#woe be unto the vanquished

[djpain619]

 VAE VICTIS

~Brennus

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

Cold, so,

So unbearably frigid,

You can feel the chill penetrating

Deep past layers of muscle tissue

Straight into thy bones, bitter frost

Enveloping you in its embrace; you

May try to avoid the blistering frigidity,

But there is no escape. None at all.

 

All around, as far as the eyes can see, is a blanket of

Thick, white, endless snow, obscuring the ground

Under its smothering, vast presence. One could concur,

Indeed, all is dead and lost…this be a land

Of no hope,

No future,

Visual representation of that numerical value

Zero.

 

But the ancient trees still stand, bare, but proudly tall, and critters

Still find time to frolic with gaiety, while others

Have tucked themselves away to endure

What may appear to be the end times

In the eyes of the unfamiliar, the uninitiated.

 

Life hath not been vanquished.

 

Merely…

 

Donned new appearances, new forms.

 

Pity to those who couldn’t

Make it; woe unto the unfortunate

Unable to withstand the mad howls of

A fading year’s rushing winds.

 

No way out, is all thy mind

Can seem to tell itself

On repeat.

 

Where, o’ where,

Doth the exit reside, in these

Harsh, cruel lands?

 

Trudging forth, it all seems so

Futile, as your body does its best to

Spread heat into every square inch of

Your being, eyes growing weary and blurred as a

Result of the vicious assault

Committed upon thee with

Great fervor, for Nature is

Often cruel, even when it’s so

Strikingly gorgeous and

Awe inspiring. Exhausted, tired, every

Bit of exposed skin stung by the burning

Pain of thousands of pointed, invisible needles,

Morphing into a deep crimson hue. Every step

Feels weighed down,

Unbearably heavy,

Senses turning numb

Whilst a blankness of

The mind overtakes.

 

Yes, this is all such a wondrous sight to

Behold, bear witness to…

 

Glory be to the picture-esque scenery,

A true monument to the

Sheer artistry Nature is capable of

With its brushstrokes and molding hands…

 

Preposterous, it would be, to not take

Note of the way the full moon

Bestows the only constant source

Of illumination; one

Mustn’t be hopeful

In regards to the

False hope given off by the

Rays of already dead stars that are

Impossibly far from our little abode.

 

Crawling still towards a

Non-existent path

That leads out of this

Hell…

 

It begins to

Dawn on you…

 

What you hope for is not there.

 

Subsist? Survive? And how?

 

Via the lethally icy substance

You tread through?

 

Or the bits of food you were not

Programmed to detect…least of

All, here?

 

With no recourse left,

The snow is the last thing you

Feel as your body plummets

Right into the ground, unable to

Keep mindlessly wandering through this

Place, of which you cannot recall

How you wound up in.

 

Heart rate slows to stand still

As you let your heavy eyelids

Begin to fall shut, breathing becoming

More labored, more…difficult,

Lungs and throat singed, lacking moisture,

Only dry bitterness remaining, but the

Energy to cough and wheeze is

Dissipating fast.

 

Curious shadows begin to approach

From the edges of your field of vision.

 

Noises of a most disconcerting

Variety fill your ears, and you wonder

What will take you first.

 

It’s close…

 

The reaper’s scythe…

 

Departure is inevitably; tis coming soon.

 

But it will wait…

 

As the cessation of your life

Begins to take place, where being alive

Slowly turns to being a corpse, the

Puncture of Death’s eternal blade

Makes itself known in your back.

 

Jaws of what had been following

You since you entered into this space

Now indulge in the reward for their patience…

 

O’ it hurts, but the ability to scream

Left you long ago…

[hieromonkcharbel]

“Holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience. (1 Tim. 3:9) The holy, Divine, most heavenly Christian faith requires a pure heart in order that it may act beneficially upon man's whole being, for it cannot dwell and produce beneficial changes in an impure heart if the man does not correct himself of his vices. This is also why, in Christianity, many are called, but few are chosen. Many call themselves Christians, but few are really such; few bring forth the fruits of the Kingdom of God; this is why, even amongst Christians, there are so many atheists, free-thinkers; so many who are superstitious, covetous, sensualists, fornicators, drunkards, thieves, and so on. It is not the fault of the religion that some Christians are such, but it is those who bear the Name of the Christ that are guilty in their carelessness for their religion and its rules, in their impurity and attachment to earthly things, owing to which they cannot find room in their impure hearts for the purest heavenly treasure—the faith of Christ— and are lost at the very source of salvation. Woe unto us,ungrateful, evil-natured, sophistical, vain, sensual, and slothful creatures! Lord, what shall we do? Conquer us by Thy mercy, by Thy love, by Thy great wisdom; destroy the subtility of our flesh, vanquish our malice by the power of Thy goodness!”

