There are no coincidences

Now so close to its end, the most grueling part of the winter has come here - fortunately not to last long.
This is how capricious the weather is these days, which is nothing out of the ordinary though.

From buienradar.nl

I'll be really glad when it's back to normal temp's by the weekend. Feeling very lethargic these days, and getting to the gym and back - on the bicycle, of course, which is the only option - is an ordeal. No running for the hills these days - I'll stick to the treadmill while the extreme cold snap lasts.

But apart from this nuisance things are going fine under the circumstances. Most of the rest of the winter has been relatively mild to average; it was one of my hardest winters for entirely different reasons. But eventually I've been sent the help I prayed for, only at first I didn't recognize it when it arrived, which was actually just after the Solstice and when I had started publishing here the first chapters of Dead Flowers in the Wishing Well.
This long, elaborate ritual, the writing of the story being part of it, in the end revealed its magic, for which I'm endlessly grateful to my beloved Master.

I even found someone whose story has quite some parallels to my own, and she courageously talks about it although the trolls and the mentally challenged are jumping on it with insults and ridicule. Meet Amanda Teague - I loved her from the start when first finding out about her - both her and her husband Jack.
I contacted her and although we haven't talked much I'd always have her back. She might be wary of me being a Satanist, or simply having a very busy life and many other friends.
Nonetheless she's an inspiration, and undaunted by all the pathetic haters.

Speaking of haters, I also found this amazing new song by Dimmu Borgir the other day and couldn't believe there were 1K "thumbs down" on it - by now even 2K. Checking the comments shed some light on the reasons why, "this is no longer black metal," and all such bullshit complaints. But someone else commented, "black metal elitists are a plague to this world," to which I have to agree, along with all other kinds of narrow-mindedness.
I absolutely love this song, and I've taken the title of this entry from the line in it that struck me most - there truly are no coincidences.
Yes, I'm a devout Satanist, and I do love to see Satanic spirituality expressed in art and music, and it can be expressed in a multitude of forms - and in the end, the art and music is not the religion!
At which point it may be worth mentioning that a lot of the old-school, "trve" black metal scene is also riddled with racism and white supremacy crap, and what might that bullshit have to do with anything spiritual or Satanic?!
I will have none of that. It delights me when I see dark and Satanic art coming from all corners of the world, it's like having allies everywhere, and among them even such courageous souls who create their music at the peril of their lives, such as the metal bands from Middle-Eastern countries - respect to them!!!

Art can also be inspired by Satan even if the artists are not themselves believers. At which point I can't help thinking of the brilliant actor who played Satan's son in the movie I adore so much. He's not a Satanist, and to my knowledge nor was anyone else who was involved in the making of Warlock.
Yet I think when art is said to be inspired it may most often be by forces from beyond the physical world. Great art is often referred to as "divine", which may of course include the Satanic divine, as well as other forms - archetypal forms; which reminds me of an article I fortunately saved some time ago, clearing up the misconception about the meaning of archetype.

Yes, archetypes are as real as can be, which is why the most striking and powerful creations of art more often than not carry some archetypal nature in them.
The radiant, light-bearing Lucifer is an archetype - a most highly divine archetype in this case.
And I may say that I even represent an archetype myself: the warrior woman, the Amazon, the cold, brutish man-woman - I believe that's an archetype. That's what I am.

Monsters have nightmares too

It's been a while once more. Usually when I neglect my blog posts it can mean one of two things: Either nothing much is happening, and/or I'm too depressed to care. Or I've been really busy with other things.
Fortunately it's been the latter, for the most part. I've found two new friends to correspond with, and when I write a lot elsewhere I'll write less here.

The Carnival, which is big here in the Rhineland and also very annoying, is nearly over once more. I never engage with that stuff as it's a very German thing, and usually even celebrating a corrupted version of their language, a completely unintelligible dialect used only by very primitive and backward people, never by any more well educated and sophisticated individuals.

My way!!!

As always I've kept working out as usual, of course; usually about five times a week and there never really are any breaks.
Yesterday I went running up in the woods once more, which amounted to 15.5 K in 83 minutes - up the steep hill by the cemetery, through the shrubbery and on trails riddled with mud holes, as usual.

It was the second run for this month; in January I did six, which taken together amounted to 73 km I ran in that month, a personal record which I didn't even aim at. It just happened that I skipped a leg day twice in exchange for running (only 3 leg days that month), just because I felt like running.

Like running from the nightmares which just keep coming all too frequently - yes, we monsters do have them. They have nothing to do with any more recent events, they're always the horrors of the past haunting me. I seem to have a toxic waste problem in my memory banks, so to speak. Which will be far harder to clean up than Fukushima.

But although at times I seemed to be lost in some horrible wasteland all by myself, deep inside I know I'm not.
Revered & radiant Morning Star...

