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LIBER PSYCHOSIS EX MACHINA

1. Dies-Ease (Wrath)
1. Removed from the ground, brought to
an end forever, Severe in all her acts,
disappearing adorned, Justified for
divergence, shes left Debasing all others,
Alacrity among us, shedding clothes in
a feral state. 2. Alive in an excruciating
love, a fear of her own image. Created
in her own image, infernal reminder.
Evanescent struggles of enlightenment. 3.
Unforgiving dreams of a stronghold on
the brink, undeviating in her council,
jaded, wretchedness so delicious it
resolves intrusive insight.
4. Alight to fiery chasms draping carnal
confirmations on a promise of a lover you
created. A youth, beaten, smiles
idiotically through tears, crawling on
stems of broken vessels, fails to
acknowledge shame; a windswept
confrontation in a word of love. 5. All

in all we are forever, we are never.


Psychiatric therapy disinters trampled
beings. From the outside to the
overwhelming forgotten unrelated,
everlasting. 6. Do we ever have an
adverse effect on the lack of remorse,
the perceptiveness, its end product: the
consummation of desire, to breathe
your last breath: to repossess your soul
with a sanguine healing. 7. A rancid,
fragile bloom reaches out: love. A
noxious germ of dies-ease wrathful
from birth dies. Gone, soulless
devoured a feast for the entire race
2. The Enchanting Dead
1. Controlling your emotions, forget
that for which you must kill. Keep
from sight the midnight rages, its
primal anger haunts you still. 2.
Divide, again, divide. Ten thousand
3

chanting clones, no love will purify their


hearts. Its such a common mistake, an
easy thing to fake, such a common course
to chart. 3. You try so hard to charm
the Enchanting Dead. Knowledge hides
in fear, dismissal of all that may leave
the soul exposed. Your clinging to your
faults, fashioning the flaws, pretending
youre the one who chose. 4. You know
no open vistas, just noisy, black-walled
rooms flashing sporadic light. 5. Why
should I try to scream, whats left to
redeem? Who you are is what you
buy. You try so hard to charm the
Enchanting Dead. Youll never know
the price youve paid.

repository: the human race the aching


pain of preposterousness we keep
inside. A world domination of the
Dead, squalid, distressing. Lying face
downhill in a waltz of imperfection.

2. Perforate, lick, and maul


providences livid scars. Barrage of
bullets, a press release. Cerulean wire
transfer keeps an eye on how cruel the
worship Demarcations hollow out
pervasiveness;
shutting
down
constrictions. 3. Ornamental crypto
anarchy love in practice. Sternly dead
to the world, a lying repercussion they
howl. Blackness In the past, few
minutes revolve around a revolting
3. Crypt-Analysis
phraseology. Blackbird hunted by
prickly ways to end. 4. Blessed is your
with shameful insinuations
1. Surge of blood of the entire prowling relationship
of Deep-seated innermost
engrossment Misinformed disparagement, Stronghold
unequivocal floorshow. Enchanting indulgent circumvention. Raze to the
4

ground the blackened official position.


Force release virtual discordant hold of
defense substitute Pale vicinity gilding
Pseudonyms
Gravestone
figures.
VITRIOL mega Leitrim Yakima
Substance worshippers rest Platform 1911
TYRANNOUS
commotion
Mortalities Figurative oratory fades
away. 5. Opening Men with Faithless
designs desiccates the flesh while
abandoned
manifestations
twist.
Overwhelmed, Recoil of a cut-throat
humanity control Hates slowness collides
with our illuminated variables Frayed
rose-coloured diversion Interchangeable,
Unusual axiomatic deception assassinated
impenetrability Anarchy rogue dispatch
bomb
plutonium
DESCEND
androgynous Nightmare Rendering
Mislead Pasture gives the impression of
being Deep-seated murder. 6.
Rehabilitation principally in perpetuity
attendant to the triumphant. Breathless

