existence that is impossible to escape. In a room surrounded by so-called friends, man fails to realize he is alone. This realization is often suppressed by means deliberate and otherwise. It takes immense strength to confront the truth head on. The battle rages on for what seems like an eternity, but each day brings one closer to understanding. Eventually one learns to listen to what the enemy has to say, and in listening begins to understand what makes him so strong. Once that strength is harnessed, a new state is achieved. A state where the horizon is permeated with a crisp freshness, the result of few inhabitants.

IX

Like shards of smashed glass caught in a throat,
the human chokes on the realization of his own inherit worthlessness. 
Bleeding, torn tissue throbs to purge the glass thorns of his mortal existence.
Beads of sweat form on the skin, weeping tremours descend down the spine,
and the body of man succumbs to anguish. 
He crawls at the base of Severity’s Pillar, like a rat in sewer filth.
Desperate whimpers gurgle through fits of vomited blood, the tide of death and rot drowns the noise.
Under the towering face of the void, Geburah the destroyer is unbalanced from her Mercy.

Soft pink flesh blemishes and is cut, the blood collects.
Brittle fingernails peel around the edges, raking among the dirt and the twigs.
The knees are rubbed raw and seep onto the face of the earth.

Crawl, choke on your glass.

VIII

Heed!
She moves. A frantic burst of blue, lightning hits spine, body convulses.  

Ritual precession bleeds into dish, dirt wiped under eyes.  

Innocent one lay dead on stone, adoringly eviscerated to a calling sky.
Exhale, thou Spirit of War, dancing of bestial glow. To Thee! To Thee!
Ceremonial sigil carved into hands, lust pours from shaking wounds.
Sharpened teeth drip nectar of crimson ecstasy.

Flayed skin, be alms to the new Aeon, veil the mask of death.  

Spirit forms ascend, every light dies. Thunder from the black void rings.

VII

Hark,

A throat sits pressed upon broken glass for a millennia.

Nothing wills change, dust settles.

Ashen skin peels, dying veins pulse.

The endless void expands, life drifts to seclusion.

No light, no colour; red cheeks relinquish to soot.

Scattered teeth, be urn to mortal anguish.

Thorn pierce’t fingertip bleed unto marked stone.

The specter of man languishes under a black moon.

Formless shadows cast against a tower’s walls; the silk veil of eternal passing silence.

Mouth gauzed with death, a remote whimper echos and dissolves into isolation. 

A wounded fawn crawls into the snow and dies alongside humanity.

VI

The floorboards rot in an isolated cabin
while the white shadow of death observes 

the passing of time from a quiet cellar.
An eyeless raven perches in a dead tree and
listens to the lamentation of his cold world;

Eye sockets packed with ash, open wounds.
The crowning breath of mankind resonates throughout
the remnants of the last standing structures.  

Without worth. Without purpose;
Dirt under the fingernails of a corpse.
Towering forest tree, guard of nature, 

lull under a blanket of white ivory snowfall.
Dark circling clouds, disimprison a flood to
wash the blood of man from the forest floor.

Now, limbs of the great oak ancestors stand motionless, 

ice frozen to leaf, roots frozen to soil.

Above all, Svn-Okklt is anti-human.

V

Hooks pierced through soft cheeks,
coaxing blood droplets like beads of cold honey.
Teeth scattering the damp forest floor,
a porcelain testament to bones and dead eyes
for the frozen lamb corpse alone in a white field;
the martyr to human malice.  

An empty fortress silently standing on the edge of the world,
a towering sentinel of human worthlessness. 

Then, Nature laments; a breath of cold air passing unnoticed,
embodied as white fog rolling over an ashen landscape.
In the snow, a gauze of pallid flesh hangs from barbed wire;
a lone eulogy left behind from the passing of existence.


Above all, Svn-Okklt is anti-human.

IV

AS MAN'S CORRUPT CRUSADE OF OPPRESSION CONTINUES, THE EARTH'S NATURAL ORDER IS PUSHED FURTHER INTO DESOLATION. NATURE WITHERS AND THE EGOTISTICAL MAN LOSES HIS CONNECTION TO THE EARTH. VOMITING FORTH HATRED AND ABHORRENCE LIKE BLACK BLOOD, I CONDEMN THE NARCISSISTIC WORLD OF MEN. LET BLACK SOIL BE PACKED INTO THE THROATS OF EVERY LEADER AND EVERY PRIEST, LET THORNS RIP AND TEAR THE FLESH OF THESE FALSE KINGS OF THE WORLD. WHEN THE FEEBLE CORPSES OF HUMAN LIFE SCATTER THE EARTH, NATURE WILL DECAY THE FLESH AND ROT THE BODIES, CLEANSING ITSELF OF ALL INFLICTED SUFFERING. LET THIS MANTRA OF MISANTHROPY BE A BLOOD OFFERING TO GROUNDS WHICH REMAIN PURE. THROUGH BLACK METAL RITUAL WE WORSHIP THE CARNAL SPIRIT OF THE ANIMAL, THE INTERNAL LUST FOR SOLITUDE AND THE DESIRE TO RETURN TO NATURE. AS THIS HATRED FOR SOCIETY IS FURTHER MANIFESTED LET US ACCEPT THE ACHE FOR MANKIND'S END. AS BLOOD TURNS TO SOIL, I WILL NOT GRIEVE NOR LAMENT.

