Master of his own nightmares will swallow your defenseless souls. And your dreams are his dreams; they are open for him. He is the consumer of your fears. His face is morbid one by ghost, similar to web, it will swaddle your mind blinded by insane gaze, and drag you away into abyss of his endless madness. Only his voice will laugh scoffingly above the grave of the buried alive in himself. Forever lost in the other world of yourself, you’ll never be back to the world of rejoicing.

The Dante’s Inferno in its own beauty, - and you are walking around all its circles. Angels are singing Requiem for you, and ominous voice by Lucifer - hell’s thunder – is clasping you to the bloodless ground. The World of Chaos and the harmony from beyond… Gothic castle on the border of the abyss – insane heaven over it ripped apart by flourish of lightning, - it is the only thing you’re seeing before you’ll be dissolved in this chaos.

Penetrating your spirit melancholy has stretched over night forests, and star sky has reflected in mirror of lakes. Burning candles and wineglasses on the table are evoking nostalgia on last times, when people lived with harmony of themselves.

Space abyss, in which your soul is lost like a grain of sand in the desert. Maelstroms of chaos and the Universe insane in rage: what it gives birth, it gives back: for that its will is. Stars like candles die away under breath of Demiurge.

Sadness, which turns into melancholy, where the souls is lost in itself. Silent cold room, lifeless body covered by plaid. Feeble words full of bitter taste; fury being suppressed inside by (vain) efforts of the spirit; comprehension of senselessness of existence, - but there’s a hope it’s only the state and everything will be changed.

Messengers of the ancient battles, real and invented heroes (they are themselves real and invented). Worlds shuddered under countless wars. Universes, full of dark magnificence. Rays of stars reflected from the blade of sword. What can stop threatening gait of these warriors walking on modern world, on souls – in the other dimensions? Only death on the battlefield with diurnal life.

Step of the arrogant master of the chaos on the gone wild space. Fury of voice of his soul is the penetrating one. Odious personality unpredictable in his behavior, but monumental in his majesty, obscures the whole mediocrity, faintheartedness, and throws down to his foot. Only his mercy saves your powerless souls from being treaded down. And you are being hid in his shadow from obliteration.

The defunct gods turned the world into state of chaos, - they gave their souls to the irretrievable future. Their somber quaint existence pierces your self. You don’t sleep at night plunging into the abyss of their feelings, which became yours and demand way out – on through you.

The deity Quorthon in his states – from dark satanic holocaust to pompous viking singings, to grunge fooling about. Those things are in him plainly. How sincerely he does it all – all he wants to, - spitting on public opinion: the little god – handicraftsman - individualist in his workshop.

From northern coldness to eastern estrangement – the gradual immersion into the world of psychedelic images, when reality steps back baring the hard ground of the dreams. Snake-like divinity of the strange beauty and drawing solitude: divinity throwing down its skin of odd past in the doors of the even odder future. Fragrance is mixing with smoke of opium. Transparent stars are shining in the dusk of your soul. One more step into the unknown.

Semi-darkness of the room, windows are drawn the curtain, through which forest are saw dimly. Rustles behind the door. Squeak of the boards under feet, intricate shadows on the walls, mysterious life behind them. Particular smell… maybe hemp… - sometimes it recalls a ward being spread behind horizon thanks to imagination’s whim. Life in twilight, unhealthily white hands weaving recondite patterns in the air

Broken cosmic space, dimensions turned inside out, chaotic state invaded into the system of compromise. Turned out astrophysics, nuclear decay of personality, black planets got away from their orbits by the blast of gone mad star. Burned out microchips, the yell drown in the vacuum, space grinning its teeth. Madness of technology, split consciousness up… the all are inside of you, and you can’t escape from it by means of throwing away your own intellect into the open space.

The nature is various, and sounds, which are stamped in us, are immeasurable, like the nature itself. Rest and pain, melancholy and ecstasy… The branches are being bend under rush of wind: alone with the nature you are changing. And left cities are overgrown with grass.

Friendly sites:

Dark Gothic Art

Dark Mood Literature

Arven's Dragon World

Gloomyworld by Justaman

Wolfsblood

Kabinet der Sinne

Eternal Darkness

The Dark Art of A. Bateman

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