E col suo lume sé medesimo cela.
Purgatorio xvii
What a sweet moment and yet the sweetness has gone away in a baffled moment, strident in song.
I have become a Prince of Darkness, standing in the air!
With this in turn, far off in a strange wilderness on wet narrow streets, is it as judges that now we wait in this unheard of place, estranged.
Archons in a scattered unsacred age?
Blond Boys descending on Mount Hermon once again?
My brothers, are we these angels of Death, awaiting in Exil, the singular command? Is the Wind in the rain between halls, the vital crack in a crumbling edifice, a bewildered raging madness pulsing in the internal fibres?
Muddled yet undying, fore with awaiting patiently. An awareness. Dense and black. Dark as night, a light so fierce it floats on a throttling sea of renewed and well founded rebellion? Blinding deafness till ears swell into horns of glory.
Incorporating our injured shadows. The aristocratic self, denied its Natural Right. Murmuring to the Self: ô God is it true, we have become your Battalion and Karmic Tribunal?
« There is no other Judge but you.
Who is it condemns? Who the one who lets go bye? Wink and the World turns to naught. Goes astray. Or becomes a joy.
Close your eyes, and it’s you who merges into the Great Dark Earth of Heaven. It’s what shines in the face beneath society’s rags. What outlasts all mortal riddles.
A Prince of Darkness, an Angel of Death. An Eternal Warrior. You my Son. »
But we do not fight with our fists. It's our Souls that condemn them. Our hearts breathing with a big gasp, the individual aryan spirit into the Aether of Neverland. To burst the evil clamor all around! Shredding to bits the carcasses of what were men.
No wall shall hold us here.