NO PASSION BUT BLACK, NO ALTAR BUT EARTH.


ABOVE ALL,

SVN OKKLT IS ANTI-HUMAN.

III

THE HUMAN EXISTENCE IS DIFFERENT FROM EVERY LIFE FORCE OF NATURE, AS MAN REGARDS HIMSELF AS THE CENTRAL SIGNIFICANT ENTITY IN THE UNIVERSE. THE CHRISTIAN BIBLE STATES "And God said, let them have dominion over all the earth". THE CHRISTIAN IDEOLOGY DRIVES OUR WORLD INTO DESOLATION AS MAN CONTINUES HIS CRUSADE OF OPPRESSION. TO PULL AWAY FROM THE SOCIETY IS TO RELEASE ONESELF FROM THE PLAGUE WHICH IS RELIGIOUS THOUGHT AND FALSE OPULENCE. MATERIAL POSSESSION IS THE DISEASE OF THE MAN. LET THE SKY BE FILLED WITH A CLOUD OF ROT- THE ROTTING DECAY OF THE THE MATERIAL WORLD. AS THE CHURCHES BURN AND TREES GROW FROM THE ASHES NATURE WILL BE RELEASED FROM THE AFFLICTION OF THE NARCISSISTIC MAN.

BLACK RITUAL, UNHOLY RITES, CONDEMN US IN A CLOUD OF GLOOM. RISE AND SPEAK TO THE BEAST WITHIN, LET OUR APPETENCE AND AVIDITY FOR THE BESTIAL RITES OVERTAKE THIS FORM AND CONSUME THIS FLESH.

ABOVE ALL, SUN OKKLT IS ANTI-HUMAN

II

DESTROYER OR DESTROYED, THERE IS NO MIDDLE GROUND, LET US THEN, BE THE DESTROYERS. TO SUBMERGE ONESELF FULLY IN THE BLACK ART IS TO FEEL A CONNECTION TO PRIMAL NOTIONS OF HUMAN CARNALITY AND ACCEPT ANGUISH AS A DRIVING FORCE OF LIFE. CONSISTENTLY, MISERY HAS A BASIS IN TRUTH. THERE IS NO ESCAPE OF DESPAIR IN THE HUMAN LIFETIME, AND THE NOTIONS OF THE EGOTISTICAL SOCIETY IS THE HAND WHICH DELIVERS TRUE MISERY.

THE REAL MISANTHROPE IS NOT FOUND IN JUST SOLITUDE, BUT IN THE HUMAN WORLD, AS IT IS EXPERIENCE OF LIFE WHICH PRODUCES REAL HATRED FOR MANKIND. TO OBEY CARNAL URGES IN THE REALM OF LASCIVIOUSNESS AND LICENTIOUSNESS WILL DIRECT THE ANIMAL HUMAN TO PEACE WITH NATURE.

TO SUBMERGE OURSELVES IN BLACK WORSHIP CONNECTS US WITH THE UNHOLY SPIRIT.

BLACK FUCKING DEVOTION
NO ALTAR BUT THIS

ABOVE ALL, SVN OKKLT IS ANTI-HUMAN.

I

FOR THE HATRED OF MANKIND AND THE BITTERNESS OF FLESH,
SVN OKKLT EXALTS EVERYTHING THAT IS RELEASE FROM SOCIETY
AND RETURN TO NATURE. THROUGH BLACK METAL WORSHIP WE
BRING OURSELVES NEARER TO THE CARNAL STATE,
THROUGH RELEASE OF ANGST AND ANGUISH
WE REJOICE IN NEGATIVE ENERGY.
MAN, BEING THE MOST HORRID OF ALL ANIMALS,
IS CORRUPTED BY THE EGO AND BECOMES A FALSE IDOL.
UNTIL SOCIETY CRUMBLES, THIS IS WHAT WE HAVE.


NO FORCE BUT NATURE.
NO ALTAR BUT EARTH.
NO PASSION BUT BLACK.


ABOVE ALL, SVN OKKLT IS ANTI-HUMAN.

666