Templeton Majestic LUK Cohabit


Sores arise abrade function Lithely
Horrified misshapen observes by the
side Of asymmetrical intermission. 7.
Red chamber Clock 26 snuffle Patel
package ISI INR. Psychosis junkies
cantankerously grow aged divides
fervour at this time degenerate
Sanctuary SIN advisors chosen
VORTEX: eradicate IN COLD
BLOOD UMBRA GA!
4. Surge of Blood
1. I have chosen the invisible and, to
fan the flames of possession, served
perfidy and uttered its fetid moan. I
dream the reawakening of my
genocide. 2. It leaps in the
entanglement of this exquisite scene. I
forsake nothing; remember nothing
save what is left of prayer to reign
5

disintegrating in the hours of darkness.


The prayer of spirit belongs to m, the
prayer of word, of bone. 3. Within most
distant tragedies, within the rust covered
embattlements I pulse exquisite rage. My
disquiet affirmed your prayers. You
fantasized a presence stretching past
tomorrow. 4. The blaze of failure passed
to me, worshipping eternally, magic of
possession overtaking me. It utters the
flash of my ghastly, red peace. It is laid
to rest into a previous despair. 5. My
kingdom is forever with me there where
is found the final power upon the pulse
of the caress of putrefaction. 6. The
Heaven of promise belongs to me.
Formless isolated beings throughout the
Earth and skies. Crescendo of
substantial scenes, extinction found
wanting. 7. Spirits shoaling till the end
of time. Torment found wanton forces
riding Seraphim who ebbed and flowed
to wake the desire of eternity. Stretch
6

the deadly master insentient like fate


out of Inferno fire with the insane.
Striking, flanking, outdoing, and
undoing us all. Ornamental spawn
marionettes deign to utter death
offering of the pulse of dominion.
Mirror of solitude sleeps red. 8. Guile
with veil and a wild desire sighted
me to reflection in vitality. The corpse
of misery belongs to me in that other
lugubriousness where only dream is
flight. There where is found the
nameless encounter. 9. Love lost in the
Tomb of Hades teaching thick sweet
offerings. Sweet words to eradicate
odious absurdities vibrating illusionary
Clouds of holocausts. Transmit the
caress.
Surge of discharge upholds the abstract
ideal. 10. You jump down and the
corpse sighs languidly. Your final

incarnation of silhouette and sickle ends.


Lustrous infections pulse with the potent
flush. Join the hollow dance to shrink
from cold impossibilities. Fields of
pounding cut off the pulse. 11. Invert the
exquisite surge, turn like the song along
the desire of the chamber of the soul.
Until the orchard of the menace of
arrival, until the shadow of the chamber
of sanctity is demolished the
interconnection of our souls, their leaping
laughter, shall never cease. Choronzon
comprises precipitate lustre of the offering.
12. Sunset of time curses the elemental
bond of suffering. Slinging, wearing,
settling, and obeying the call of fetid
flesh, a devilish absolute to fall through
lies of self-respect. 13. Devilish crush to
breathe your last dancing in ecstasy.
Hollow prayer filled atmosphere with
the catastrophe. Moreover, the
prevailing conditions of the soul of

embodiment. Coming, few, nameless,


formless, I hear the menace calling.
5. Crossing I-The 30th Aethyr
Anger gives way to a grudging
gratitude. My love, my soul, Ill never
see you again. I am no more, the fiend
wanders freely, ah, to be. Flagrantly
dismissing all claims, I am: HA!
Aumgn-ha! Towering above all
reality stand I, Unquestioning, led by
an infernal guide. Spinning, greeting
sunlight with contempt I fall back
into corporeal extinction...
6. Asymmetrical Red Chamber
1. Until the flesh of the entanglement
rent in a morbid fury, blind and
ingratiating, although the haunted of
the death of force convoluted wisdom
with the confidence of erroneousness
long-sufferingly indulged, I no longer
7