+ St. John of Kronstadt

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was GADRIEL, an ANGEL loyal to the cause of the ANGELS. She is said to be IMMORTAL and uses SHE/HER pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as a MEMBER of the VIRTUES. Blessed be her name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

When she was named the Virtue of Temperance she thought that surely it was another means of punishment under the guise of an honorific title. But the subjects of the kingdom of Caelum trusted her to use her zeal to protect them, to ensure the sanctity of their people. As the Virtue of Temperance she also serves the seer of the Hundred-Eyed God, utilizing her abilities as a means for her protection. Gadriel has the unique ability to manipulate the gravity of the different kingdoms, allowing her to make one feel as though the earth itself is dragging one to its center, or completely untethering them if she so desires. There are those who say that, when they are close to her, they feel lighter -- as though they might very well dance among the stars. But the victims she has vanquished have felt the air crushed from their lungs before being smote by her sword. Her ability to manipulate gravity so flagrantly is mitigated when she is unable to concentrate or finds her emotions to be overwhelming. It’s rather difficult to make one feel as though they carry the weight of the world when she, herself, is the one that seemingly holds it on her own shoulders.

THE HISTORY.

It is as though these memories are echoes -- fast fading and pale in their colors. She knows that they reside within her, though, because she can still taste the blood upon her lips and still can recall the pain that she had endured before wings had sprouted from her back like branches from a tree. Gadriel is one of the few mortals that has ever had the rare blessing of being rebirthed into an angel -- but she was favored, like few others had been, and in her favor God had sought to place her in a position of veneration. She had, after all, suffered and died in His holy name. It had been a terrible death, one that was retold time and time again in hushed whispered and tearful gazes as they recalled her renowned devotion to a God that did not hear His people until long after their blood had sunk into the earth. The ones who had thrown her to the lions were the same ones who had once regarded her as a coveted woman -- they had longed for her, lusted after her, and for years she had denied them, invoking the name of God as her one true beloved. Day after day she would kneel before her shoddy altar, face upturned to the God that she could not see, beseeching Him to reveal His will unto her and take protect the souls of those who laid their lives before Him. Such devotion was what few would have deemed as saint-like, but the many sneered at and called utter delusion. 

Again, the memories are fast-fading and pale in their colors. No longer can she recall the pain that seared through the entirety of her being as she was dragged along the streets of Rome, the onlookers jeering and spitting on her dust-covered skin. No longer can she remember the faces that had looked on as the hungry lions roared their discontent, nor can she remember the agony of the claws sinking into her skin. Instead, all she can remember is the metallic taste of blood on her lips. How she had seen the face of the angel just as eternal night encroached on her vision -- how their wings had wrapped around her, a sanctuary from the horror that had been her martyrdom. Gadriel ascended and found herself rebirthed as a member of the kingdom of heaven -- God’s own visage turning towards her in utter benevolence and love. Among the choir of angels, she was still deemed a saint, her steadfast faith and adoration of the Father of all of creation dwarfing any others in comparison. Upon her lips, one was always likely to find litanies of praise, in her eyes the beatific love for her Father seemed all-consuming. She paid no mind to the earth that she had once come from, nor did she care much for the mortals that continued to suffer and bemoan the hardships that God allotted to them. Why should she? She was in heaven -- favored, venerated, and at peace. 

Perhaps it was her once-mortal folly that led her to believe such an existence would have extended on to the horizon of eternity. She had mistakenly thought that such bliss would have been as immortal as she was. She was a Cherubim that was regarded by many of her brethren in high esteem -- not once, though, did they think that her loyalty and devotion would waver from God. So, when the revolution was under way, she was carried in its tide and drowning in the undertow, one treacherous angel after the other throwing themself in her way to keep her from clinging to their Father’s side. Gadriel had never been one to wield her sword, but it cleaved through the air, indiscriminate of who might be smote upon its blunt edge, all in the name of her zealous faith in a God who was being overthrown. The tears in her eyes could have drowned whole mountains in their grief, not even the ocean could hope to mimic the fury and grief that teemed within them. And once more, she was dragged before onlookers to suffer the consequences of such blind, steadfast piety.  And once more, Gadriel was forced to endure the agony, pain, and grief that had consumed the last few moments of her mortality. Just as before -- Gadriel conquested over it, but no longer because of a celestial savior, no, she liberated herself. 

