choronzon - liber psychosis ex machina

8/2/2019 CHORONZON - Liber Psychosis Ex Machina

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LIBER PSYCHOSIS EX MACHINA


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1. Dies-Ease (Wrath)1. Removed from the ground, brought toan end forever, Severe in all her acts,disappearing adorned, Justified fordivergence, shes left Debasing all others,

Alacrity among us, shedding clothes ina feral state. 2. Alive in an excruciatinglove, a fear of her own image. Createdin her own image, infernal reminder.Evanescent struggles of enlightenment. 3.Unforgiving dreams of a stronghold onthe brink, undeviating in her council,

jaded, wretchedness so delicious itresolves intrusive insight.

4. Alight to fiery chasms draping carnalconfirmations on a promise of a lover youcreated. A youth, beaten, smilesidiotically through tears, crawling onstems of broken vessels, fails toacknowledge shame; a windsweptconfrontation in a word of love. 5. All

in all we are forever, we are never.

Psychiatric therapy disinters trampledbeings. From the outside to theoverwhelming forgotten unrelated,everlasting. 6. Do we ever have anadverse effect on the lack of remorse,the perceptiveness, its end product: theconsummation of desire, to breatheyour last breath: to repossess your soulwith a sanguine healing. 7. A rancid,fragile bloom reaches out: love. Anoxious germ of dies-ease wrathful

from birth dies. Gone, soullessdevoured a feast for the entire race

2. The Enchanting Dead1. Controlling your emotions, forgetthat for which you must kill. Keepfrom sight the midnight rages, itsprimal anger haunts you still. 2.Divide, again, divide. Ten thousand

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chanting clones, no love will purify their

hearts. Its such a common mistake, aneasy thing to fake, such a common courseto chart. 3. You try so hard to charmthe Enchanting Dead. Knowledge hidesin fear, dismissal of all that may leavethe soul exposed. Your clinging to yourfaults, fashioning the flaws, pretendingyoure the one who chose. 4. You knowno open vistas, just noisy, black-walledrooms flashing sporadic light. 5. Whyshould I try to scream, whats left to

redeem? Who you are is what youbuy. You try so hard to charm theEnchanting Dead. Youll never knowthe price youve paid.

3. Crypt-Analysis1. Surge of blood of the entire prowlingengrossment Misinformed disparagement,unequivocal floorshow. Enchanting

repository: the human race the aching

pain of preposterousness we keepinside. A world domination of theDead, squalid, distressing. Lying facedownhill in a waltz of imperfection.

2. Perforate, lick, and maulprovidences livid scars. Barrage ofbullets, a press release. Cerulean wiretransfer keeps an eye on how cruel theworship Demarcations hollow outpervasiveness; shutting downconstrictions. 3. Ornamental cryptoanarchy love in practice. Sternly deadto the world, a lying repercussion theyhowl. Blackness In the past, fewminutes revolve around a revolting

phraseology. Blackbird hunted byprickly ways to end. 4. Blessed is yourrelationship with shameful insinuationsStronghold of Deep-seated innermostindulgent circumvention. Raze to the

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ground the blackened official position.

Force release virtual discordant hold ofdefense substitute Pale vicinity gildingPseudonyms Gravestone figures.VITRIOL mega Leitrim YakimaSubstance worshippers rest Platform 1911TYRANNOUS commotion

Mortalities Figurative oratory fadesaway. 5. Opening Men with Faithlessdesigns desiccates the flesh whileabandoned manifestations twist.Overwhelmed, Recoil of a cut-throat

humanity control Hates slowness collideswith our illuminated variables Frayedrose-coloured diversion Interchangeable,Unusual axiomatic deception assassinatedimpenetrability Anarchy rogue dispatch

bomb plutonium DESCENDandrogynous Nightmare RenderingMislead Pasture gives the impression ofbeing Deep-seated murder. 6.Rehabilitation principally in perpetuityattendant to the triumphant. Breathless

Templeton Majestic LUK Cohabit

Sores arise abrade function LithelyHorrified misshapen observes by theside Of asymmetrical intermission. 7.Red chamber Clock 26 snuffle Patelpackage ISI INR. Psychosis junkiescantankerously grow aged divides

fervour at this time degenerateSanctuary SIN advisors chosenVORTEX: eradicate IN COLDBLOOD UMBRA GA!