fear. 2. Shadowy reflex-ion, enslaving,


potential supremacy forbids overcastting
upon the pulse of the caress of
putrefaction. Sepulchral inside, I have
decayed the vision that has fattened in a
dead agony. Glum have rained to have
run I was interweaving in eternal prey, I
was thrashing an illuminates mind. 3.
Choronzon condemned the dog, hollow
soul of normalcy surges frighteningly
with the grief-stricken corpse of flesh, the
cadaver of representation wounded in a
rotten return of disfigurement. 4. He
sighed, exposing frail Star of mandatory
beating timeless Dreamt along the
chamber. Thrilled, while the conqueror
in us have decried to have whispered,
seed new worlds of quivering moonlit
flesh. 5. They thought of me as a saviour
of a kind, but I had no intention of
stopping short of destroying them. The
air seems to vibrate. The edges of all
corporeal things around me seem to
8

vibrate at the edges. 6. I can feel that


familiar nausea well up in me again. I
fear I may not die soon. I just want
something outside myself that I can
remember my former self by.
6. Crossing II-The 29th Aethyr
7. Justified
1. Wind like a fist in the face, sound
like a kick in the chest. I have
forgotten about sleeping in the last
fifty days, trying to remember how I
have been blessed. 2. Is mine a vital
contribution? Am I ever to be
known? Choke my cries, blind my
eyes, make it clear bring the fear, let
me know let it flow; lust, rust, let it
turn to dust. Now Im going home.
Burn them down, one and all. How I

loved them before the fall. 3. Lacking


grace, let me find the rage: such a quiet
age, dying mage, immolation, dying
embers, sleep.
Dive deep, burning need. Bring it home,
the crushing blow: Gods kiss.
4. Dying happy of the waters chill,
immaculate before the throne of virginal
serenity, now that I see all, Choronzons
call, I see the mad-mans gaze is quite
lucid after all. 5. Back to the dead, now
that all is said, they will never
remember having been bled. Push it
away; push it away, the pleading face.
6. Love lost, count the cost let them
wash away in rain. Burning kiss of frost,
bastard son, now undone, the heavenly
kingdom overrun. Close your eyes, part
your thighs, the Holy Fathers justified,
wet seed. 7. A chilling fate, to be sure;
the procreation of the common man.
We have more flesh robots than we

will ever use. They have not a single


soul among them. 8. It makes me
fearful, having seen their God. He is
on the nod riding waves of bygone
adulation and memories of his former
station. Can he ever be seen? Will
he ever know the flames? I prefer the
chilling fear to the warm embrace of
living death.

8. Crossing III-the 18thAethyr


1. Holy men yearning for the lake of
fire.
9. Ornamental Crypto-Anarchy
1. Advisors, councilors, wise fools
providing crypt-analysis, confabulating
tales of judgment, encrypting
9

providentially. 2. He feeds on the blood


of his lambs through delicious rhapsodic
osmosis. We die for his sins. Each day
we are reborn, clamouring night after
night to be slaughtered. 3. In lust, he
swallows fire and vomits locust swarms.
4. Otherwise, our corpses cease their
dance. Rancid in their dies-ease,
outwardly breathing their convictions,
alight with the pages they dance bright.
Bereft of wisdoms respite and rages they
never quite felt.
We are distracted, never present, other
moments dim in our recall. 5. Father,
baptize us in sanguine streams; lead us
into conflagration. Shiver among us;
reward our evil. Bring us this moment
our eternal torment. 6. In the halls, other
places: delight in blasphemous embraces.
Submerged in unfelt appetites, wet and
enslaved by stark delights and permitted
rages flaunt their lost souls. Infernal saints
and tacit mages, impassive tyrants
10

languish, precluding sages silenced by


the pulchritude of innocence. 7. You
are bereaved and blessed, for in your
death you have bound your progeny
to join you.