Before the haphazard court of Caelum she raised her chin and declared her own innocence, beseeching her brethren of the court to consider mercy and forgiveness, temperance and compassion. So moved were they by her impassioned call for compassion that Michael thought of something befitting for an angel governed by her zeal. They clipped her wings and she took it with tight lips and gritted teeth, for there were far worse things in her existence that she had endured. Her wings could regrow, just as the warmth within in heart could for the angels that had persecuted her. In the new world, she found that her untethering from God had served as a means of complete and utter transformation of her being -- the Hundred-Eyed God was a far more benign than the one she had once devoted herself to, the world that awaited her was no longer a harrowing thing that might trample her underfoot. The world that was remade at the cost of her idol was one that was ripe for shaping into her own vision of beauty. For so long she has given, and Fate, in turn, has taken from her. But her hands have grown weary from their charity and her spirit has grown vicious in the abuse that it has endured. What is a creature like her to do, when her wounds remain raw and aching, while her heart has grown serrated teeth?

THE CONNECTIONS.

ASMODEUS: Breath. She does not know where his fascination stems from -- why his gaze always seems to linger on her, as though he seems short of breath and needs a moment of her attention before regaining it. In truth, the attention that he gives her fascinates her, the ability to undo him with nothing more than a single glance is a point of utter intrigue. Though she holds no warmth in her heart for demons, this one, at the very least, is deserving of her pity. What sadness could he have endured to look at her and be enthralled? She knows the woe that hangs heavy on her shoulders, how the stain of her martyrdom remains with her, still. There is none that could find beauty in it, unless they longed for such melancholy to stain their fingertips whenever they dared to touch her. Asmodeus, still, skirts around her like he fears her touch might burn. She wonders if it will. Secretly, she hopes it might. 

ISOLDE WICKEN: Ward. She thought that being placed as the guardian of the seer might be a means of humbling her haughtiness, of serving as an additional punishment for her foolish loyalty to God. As such, she has remained rather formal when interacting with Isolde -- ensuring that there is a certain amount of aloofness to complement her professionalism. But the Gifted mortal has a particular penchant for wearing away at the mountainous walls that Gadriel has put in place. She finds herself smiling whenever they share a glance, biting down on laughter when the seer barely manages to hide a well-deserved scoff when regarding matters of the Holy Land. There is an ease to their relationship -- like a breeze sifting through the flowers of a meadow, caressing every petal gently before dissipating. She fears that if she clings to it too tightly, it might crumble to dust before she is able to recapture her heart. 

ARAEL: Heartbeat. There are few among the angels that have taken the time to build something lasting with Gadriel -- Arael serving as the exception that proves the rule. The Virtues, of course, are her brother-in-arms, but Arael is far more than that. She is her touchstone and her north star. In the throes of Arael’s grief, Gadriel has ensured that she has remained a constant. Only she can truly remember how potently it can poison one’s heart, how it can overwhelm until one knows nothing but the dark fog that follows in its wake. Gadriel sought to serve as a sanctuary to the other angel, a ward against the onslaught of despair that haunted Arael’s every step. And from such determination birthed a kinship between the two that others would covet, the intimacy that has come forth almost blinding in its purity. The reasons for Gadriel to shed blood is a short list -- Arael’s name, though, is undoubtedly on it. 

MAMMON: Trophy. She is never quick to raise her sword or the first to join a battle -- having seen so much violence in the span of her existence, she loathes the thought of contributing to it. But when she has, it is as though the world holds its breath when she draws her blade. Mammon is the only survivor of such an onslaught, blow after blow she rained upon them, watching as the vicious look of victory began to give way to confusion, to utter fury at their defeat. In truth, she declared it a draw, amused at the thought of them living on to ruminate on the fact that she had exercised mercy when she could have buried her blood in them to the hilt. There has never been a victory that has tasted as sweet as this, and as the sun rises and it sets, she finds that it grows sweeter still. And when Mammon’s gaze meets her own? It seems completely and utterly delectable. 

Gadriel is portrayed by Leyna Bloom and was written by ROSEY. She is currently OPEN.

[allyvampirelass29]

From Badass to Bad Mother

From Badass to Bad Mother A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A phantom ring, a chilling trill only she hears. Say HELLO Vic McQueen, to your worst fear. Christmas is calling, and you're falling back down the rabbit hole, slashing cords, burning phones, but a Manx rising from an eight year sleep is the least of your woes. Drinking, screaming, setting your house ablaze, you're becoming the thing you hate...... Shaking in the dead gaze of your vanquished enemy, but you should be afraid of another....... Look at the villain you can't see, the reaching shadow seeking to smother. You should be afraid of her, The Bad Mother.

Welcome back to Christmasland!!! My GOD, does it feel good to lose myself in the LONG awaited and excruciatingly ached for NOS4A2 Season 2 Premiere!!! One year is insufferably too long to be parted from the dark, smouldering, elegant malevolence that is one, Charlie Manx!!! Alas alack, Bad Mother only teases our dangerously alluring Vampire Chauffer's return, and while I appreciate the delayed gratification for the sake of suspense, the episode suffers from keeping the man of the hour behind the curtain. The name on everyone's lips, and yet he does not get to speak a word!