It's those who deny His Magic who are actually saying there's no such thing as freedom, or even the possibility of any other existence but under tyranny.
The very tyranny which I have sworn to fight, and always will!
Until the tyrant god is thrown down and all divine law obliterated!!!

Shithole

All Days Are Black, on repeat. Because they are
I guess I'll have to embrace my fate indeed. Is it heroic to do so when there's no other choice?
On the surface everything seems fine, just the way it's always been, workout going fine and all.
Is it really just that I never noticed before how terribly alone I really am? Before I got into that spiritual equivalent of a train wreck, that is.

No, it's not that I simply didn't notice. I don't know, maybe people notice subconsciously, and only subconsciously, how broken I am, and you instinctively avoid talking to someone who's smeared on the road with their guts out. Let the medical professionals deal with that.
Yeah, in my case that would be spiritual professionals, but sadly I don't know any, at least not on this side of the event horizon, and still don't know how to communicate to beyond.
And be advised if you're a materialist moron who happens to read this and you think it sounds completely schizo: Your problem - I sure don't have any fucks to give about your uninformed and worthless opinion.

Shithole? Thanks for the entertainment, but this whole fucking world is one.

I should know so much better. I know that this shithole place is an illusion, that everything is in consciousness and consciousness is the only thing that can change anything. But I got no idea how.
I have to keep the faith, it's what matters most and it's all I got left now.

The story to end all stories

Cut was on the side of the pinky, healed now.

Cleaned house today as it's been my turn again this week - for the hallway, that is - including my own apartment and the blood stains by my altar table, still left from the Solstice ritual. Just over two weeks, the cut is mostly healed but still visible. If I were visible, that is...

Sometimes the void feels overwhelming lately, ever since I hit that crossroads, colliding with fate in most unlikely ways and only realizing much later how much it broke me.
(I'm most complete yet so undone...)
Still there's not a single answer, neither from here nor beyond, except the ones I myself came up with, such as writing the story and doing the ritual.

Still another ritual. Like the one I did in late June, then out in the nocturnal woods, and all I had asked back then was to see my Master just as I did in the first chapter of the story (minus the shrooms and the vision).
I had never asked anything else but this, but to see my spirit guide, my guardian demon. And no, I didn't see him.
Shortly after that, everything started getting weird instead, leading up to the events that would devastate me in fall.

It's been the strangest of lessons. I've witnessed things that are 99.99% excluded from possibly happening by mere chance. No, I won't tell what they are. Even though most likely no one will read this anyway, no one ever listens, at least no one in this world - and I don't need to convince anyone else.

I hope that my Master is listening, and the Infernal Father.

A curse that is a blessing, and a blessing that is a curse.
Freedom and non-interference is what matters most!
I have everything I need.
Except answers, from anyone, from anywhere. Do I have to be this utterly alone, is this part of it? Part of what, anyway? Of the path, I guess.

That fabled Light is there, somewhere. Once in a while I can even reach it again - only since two days after Midwinter, after the ritual, and having nearly completed the story then.
But the unbearable pain is still there also. I guess it had to be, for I was meant to do this new ritual and, as an important part of it, to write the story to end all stories.

A while ago I got to talk to a friend on Facebook and told her about it, and she misunderstood "the story to end all stories" to mean it would be the last story I intend to ever write. That's definitely not what I meant. I meant, the story to end all stories - not just mine, but all.

Happy end - but everyone's dead, including me. I had to write it this way.
My friends in the story, Irina and Jolene, they're fictional. I wish I had friends like that. No one is ever with me.

I wish so much I were being given instructions what to do. In dreams, visions, whatever. I wish so much my Master would talk to me.
And yet I knew I had to write the story in this way. Do I really have to figure everything out by myself?
I always did. Always had to teach myself everything I know, and I mean everything.

I don't really live in this world, I only coexist with it. It's always been just a compromise.
And yet, on New Year's there were several posts on Facebook about Azerate. 2018.

I always wished to see this world ending. But when it comes to pass it won't have been my doing alone.
I'm here on my lonely, lonely outpost, and maybe I'm meant to be. No one talks to me. And yet I'm not alone. There are others in this world doing the work of the Devil.
No one talks to me and yet I know they're out there. There are many black metal bands writing songs about this. There are others who wish to see this world ending.

Thank you to everyone who is on our side, to everyone doing the Devil's work.
And thank you to the few who have given me some company from far away in my isolated life.
I guess I've nearly reached the end.

Straw Into Gold / Celephais

 Straw Into Gold

Staring at the world in awe
Still disbelieving what I saw
When marvels spin, as they unfold
Straw into the shiniest gold
Then gold back into straw

Like the Fallen Star I fell
Like Lucifer Himself, exiled
And branded odious, reviled
Let me carry thus the (b)light
In solitude, in Hell

The wreckage fallen, worlds apart
Starlight in each glinting shard
Sky beneath, Abyss above
Has sealed this everlasting [war]
In my cold black heart


~ All of this is to the one who shared my journey, if for an ever so brief time, last fall.
Know that this black heart full of war holds but only blessings for you.
Please be safe, always, and may the Fabled Light forever shine for you! ~

Celephais (The Fabled Light)

The fabled city of Celephais, seen in blissful dreams, as described in H.P. Lovecraft's story of the same name, but which is known here on Earth as Amsterdam. (Yeah, that latter part I made up. LOL)

Celephais (Whispers)

More about these on my DeviantArt page.

