“Yeah, I’ve heard of these guys. You said they were called Antaeus, right? Some fuckin…some fuckin’ French shit, right?”

It’s common for your brain to conjure up vivid mental conceptions or images at a rate that is much faster than what you can express with the spoken word. For most people, this linguistic lapse is represented with those dreaded “umms” or “uhhhs” that make every high school speech teacher shudder. I never heard this fellow ever commit that sort of communication faux pas. For him, the “umms” and “uhhs” were always simply replaced with the word “fuckin.”

“Yeah man. Real intense—y’know? Really, like, fuckin… real fuckin’ feral.”

We were sitting in the café in our university’s student center. Students and faculty alike percolated in and out of the window lit room. Some were clearly grabbing a hurried bite between classes, while others sat laughing in crowded tables with their text books open as if they came here to study. I’d bet anything that one of the hipper professors was leading a small discussion group on one of the large round tables in the center. The music was struggling to come out of his small laptop computer’s speakers, but nonetheless cut through the background noise just lucid enough to get its point across. I sipped tepid coffee, nodding in agreement.

“The melody is dissonant… but its… right… fuckin…there.” I replied. His profanity was rubbing off on me. “I wouldn’t call them a minimalist black metal band like Darkthrone, say. But the music hits you in kinda the same way… like a fuckin’ battering ram ripping a hole into the void.”

Anteaus. Son of Persidon, slain by Herculeus. According to Dante guards he guards one of the circles of Hell. Also: some French shit. Real fuckin' feral.

Belief in Tragedies

As the seasons change and leaves cascade to the ground blanketing the Earth with a layer of deathly auburn... a young man's fancy turns to IMMORTAL.

Ahh, one of the greats--yes?

There was once a man with an anthropomorphic, talking ass

He thought it was real doggone cute (and for awhile, it was). He even taught it a couple of bar tricks, nothing special mind you... but it certainly was a cute distraction! Eventually, it would eat its way through its pants and start crying about being mistreated. When the man tried to shut it up, the ass replied "It's you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we don't need you around here any more. I can talk and eat and shit!"

Be very wary of cancerous assholes.

"The end result of complete cellular representation is cancer. Democracy is cancerous, and bureaus are its cancer. A bureau takes root anywhere in the state, turns malignant like the Narcotic Bureau, and grows and grows, always reproducing more of its own kind, until it chokes the host if not controlled or excised. Bureaus cannot live without a host, being true parasitic organisms. (A cooperative on the other hand can live without the state. That is the road to follow. The building up of independent units to meet needs of the people who participate in the functioning of the unit. A bureau operates on opposite principle of inventing needs to justify its existence.) Bureaucracy is wrong as a cancer, a turning away from the human evolutionary direction of infinite potentials and differentiation and independent spontaneous action, to the complete parasitism of a virus."
-Williams S. Burroughs II

kulturkampf 2.0

Recently a Norwegian television station did a short documentary about the trials and tribulations of an idealistic folk band hailing from the American heartland.

Part 1:

Part 2:
(Featuring a post-ironic karaoke rendition of a Manowar song on the highway of Tehran. Infinite LOLS @ universals)

Part 3:


Arthimoth @ My Space. The Nile worship is pretty pervasive.

Russian Folk songs und French Oh La La//Can't compare with that German Om pah pah

Sadly there is no um-pah-pahing in this clever video about German modernization from synthpop musician Pal van Dyk.

Only death is real

File this one under "couldn't resist."

Ancients Dreaming

Some observations:
1) Candlemass vocalist MESSIAH is a large man who looks fetching in a black robe.
2) His vocals compliment these post-Sabbath melodies very nicely.