Bad Mother opens unto the seemingly happy ending for all of our favourite Strong Creatives. In a world where eight years has passed during our one, Christmasland is falling apart, Vic is still the same wicked cool badass that we love, and now has a miniature McQueen of her own, while being madly in love with her rescuer Lou Carmody, and Miss Mags has found domestic, dancing bliss with the FBI Agent that closed the Manx Case. I was really surprised Vic and Lou ended up together after the ordeal, that she was able to open her heart again, despite the devastating loss of Craig. I'd always thought Vic and Lou's chemistry was more platonic, more of the hero/sidekick variety, so that was such a shocking surprise, her staying in Gunbarrel, and moving in with him!!! Oh my GOD, haha and I'm STILL laughing about CarQueen and Lou comparing them to Rey and Finn!!!

I also found it interesting, that despite their shared animosity towards Charlie, he inadvertently lead both Vic and Maggie to their respective happiness. Vic would never have met Lou, if he hadn't stopped to save her after the Sleigh House Fire. It was Charlie, oddly enough, who brought their paths to a dramatic collision, and also summoned Maggie's FBI love, Tabitha, to Haverhill through his latest kidnappings. I could just see him deliciously pointing this out, with an especially icy, "You're Welcome." And what of our, Benevolent Mister Christmas?

"Who's Charlie Manx?" Vic feels her punk rock version of the Brady scene shatter around her, like a glass ornament hurled at the ground, as the son she loves, says the one thing she prayed she'd never hear him say....... The news of Charlie's death, after an eight year coma, sends shock waves from Gunbarrel, where it all went up in flames, all the way back to Haverhill, where it all began with a girl and a magic bridge. This is where the sheen of happily ever after starts to peel away, leaving a ghastly truth, as Vic realizes the game isn't over. She hasn't won........ She didn't kill Charlie Manx.

Our cool Mom, with her spray painted motorcycles, mad video game skills, wildly curly hair, and fresh new ink, begins her descent into madness, and the more evidence there is that Manx, The Wraith, and his Peppermint Playground are all dead, the more intense the fear, the greater the obsession that Charlie's come back to take again what she loves the most. Her only child. It's funny, when I first saw the title, "Bad Mother," I was convinced it was from Charlie's perspective, twisted to tailor his opinions of what makes a good mother. Vic lets her son Wayne have ice cream for breakfast, skip school, (honestly I'm surprised the dear little lad isn't homeschooled after what his mom has gone through) and while she lives with a man, she remains unmarried. Of course, Charlie would disapprove, and come up with these, or any excuse to "rescue," young Master Wayne, adorably known as "Bats." He would feel at once that she didn't deserve him.

However, by trying to protect her darling son, who is, may I say, a most welcome addition to the cast, as endearing and lovable, as he is clever, and inquisitive, Vic proves herself the worst thing for him. The BEST scene in this episode is of a drunk, paranoid Vic, slashing the cords to ringing phones, throwing them all in the oven, in a mad frenzy, and I wish SO badly this is where the episode had started. It's so powerful an image, a woman on the verge, trying to shield her son from her worst enemy's undying reach, and placing him in more danger for it, becoming the one thing she swore she'd never be...... A Bad Mother.

I think this would have been the stronger opener, throwing us right into the action instead of relying so heavily on drawn out exposition, taking up the entire runtime, catching the audience up to the present day. Yes, I loved seeing Maggie dance around in an FBI jacket, and be reunited with her scrabble bag. Her pre-emptive 911 call was sweetly heartbreaking. Even Bing in his usual vacant-eyed eeriness, ever the Wraith enthusiast, was mildly entertaining. But the ending felt....... hollow for me, after waiting a year, and now an hour to see Charlie returned to his devastatingly handsome youth, only to be met with his hollowed out cadaver on the autopsy table, and Vic, stabbing a scalpel through his already dead heart. Yes, we got to feel it, that quiver of hope, as it beat once, then twice, despite being skewered, before the episode ended, but I wanted more.

I found it so intriguing when Luke mentioned Vic drinking herself to death every Christmas, and I was SHOCKED that this was not the foreshadowing to an especially poignant flashback!!! What a FANTASTIC scene that would have made, Vic flinching as Lou turns on the Christmas music, downing bottle after bottle, watching as her boyfriend and son decorate the house, fighting a Christmas tree, after everyone's gone to sleep on Christmas Eve, not able to take it anymore, tearing off the lights, kicking presents, just tormented by the trimmings and trappings of her worst enemy, while Wayne struggles to understand it....... "Mom, why do you HATE Christmas?"