Say, what does it mean?

This is the part that still eludes me.

And the Delayed Choice Quantum Slit Experiment boggles minds?
You haven't seen what I have seen...

While on the run - always running from the past, the memories, the nightmares. How much further to run, how much faster, before I'm running out of tomorrows?

But there's nothing I desire from this world, from its physical manifestation, but that fabled Light.
I'm here in this world in order to transcend it.

Did I mention how much I love this band? The Infinite Trip.
Hippie stuff? Whatever. An extraordinary and amazing band!
Yeah, I do listen to black metal. And industrial, and goth, and medieval... and this. And what not.
The Infinite Trip has helped a lot through hard times.

I'll still have some art & poetry to share later, here & on my DeviantArt. About that Fabled Light.

Rise & Shine!

Shine as a thousand suns and rise as an enormous mushroom cloud!
Produce lots of fallout and give everyone radiation sickness!

Someone once told me I always got the best fireworks for New Year's. Truth is, I got them most of the time - but for the New Year I got myself this new cover pic for Facebook once more.

But the last day of the year was a good one. The brutal winter decided to hit the US instead this time. Here it rose above 50 F yesterday, I once more wore my battle jacket and only fingerless gloves when going for a little ride in the woods.

In the evening I celebrated by myself then, with some glorious music - including finding this wonderful and very suitable video, as well as my own playlist. Gothic rock, black metal, psychedelic, industrial, medieval, folk rock... dancing and singing and having some booze, the latter which I do only very rarely.

Singing with my steroid-ruined voice. Many males can easily reach higher pitches than I can. Yet still I sing - also on the bike, and even in the locker room at the gym sometimes when I can't bear someone else's babbling in German any longer. Like I'd give a shit what they may think about it. My voice ain't even that bad, just very deep for a girl. And I hate German - awful memories. Provoking nightmares of my childhood. I'm still constantly on the run from my past.

Yes, running, running. I had planned running today, but wasn't sure if I'd be up to it after dancing long and hard last night. And yes, I'm quite sore from dancing, but in my traps only (trapezoid muscles). No, certainly NOT headbanging - I've never done that and never would; to each their own but I personally find it extremely pointless. I mean dancing! Hard and fast, always. I guess my legs don't get sore easily because they're used to running.
Which I did again anyway today. 11K of ups & downs in the hills, a favorite route, in 59 minutes just as last time.
Can't ruin the first day of the year by cutting corners!!

New Year's is generally always much, much better than that awfully depressing Shitmas crap, and this year was so much worse than usual since I've already been through an extremely difficult time to begin with.

As stated earlier, I intended to sort of write my own salvation via my story "Dead Flowers in the Wishing Well", published here in the previous nine entries, and it actually did work as I hoped, at least to some extent.

Yet still I'm much more vulnerable to negativity, and by "coincidence" (no, I don't believe in it) I was in for a very hurtful conversation on Facebook right on Shitmas eve. No coincidence because Shitmas is shit. And no, not some random bully who will say crap like "you're ugly," I wouldn't even take that half seriously. Some people do think tanks are ugly. Some even think sharks are ugly, or snakes. I think all of these are magnificent. Tanks are very efficient war machines. Sharks and snakes are very efficient predators. And myself being a warrior, efficiency is what matters most. The mainstream ideals of "beauty" usually are appalling anyway and completely incompatible with the ideal of the (female!) warrior.

But this aside - no, it wasn't a bully but a person I had considered a friend.
Let me mention once more here that in particular for a Satanist I'm extremely easy going, open minded, and tolerant. But this person, apparently not even aware of it, kept pushing her own ideas in extremes that were hurtful and insulting. So much that in the end, despite giving her ample chance to mitigate her insults (meant as misguided "compliments", apparently), I had to delete and block her.
Only the next day I realized - should I really say this in public? Who cares... I realized she was so much like my mother. The same pretense of spirituality while being 100% materialistic, same pretense of open-mindedness while being the opposite.
And so I spent Shitmas back in even deeper depression than I would have without this nasty incident.

But back to the story once more. It's been quite a journey, and at the onset I had only the vaguest idea of where it would take me. I only knew it would have to be quite nightmarish, but in the end leading to salvation. No idea how. I just had it develop on its own.
I realized that in my stories I'm as true to myself as I ever could be. And obviously quite far from my ideal of absolute evil and of being the cold, unfeeling war machine.
I never claimed to be perfect - I know well it would be better for me to be closer to that ideal, it would spare me much pain.