Why ?To make you think with your own mind
that you might fend for your kind
In this Great Void where ghosts linger
and are carried to and fro
wishing it or not,
In circles upon circles,
in this tremendous maëlstrom !
...and I ALONE as Alouinne
Make you see and hear and say
What I alone as you
am inclined,
In order, to make you think again
and again, answer for yourself.
Hoping, at each time you dare speak
or dare keep silent, you will know
That DEATH is your only friend,
Angel of Death but a giver of desire
The only Compassionate the truly ever present.
It's to make you think and fight, interminably
awaken again and again, for your own honor !
Your courage comes from the hatred inside you
well defined that so it be given its appropriate
visage.
To make you think and fight again, for you own Honor.
All Aryan friends are ONE and separate in these rounds,
In these comings and goings amongst the ruins
In all living "creatures" their ETHERIAL BLOOD
Boils, brews the the Holy Ale for our Great Distillation !
My SOUL is my own
The Sacred Star guides me
On my path with me there, remembering
all those I've loved
in this wonderful disaster :
My Pilgrimage.
I am a LIGHTNING, that needs no slaves
to cater me !
I have no need to save anything nor
to save someone
wandering off the road of their OWN destination !
I have no need for kiss ass kamaraden !
One for 100,000 know me and I am contented with that.
To make you think and get angry, to fight
never submitting not even to an imposed avatar !
To make you think and think and think
Till the Dawn come, that your Sun might rise
That you may become as LIGHTNING,
Afraid of nothing
Honoring your Precious Aryan Blood
Issued from Valhallah.
 |
| Deus est in Mundum Oculus tuus. |
*****************************************************
The Christ came to me while I was sad and fatigued. I was listening to the Vespers of Stravinsky, in an ancient village in Southern France, in my home, in Colbert's Ancient Manufacture in Montolieu.
I was young stupid and very trusting, always honoring my word, and constantly being betrayed by those of mixed blood.
In those days the widows wore black, whether in summer or in winter.
As I lay on a poor man's humble couch, I closed my eyes :
There in a great hall, a bearded man came towards me
offered me a cup, a grail of wine.
He said to me as he was accompanied by friends, who
they as well were bearded and
WERE MATURE INDIVIDUALS,
Take this cup and drink it, soon
you will be, here with us
We will banquet and drink, all of us, TOGETHER.
He wore a purple cape of gold embroidered and had Golden Hair, and Clear Eyes. There were stars every where to be found on his clothes.
It was the Christ, as he drank with his true friends.
He was above all that, all the fussing and kiss assing ! Couldn't any longer give a damn !
Today, I imagine he could say, " Blaise Pascal is more than likely still in Hell. Or at the time, needed to make himself believe, he could think better for another, than the other for himself."
Or has he become a Kristos, he as well ! And perhaps now, Blaise is in the Sacred Hall of Valhallah, making merry with dear friends.
And in the coffer where he was buried there's nothing left,
no not even the semblance of a corpse.
Just a white steel sword.