All in all, a very good episode, a bit of a slow burn for a Season Premiere, but what a perfect title, and some staggeringly good acting from Ashleigh Cummings right out of the gate!!! That being said, I am so ready for Charlie's return to his gloriously villainous form, because as much as I adore this cast, as incredibly talented as they are, it's just not NOS4A2 without My Charlie Manx!!! Goodbye Bad Mother. HELLO Good Father!!!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening"

Devotions for May 9

MORNING

"The breaker is come up before them." - Micah 2:13

Inasmuch as Jesus has gone before us, things remain not as they would have been had he never passed that way. He has conquered every foe that obstructed the way. Cheer up now thou faint-hearted warrior. Not only has Christ travelled the road, but he has slain thine enemies. Dost thou dread sin? He has nailed it to his cross. Dost thou fear death? He has been the death of Death. Art thou afraid of hell? He has barred it against the advent of any of his children; they shall never see the gulf of perdition. Whatever foes may be before the Christian, they are all overcome. There are lions, but their teeth are broken; there are serpents, but their fangs are extracted; there are rivers, but they are bridged or fordable; there are flames, but we wear that matchless garment which renders us invulnerable to fire. The sword that has been forged against us is already blunted; the instruments of war which the enemy is preparing have already lost their point. God has taken away in the person of Christ all the power that anything can have to hurt us. Well then, the army may safely march on, and you may go joyously along your journey, for all your enemies are conquered beforehand. What shall you do but march on to take the prey? They are beaten, they are vanquished; all you have to do is to divide the spoil. You shall, it is true, often engage in combat; but your fight shall be with a vanquished foe. His head is broken; he may attempt to injure you, but his strength shall not be sufficient for his malicious design. Your victory shall be easy, and your treasure shall be beyond all count.

"Proclaim aloud the Saviour's fame, Who bears the Breaker's wond'rous name; Sweet name; and it becomes him well, Who breaks down earth, sin, death, and hell."

EVENING

"If fire break out, and catch in thorns, so that the stacks of corn, or the standing corn, or the field, be consumed therewith; he that kindled the fire shall surely make restitution." - Exodus 22:6

But what restitution can he make who casts abroad the fire-brands of error, or the coals of lasciviousness, and sets men's souls on a blaze with the fire of hell? The guilt is beyond estimate, and the result is irretrievable. If such an offender be forgiven, what grief it will cause him in the retrospect, since he cannot undo the mischief which he has done! An ill example may kindle a flame which years of amended character cannot quench. To burn the food of man is bad enough, but how much worse to destroy the soul! It may be useful to us to reflect how far we may have been guilty in the past, and to enquire whether, even in the present, there may not be evil in us which has a tendency to bring damage to the souls of our relatives, friends, or neighbours.

The fire of strife is a terrible evil when it breaks out in a Christian church. Where converts were multiplied, and God was glorified, jealousy and envy do the devil's work most effectually. Where the golden grain was being housed, to reward the toil of the great Boaz, the fire of enmity comes in and leaves little else but smoke and a heap of blackness. Woe unto those by whom offences come. May they never come through us, for although we cannot make restitution, we shall certainly be the chief sufferers if we are the chief offenders. Those who feed the fire deserve just censure, but he who first kindles it is most to blame. Discord usually takes first hold upon the thorns; it is nurtured among the hypocrites and base professors in the church, and away it goes among the righteous, blown by the winds of hell, and no one knows where it may end. O thou Lord and giver of peace, make us peacemakers, and never let us aid and abet the men of strife, or even unintentionally cause the least division among thy people.

[zarayushas]