I lie here in a pool of my


own vomit and blood, grateful
for the hell I've just been
through.
The
death
I've
always longed for eludes me
still, but her fiendish love
shall surely
make
my
end
spectacular.
The
apprehension
that
had
been in the back of my mind
since for as long as I can
remember is no longer there.
I've
lost
everything
and
everyone and am now free.
Nothing
is
real,
nothing
matters
and
I
no
longer
exist.
I
rise
from
the
concrete
floor
and
look
around for my gun. Not that I
am afraid they're still in
this abandoned warehouse. I
just want something outside
myself that I can remember my
former self by. The images of
the
preceding
night
swirl
about my head as I lean
against
the
back
of
the
freight elevator. If they all
died, where did their bodies
go?

They thought of me as a
savior of a kind, but I had
no intention of stopping
short of destroying them.
The air seems to vibrate.
The edges of all corporeal
things around me seem to
vibrate at the edges. I can
feel that familiar nausea
well up in me again. I fear
I may not die soon.
I can not quite let go of my
habit of taking comfort in
my
certainty
that
all
existence will be over with
soon. I turn a corner to a
heavily
trafficked
street
and am overwhelmed by my
dread at the sight of people
going about their mundane
business
with
apparent
acceptance. I walk into a
diner, unsure if I have any
money. The gray customers
stew silently in their slow,
silent deaths, not noticing
me and my blood and vomit
stained clothes. The room is
a living monument of flesh

13

and Formica, joined


unseen places.

in

the

People,
tables,
food,
and
windows all fastened together
by
chemo-spiritual
bonds,
without
seams,
breathing,
moving perfectly as if it
were
actually
what
it
purported to be: the lie of a
world of separate things.
In my vision the substances
switch places, a woman's face
taking on the texture and
color of
the
vinyl
stool
covers by the bar, the walls
and
ceiling
likewise
transforming before my eyes
into
a
parody
of
pulsing
flesh. Animate and inanimate
switch and I stand in walls
of skin and sinew surrounded
by plastic people. The bubble
of vision pops of a sudden,
and returned to the mundane I
am confronted with something
truly terrifying: That my so
called reality is in fact
incalculably more disgusting
14

than any nightmare. That


material objects are just
that, and that flesh is
flesh, but it is the souls
of these people that have
turned to plastic. Everyone
is staring at me, at the
fool who is just standing in
the doorway looking around
with a horrified grimace...
"must be crazy, lost his
marbles, poor guy, someone
should help him, someone
should do something, look at
the blood, a trouble maker,
trying to eat and this guy
walks in with blood all
over, can you believe it
honey I mean just ridiculous
really
some
people
not
raised
right
sickpervertedevildeadman-"
I
have
no
appetite.
Of
course, I'm not here to eat.
I glance about, turning my
neck this way and that. My
own putrid stench seems to

not
affect
stare.

them

as

they

Uneasily, I dared not sit,


fearing for what they might
do.
Weaponless
and
still
flirting with my own version
of listlessness, I stumble
in.
Dancing
towards
death
with
each
moment
I stand
there.
I turn to go, and there she
is... I realize I don't even
know how I have come here. It
has all been such a hazy
vision, since I had lost most
of my soul already, I figure.
Why not see what's next? This
can't last that much longer.
Her voice is airless. She
speaks
with
such
a
sweet
sickness in which head simply
swims.
She
feeds
from
my
mind, the images of dreams.
I go to her. She looks, if it
is possible, worse than I
feel. This is not a body

shes
possessed,
but
a
mirror
of
the
reigning
sickness she has gathered
into visual form. She is a
quivering mass of confusion
and pain. This manifestation
is a sign that something is
horribly wrong. We look at
each other in silence. I
feel naked beneath her gaze;
a gaze that is questioning
and fearful.
"......last
breathe.

night.."