4. Surge of Blood1. I have chosen the invisible and, tofan the flames of possession, served

perfidy and uttered its fetid moan. Idream the reawakening of mygenocide. 2. It leaps in theentanglement of this exquisite scene. Iforsake nothing; remember nothingsave what is left of prayer to reign

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disintegrating in the hours of darkness.

The prayer of spirit belongs to m, theprayer of word, of bone. 3. Within mostdistant tragedies, within the rust coveredembattlements I pulse exquisite rage. Mydisquiet affirmed your prayers. Youfantasized a presence stretching past

tomorrow. 4. The blaze of failure passedto me, worshipping eternally, magic ofpossession overtaking me. It utters theflash of my ghastly, red peace. It is laidto rest into a previous despair. 5. My

kingdom is forever with me there whereis found the final power upon the pulseof the caress of putrefaction. 6. TheHeaven of promise belongs to me.Formless isolated beings throughout theEarth and skies. Crescendo ofsubstantial scenes, extinction foundwanting. 7. Spirits shoaling till the endof time. Torment found wanton forcesriding Seraphim who ebbed and flowedto wake the desire of eternity. Stretch

the deadly master insentient like fate

out of Inferno fire with the insane.Striking, flanking, outdoing, andundoing us all. Ornamental spawnmarionettes deign to utter deathoffering of the pulse of dominion.Mirror of solitude sleeps red. 8. Guile

with veil and a wild desire sightedme to reflection in vitality. The corpseof misery belongs to me in that otherlugubriousness where only dream isflight. There where is found the

nameless encounter. 9. Love lost in theTomb of Hades teaching thick sweetofferings. Sweet words to eradicateodious absurdities vibrating illusionaryClouds of holocausts. Transmit thecaress.

Surge of discharge upholds the abstractideal. 10. You jump down and thecorpse sighs languidly. Your final

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incarnation of silhouette and sickle ends.

Lustrous infections pulse with the potentflush. Join the hollow dance to shrinkfrom cold impossibilities. Fields ofpounding cut off the pulse. 11. Invert theexquisite surge, turn like the song alongthe desire of the chamber of the soul.

Until the orchard of the menace ofarrival, until the shadow of the chamberof sanctity is demolished theinterconnection of our souls, their leapinglaughter, shall never cease. Choronzon

comprises precipitate lustre of the offering.12. Sunset of time curses the elementalbond of suffering. Slinging, wearing,settling, and obeying the call of fetidflesh, a devilish absolute to fall throughlies of self-respect. 13. Devilish crush tobreathe your last dancing in ecstasy.Hollow prayer filled atmosphere withthe catastrophe. Moreover, theprevailing conditions of the soul of

embodiment. Coming, few, nameless,

formless, I hear the menace calling.5. Crossing I-The 30th AethyrAnger gives way to a grudginggratitude. My love, my soul, Ill neversee you again. I am no more, the fiendwanders freely, ah, to be. Flagrantlydismissing all claims, I am: HA!Aumgn-ha! Towering above allreality stand I, Unquestioning, led byan infernal guide. Spinning, greetingsunlight with contempt I fall back

into corporeal extinction...

6. Asymmetrical Red Chamber

1. Until the flesh of the entanglementrent in a morbid fury, blind andingratiating, although the haunted ofthe death of force convoluted wisdomwith the confidence of erroneousnesslong-sufferingly indulged, I no longer

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fear. 2. Shadowy reflex-ion, enslaving,

potential supremacy forbids overcasttingupon the pulse of the caress ofputrefaction. Sepulchral inside, I havedecayed the vision that has fattened in adead agony. Glum have rained to haverun I was interweaving in eternal prey, I

was thrashing an illuminates mind. 3.Choronzon condemned the dog, hollowsoul of normalcy surges frighteninglywith the grief-stricken corpse of flesh, thecadaver of representation wounded in a

rotten return of disfigurement. 4. Hesighed, exposing frail Star of mandatorybeating timeless Dreamt along thechamber. Thrilled, while the conquerorin us have decried to have whispered,seed new worlds of quivering moonlitflesh. 5. They thought of me as a saviourof a kind, but I had no intention ofstopping short of destroying them. Theair seems to vibrate. The edges of allcorporeal things around me seem to

vibrate at the edges. 6. I can feel that

familiar nausea well up in me again. Ifear I may not die soon. I just wantsomething outside myself that I canremember my former self by.