The Devils Blood - The Thousandfold Epicentre https://thedevilsblood.bandcamp.com/album/the-thousandfold-epicentre 1. Unending Singularity  ( 2:17 ) (...) 2.  On The Wings Of Gloria ( 7:03 ) A voice called from beyond the stars By way of the serpent whirling through my veins Through the clatter of the iron age Into the dreams of the insane: Turn away from the light again! And I was accosted by fear And my skin was salty from my tears But ever your radiance shone me sights of Gloria And brought me back to contest the light again! So I looked around for your sigils And I found them in the blood of your brood The empty and desolate, the void within the storm Abomination that sheds his light again I have drowned my heart in sorrow I have closed my soul to man I have wallowed in in the darkness I have embraced the death I shall never see the light again! My body is chiming With the thought that fills the universe I must needs cut out my senses Lest his word becomes my hearse A pound of flesh, a pound of flesh The keeper demands a pound of flesh Skin for skin, skin for skin Bred and sired in box and sin Woe is them, woe is them Who wears these chains as golden mesh Rain of ash, rain of ash As holy flesh and sulphur clash I know their torment shall never pass Haunted forever by love and distress In the endless desert wings, strewn with broken glass My King of Chaos stands in a realm of boiling brass On the wings of Gloria Across the plane of sadness Contraction and expansion From the death into the death From the middle of never Into the endless ever after I stride among the broken clock Proclaiming "Lord, I am your rock!" Build on me your empire of euphoria! Kindle me with your unborn breath Let me fly on the wings of Gloria! Let me fly on the wings of death! So I have raised a temple of blood and bone On the vanquished reason surrounds my soul The stairway is open, the circle is whole The dragon spreads its light again! So make your wings to shine And make your eyes to beam Make your dark as fire so bright Burn my eyes with its light So I may never see the light again! 3.  Die The Death ( 3:52 ) (...) 4.  Within The Charnel House Of Love (  3:34 ) Oh, bliss asserts above Here I sit alone And death lines these walls Her I sleep and dream (cry and scream) I am ash and stone I was, yet have now become And all I was is now undone A broken piece of a broken puzzle Dying embers string my skin A blade incised in my sense of true Adread I shall share my love, with you Oh, death dwells in love Here I sit alone And death lines these walls Her I sleep and dream (cry and scream) I am ash and stone And as horror begets horror So I received my father's sin And was made to dwell within his house And to drown in the love therein Oh, bliss asserts above Oh, death dwells in love So when all lovers turn to fighters And all my seed has gone to war Shall you see dark horizon And you too shall run wild forevermore 5.  Cruel Lover ( 7:25 ) I lay me down again in your arms Undress me and possess me With your toungues of fire Withershins feeding from the child to the breast I plunge my knife in you At all hell's behest Cruel mother Dig your nails into my back Grant my furtive soul a place in your design Know me know as I place my ashes into your urn Of the flesh am I and to the flesh I shall return I am a shadow Moving with shadows I am blood and piss Coming in waves I am Isaiah's nightmare Brought into flesh now (and once again) I am the sword and the whip and the pleasure of slaves Cruel father I've climbed the ivory spire for you I've seen your blade like arms Rake the stars from the sky Tearing through the kingdom like so much kindling and straw Casting down all order into the cape of salvation's maw I am a shadow Moving with shadows I am blood and piss Coming in waves I am Isaiah's nightmare Brought into flesh now (and once again) I am the sword and the whip and the pleasure of slaves 6.  She ( 5:39 ) She so loves her children More the one whom play with fire As the comfort themselves before As they my become her funeral brian She is the only one The only one She is the only one And she wears a crown of joyous madness Of dangering the midnight hours On her throne of serpentine sadness She erects a fractal tower She is the only one The only one She is the only one Who will ever understand you And she delight in your confusion And the contradiction of your heart She laughs As reason and delusion Proceed to tear your soul apart 7.  The Thousandfold Epicentre ( 9:01 ) I am nothing, I am no thing, I am not incessantly Not of the sun; nor the moon, nor of the stars... immeasurably Not without me, nor within me, nothing sees... inwardly I will not sleep, I will not wake, I will not rest... impatiently Oh Pralaya! Let the thousand suns disperse Free us, free us, free us from the chains of the universe Rouse our minds from sleep and raise our heads in scorn For when He walks we rise and we shall sleep no more With all my heart I curse you whom I love so much Your emphatic malediction, how I hunger for its touch I bow down at your altar, the wasteland of my soul For I shall abound in pleasure and I shall hide my goal Out of the many comes the One To lay waste the all and return to the None I call your name: Devil of a thousand faces Burning point! Oh endless disjoint Great and pristine provider Of nothingness and death Oh how the wolves are now howling They plead for rape and grim demise And becoming them I left my body In the night's blood-haunted eyes Only a coward stands in sunlight On the shores of God's forbidden streams So spread your wings, oh Samael And darken this beggar's dream And make him slither through the river As the snake did through the tree He prepared a gate for all of us And we await the final key Blessed be! From the branches of Death's tree The fruit is finally falling down And the Harvester is free Oh Pralaya! Let the thousand suns disperse Free us, free us, free us from the chains of the universe And no more progression and no more duration Now make the clock to break and the heavens cry for time ...nothingness and death!  8.  Fire Burning ( 5:05 ) When all is waning Call out of time Unearth the clay That makes man a beast Ride the Inferno Taking all risks at ones Forget all else, know nothing Hammer into the ground The fire burning Takes it all away The fire burning Takes it all away Race out of line To make it up Stakes out of time When it is called for The master cometh As if never before The key is our vice To the other we demand 9. Everlasting Saturnalia ( 6:12 ) Oh joy Oh rapture Oh decline of space and time To find love in the shimmer of blood on stone To find passion in a maze of sun bleached bones Look me in the face Who of us is more confused? Look me in the face And tell me you don't need being used It all begins with one descent One downfall, one great lament It cures its heart, but leaves the parts All stream across the blood-red sand If I lead, will you follow Across the heavens and against the tide? If I lead, will you follow To rip the truth from the lies? 10.  The Madness Of Serpents (  8:27 ) For you I will make a world devoid of love And I'll make your love to fill the void One eye sees glory, the other does cry, the Third sees Truth and grows blind For I am alike unto whited graves As I appear, beautiful in skin But within I am filled with dead man's bones And of all Unclean and Sin Move to me in wild contortions Enchant me with blight and sore Yes, move to me you fucking Whore Into the madness of Serpents 11.  Feverdance ( 15:13 )