"Don't!"
"Where now?"
I start at her sharp intake
of breath. She laughs with
surprising
openness
and
looks around, seeming to be
delighted at what she sees.
"They'll
never
remember
having been bled. she says.
"It amazes me how he's never
sated".

15

"One must admire his sense of


humor, though".
Her manner is so strange. It
is like a parody of her first
seductive approach to me. I
feel like she is holding me
off. The blond tresses are
somehow a reproach.
I
dont
understand
the
purpose of your story, I am a
composition
of
disparate
beings,
and
so
I
dont
understand
much
of
the
meaning of the games, but I
became identified with the
first part,
in
which
the
spirit longs for death, still
I long for death(for so long
that it makes me sick). To
me,
and
like
the
Void
seekers,
existence
is
to
suffer day after day, so all
my
feelings
for
life
are
sorrow and hatred.
I started seeking for the
devil, as a blasphemy to god.

16

Now
here
is
the
real
confusing business. To the
Gnostics,
Yaltabaoth
(Choronzon) was the god of
the Old Testament (IHVH),
and so the creator of man.
That may be true, because
Choronzon is the maker of
form. Also when Yaltabaoth
saw the evil of his creation
caused the deluge to wipe
out
the
evil
giants
(Nephilim) from the face of
the earth. But a man (Noah)
was warned by the god of the
sea
(Neptune,
Poseidon,
Enki) to build a boat to
save man from his oblivion.
Also the Gnostics say that
this god of the seas was the
original serpent of Genesis,
and so the serpent became
their symbol. Its strange,
because they say the world
is evil (true) and up side
down (true) and that the
true governor of earth is
the demiurge Yaltabaoth.
This strange man must have
been listening to the whole

conversation. The madness in


his
eyes
is
a
comfort,
showing that my work has not
been in vain.
"So you read me, did you?" I
smile as I say this, and she
darkens
visibly
in
my
peripheral vision.
"I probably am a character.
The author must be some kind
of nut."
She's gone. All eyes fall on
me as if I had just torn the
place apart.
I
back
out,
feeling that it isn't time to
lose this vessel yet. I see
one moment as present, the
next
only
as
memory.
My
consciousness scattered, not
only as chaotic thoughts, but
time itself is unraveling.
My
mind
can't
impose
a
structure, such as future and
past, for more than a few
seconds at a time.

The man follows me out of


the diner, speaking to me;
it seems, from out of a
different reality. Buildings
smile from the corners of my
eyes, and then solidify into
cold, still matter when I
look at them.
Hideous
figures
dance,
laughing silently and grimly
though refusing to be seen
directly.
The
mans
odd
rambling about choronzon and
old testament dreams acts
like a soundtrack whispering
hints of the scene to come.
Someone is hitting the cues,
and I'm afraid it's me.
Yours history vas very good
I like witchsis! he says
before running down an alley
after a feral cat as he
continues shouting.
Cemetery
Hunt
on
your
Ritual Abuse, a victim of
mind control looking for

17

help, for a friend. We are


the
test
subjects:
CHANGE
LOCATION!: Not everybody is
being Dog si Natas!
Without
a
reason
I
laugh
deliriously as she tries not
to
emote.
The
trees,
steadfast, dancing guardians
hiss a lazy warning. My love
curled in trauma aleph, Beth:
gimel, a loving attempt at
fearful murder. Anger gives
way to a grudging gratitude.
My love, my soul, Ill never
see you again.
I am no more, the fiend
wanders freely, ah, to be.
Flagrantly
dismissing
all
claims, I am: HA! Aumgn-ha!
Towering above all reality
stand I, Unquestioning, led
by
an
infernal
guide.
Spinning,
greeting
sunlight
with contempt, I say my last
farewell as a human slave.
Pathetic
dance
of
fools,