6. Crossing II-The 29th Aethyr7. Justified1. Wind like a fist in the face, soundlike a kick in the chest. I haveforgotten about sleeping in the lastfifty days, trying to remember how Ihave been blessed. 2. Is mine a vitalcontribution? Am I ever to be

known? Choke my cries, blind myeyes, make it clear bring the fear, letme know let it flow; lust, rust, let itturn to dust. Now Im going home.Burn them down, one and all. How I

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loved them before the fall. 3. Lacking

grace, let me find the rage: such a quietage, dying mage, immolation, dyingembers, 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 virginalserenity, now that I see all, Choronzonscall, I see the mad-mans gaze is quitelucid after all. 5. Back to the dead, nowthat all is said, they will neverremember having been bled. Push itaway; push it away, the pleading face.6. Love lost, count the cost let themwash away in rain. Burning kiss of frost,bastard son, now undone, the heavenly

kingdom overrun. Close your eyes, partyour 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 mefearful, having seen their God. He ison the nod riding waves of bygoneadulation and memories of his formerstation. Can he ever be seen? Willhe ever know the flames? I prefer the

chilling fear to the warm embrace ofliving death.

8. Crossing III-the 18thAethyr1. Holy men yearning for the lake offire.

9. Ornamental Crypto-Anarchy1. Advisors, councilors, wise foolsproviding crypt-analysis, confabulatingtales of judgment, encrypting

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providentially. 2. He feeds on the bloodof his lambs through delicious rhapsodicosmosis. We die for his sins. Each daywe are reborn, clamouring night afternight to be slaughtered. 3. In lust, heswallows 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 theynever quite felt.

We are distracted, never present, othermoments dim in our recall. 5. Father,baptize us in sanguine streams; lead usinto conflagration. Shiver among us;reward our evil. Bring us this moment

our eternal torment. 6. In the halls, otherplaces: delight in blasphemous embraces.Submerged in unfelt appetites, wet andenslaved by stark delights and permittedrages flaunt their lost souls. Infernal saintsand tacit mages, impassive tyrants

languish, precluding sages silenced bythe pulchritude of innocence. 7. Youare bereaved and blessed, for in yourdeath you have bound your progenyto join you.

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I lie here in a pool of my

own vomit and blood, grateful

for the hell I've just beenthrough. The death I've

always longed for eludes me

still, but her fiendish love

shall surely make my end

spectacular.

The apprehension that hadbeen 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 longerexist. 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 stoppingshort 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 aheavily 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

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and Formica, joined in the

unseen places.

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 aworld 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 bubbleof 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

than any nightmare. That

material objects are just

that, and that flesh isflesh, 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 guywalks 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

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not affect them as they

stare.

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 standthere.

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 mymind, 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 gatheredinto 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 night.." I

breathe.

"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".

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"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 allmy feelings for life are

sorrow and hatred.

I started seeking for the

devil, as a blasphemy to god.

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 sidedown (true) and that the

true governor of earth is

the demiurge Yaltabaoth.

This strange man must have

been listening to the whole

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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 theplace 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, buttime 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 hecontinues shouting.

Cemetery Hunt on your

Ritual Abuse, a victim of

mind control looking for

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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 lovecurled 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 realitystand 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,

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

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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 isreal, 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 bychemospiritual 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-perverte-

devil-dead-man-"

Of course, I'm not here to

eat. We looked at each other

in silence. She lookedaround, seemingly delighted

at what she saw. Now here is

the real confusing business.

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"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, mysoul, 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 andinvisible is why I am still

alive. Pleasure such as this

the others shall ever deny

themselves. No power, the

abuses available being too

squalid and devoid of

glamour.

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 doordoesn'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

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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

My hands and face are covered

in blood where I usually walk

out the door. We all have our

ills.

Those who consider themselvesPowerful will always try to

emulate that power with

physical representations.

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 afflictedinto indifference.

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choronzon - liber psychosis ex machina

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