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“The Divine Comedy” By Dante Alighieri, Translated By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : Inferno, Canto III

"Through me the way is to the city dolent ;   Through me the way is to eternal dole ;   Through me the way among the people lost. Justice incited my sublime Creator ;   Created me divine Omnipotence,   The highest Wisdom and the primal Love. Before me there were no created things,   Only eterne, and I eternal last.   All hope abandon, ye who enter in !" These words in sombre colour I beheld   Written upon the summit of a gate ;   Whence I : "Their sense is, Master, hard to me!" And he to me, as one experienced :   "Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned,   All cowardice must needs be here extinct. We to the place have come, where I have told thee   Thou shalt behold the people dolorous   Who have foregone the good of intellect." And after he had laid his hand on mine   With joyful mien, whence I was comforted,   He led me in among the secret things. There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud   Resounded through the air without a star,   Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. Languages diverse, horrible dialects,   Accents of anger, words of agony,   And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, Made up a tumult that goes whirling on   For ever in that air for ever black,   Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes. And I, who had my head with horror bound,   Said: "Master, what is this which now I hear ?   What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?" And he to me: "This miserable mode   Maintain the melancholy souls of those   Who lived withouten infamy or praise. Commingled are they with that caitiff choir   Of Angels, who have not rebellious been,   Nor faithful were to God, but were for self. The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair ;   Nor them the nethermore abyss receives,   For glory none the damned would have from them." And I : "O Master, what so grievous is   To these, that maketh them lament so sore ?"   He answered: "I will tell thee very briefly. These have no longer any hope of death ;   And this blind life of theirs is so debased,   They envious are of every other fate. No fame of them the world permits to be;   Misericord and Justice both disdain them.   Let us not speak of them, but look, and pass." And I, who looked again, beheld a banner,   Which, whirling round, ran on so rapidly,   That of all pause it seemed to me indignant ; And after it there came so long a train   Of people, that I ne'er would have believed   That ever Death so many had undone. When some among them I had recognised,   I looked, and I beheld the shade of him   Who made through cowardice the great refusal. Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain,   That this the sect was of the caitiff wretches   Hateful to God and to his enemies. These miscreants, who never were alive,   Were naked, and were stung exceedingly   By gadflies and by hornets that were there. These did their faces irrigate with blood,   Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet   By the disgusting worms was gathered up. And when to gazing farther I betook me.   People I saw on a great river's bank;   Whence said I : "Master, now vouchsafe to me, That I may know who these are, and what law   Makes them appear so ready to pass over,   As I discern athwart the dusky light." And he to me : "These things shall all be known   To thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay   Upon the dismal shore of Acheron." Then with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast,   Fearing my words might irksome be to him,   From speech refrained I till we reached the river. And lo ! towards us coming in a boat   An old man, hoary with the hair of eld,   Crying: "Woe unto you, ye souls depraved ! Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens ;   I come to lead you to the other shore,   To the eternal shades in heat and frost. And thou, that yonder standest, living soul,   Withdraw thee from these people, who are dead !"   But when he saw that I did not withdraw, He said : "By other ways, by other ports   Thou to the shore shalt come, not here, for passage ;   A lighter vessel needs must carry thee." And unto him the Guide : "Vex thee not, Charon ;   It is so willed there where is power to do   That which is willed ; and farther question not." Thereat were quieted the fleecy cheeks   Of him the ferryman of the livid fen,   Who round about his eyes had wheels of flame. But all those souls who weary were and naked   Their colour changed and gnashed their teeth together,   As soon as they had heard those cruel words. God they blasphemed and their progenitors,   The human race, the place, the time, the seed   Of their engendering and of their birth ! Thereafter all together they drew back,   Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore,   Which waiteth every man who fears not God. Charon the demon, with the eyes of glede,   Beckoning to them, collects them all together,   Beats with his oar whoever lags behind. As in the autumn-time the leaves fall off,   First one and then another, till the branch   Unto the earth surrenders all its spoils ; In similar wise the evil seed of Adam   Throw themselves from that margin one by one,   At signals, as a bird unto its lure. So they depart across the dusky wave,   And ere upon the other side they land,   Again on this side a new troop assembles. "My son," the courteous Master said to me,   "All those who perish in the wrath of God   Here meet together out of every land ; And ready are they to pass o'er the river,   Because celestial Justice spurs them on,   So that their fear is turned into desire. This way there never passes a good soul ;   And hence if Charon doth complain of thee,   Well mayst thou know now what his speech imports." This being finished, all the dusk champaign   Trembled so violently, that of that terror   The recollection bathes me still with sweat. The land of tears gave forth a blast of wind,   And fulminated a vermilion light,   Which overmastered in me every sense, And as a man whom sleep hath seized I fell.