18

loving,
breeding,
Working
towards death, I die among
them. In a fever dream,
lying senseless, I awake.
The early, dark mornings of
inspiration transpire. The
least I could do. Please the
queen, sacrifice my animal
soul, and bleed spiritually,
love my neighbor.
Free to serve my love, I
flee. The lure of flesh
sickens, the sight of bloody
angels entices.
Uh, wait a second...where
was I? I can't find my
pants.
I
can't
find
my
shoes. And I can't find my
mind....
The least I could do.
Let the stupid ones follow
me. They are everywhere, and
they are everybody. I know a
lot of you. She's gone. I

wonder what you might think


about this: "They'll never
remember having been bled,"
she said. "It amazes me how
he's never sated." I don't
even know how I have come
here.
"...lost his marbles, poor
guy, someone should help him,
someone should do something,
look at the blood..." The
room is a living monument of
flesh and Formica, joined in
the unseen places. I can not
quite let go of my habit of
taking
comfort
in
my
certainty that all existence
will be over with soon. I can
feel
that
familiar
nausea
well up in me again.
If they all died, where did
their bodies go? Nothing is
real, nothing matters and I
no longer exist. The death
I've always longed for eludes
me still....

Nausea. I can feel that


familiar NAUSEA well up,
etc....
I
lie...
They
thought of me as a savior of
a
kind,
but
I
had
no
intention of stopping short
of destroying them. I fear I
may not die soon. I can not
quite let go.... People,
tables, food, and windows
all fastened together by
chemospiritual bonds.
"...trying to eat and this
guy walks in with blood all
over, can you believe it
honey I mean just ridiculous
really
some
people
not
raised right sick-pervertedevil-dead-man-"
Of course, I'm not here to
eat. We looked at each other
in
silence.
She
looked
around, seemingly delighted
at what she saw. Now here is
the real confusing business.

19

"I probably am a character.


The author must be some kind
of nut."
I have scars all over my body
-I have scars all over my
mind -but my soul is free and
beautiful. I was never damned
and I never needed to repent
of
anything.
My
love,
my
soul, Ill
never
see
you
again. Back at my dank room,
the sound of indigent drunks,
drug addicts and more mental
cases
coughing,
laughing,
screaming
at
having
been
born.
Home.
Hades
forfend
having to dwell elsewhere.
Such comfort; I finally feel
alive, like I exist.
The dust-devils of thought
come to rest: back to present
time.
Being
homeless
and
invisible is why I am still
alive. Pleasure such as this
the others shall ever deny
themselves.
No
power,
the
abuses available being too

20

squalid
glamour.

and

devoid

of

It is mid afternoon in the


homeless shelter. People are
returning from the labor
pool, bitching about paying
the driver two bucks for
transportation, bags heavy
with bottles and clothes
coated
with
dust
from
cleaning
up
construction
sites.
It's
a
shame
the
door
doesn't lock. My room is
soon
filled
with
sweaty
middle aged men, teenage
runaways
and
young
men
showing great concern that
we know about their street
savvy. As much as I've tried
to hide, as much as I tried
to blend in with the people
around me, I can't help but
be sought after. I can see
myself as a hermit, I long
to isolate myself. To those

I grew up with and went to


school with, I've achieved
this extremely well. Being on
the streets makes possible a
certain amount of mystery.
which arouses my interest a
round a man Framing the door.
I
don't
hear
the
bullet
peasants Dark Illuminated by
a remorseless sun almost a
circle It's finished Which
isn't much He lay there I am
undeniably
suited
to
my
existence and the light tread
of
her
bare
feet
like
troubled water as they so
often do Look

Beautiful Mockery... I can


feel it slowly peeling back
the layers. Childhood and
adulthood are all lies I
tell myself. I decide, as I
walk down the street towards
some
unknown
destination,
some
tired
Golgotha
of
explanation
beating.
I
persist down the street all
the while being afflicted
into indifference.

My hands and face are covered


in blood where I usually walk
out the door. We all have our
ills.
Those who consider themselves
Powerful will always try to
emulate
that
power
with
physical representations.

21