[asegbolu]

THE DAILY FOUNTAIN DEVOTIONAL CHURCH OF NIGERIA (ANGLICAN COMMUNION

THE DAILY FOUNTAIN DEVOTIONAL CHURCH OF NIGERIA (ANGLICAN COMMUNION) DATE: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2017 (Advent Sunday) READING: Luke 21: 10-24 New King James Version Luke 21:10-24 Then He said to them, "Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. And there will be great earthquakes in various places, and famines and pestilences; and there will be fearful sights and great signs from heaven. But before all these things, they will lay their hands on you and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues and prisons. You will be brought before kings and rulers for My name's sake. But it will turn out for you as an occasion for testimony. Therefore settle it in your hearts not to meditate beforehand on what you will answer; for I will give you a mouth and wisdom which all your adversaries will not be able to contradict or resist. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. And you will be hated by all for My name's sake. But not a hair of your head shall be lost. By your patience possess your souls. The Destruction of Jerusalem "But when you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation is near. Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains, let those who are in the midst of her depart, and let not those who are in the country enter her. For these are the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled. But woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing babies in those days! For there will be great distress in the land and wrath upon this people. And they will fall by the edge of the sword, and be led away captive into all nations. And Jerusalem will be trampled by Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled. TOPIC: THE SIGN OF HIS COMING Looking at the world, we see the times of the Gentiles being fulfilled. We can see the second coming of Jesus in the horizon, and so you are called to prepare to meet Him. Consider the many signs pointing at this; nations rising against nations, Kingdoms are against kingdoms, famine, and pestilences in various places. There is great persecution of Christians in many part of the world; parents betraying their children; kinsmen putting their kinsmen to death LK 21: 16. You are to remain firm and constant in your faith, ready to face and overcome these challenges. Our salvation is much nearer than when we first believed. Many Churches are soaked deep in abominations. Immorality is life sodomy, lesbianism, homosexuality, same sex marriage have become the lifestyles of some Churches. Now is the time for true Christians to rise and shine with patience possessing your souls. We should not allow any defilement, but be separate, watch and pray. Keep in the narrow road that leads to Heaven (Isaiah 35:8). The rapture can occur any day now; be vigilant! Hymn 1 Stand up! stand up for Jesus! Ye soldiers of the cross; Lift high His royal banner, It must not suffer loss: From vict'ry unto vict'ry His army shall He lead, Till every foe is vanquished And Christ is Lord indeed. Stand up for Jesus Ye soldiers of the cross; Lift high His royal banner, It must not, it must not suffer loss. 2 Stand up! stand up for Jesus! The trumpet call obey; Forth to the mighty conflict In this His glorious day. Ye that are men, now serve Him Against unnumbered foes; Let courage rise with danger. And strength to strength oppose. 3 Stand up! stand up for Jesus! Stand in His strength alone; The arm of flesh will fail you; Ye dare not trust your own. Put on the Gospel armor, And, watching unto prayer, Where duty calls, or danger, Be never wanting there. 4 Stand up! stand up for Jesus! The strife will not be long: This day the noise of battle, The next the victor's song; To him that overcometh A crown of life shall be; He, with the King of glory, Shall reign eternally. PRAYER: God help me to overcome everybody defilement that will keep me out of heaven and not allow me to be raptured on your day. via Blogger http://ift.tt/2AF3uCt

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Time, mighty Time all other things above, Did bring me perfect knowledge of true Love. Then Time itself I had, Time enough and more, And in that Time such cruel pains I bore That she who had no faith came finally To see what Love could never make her see. Time, which made Love to come and rule me so Within my heart, has taught me Love to know E’en as it is: so now I have perceived And seen it other than I once believed. Time has revealed to me on what a ground My heart desired its steadfast Love to found. That ground it was your own true Beauty bright ‘Neath which was Cruelty concealed from sight. Time has shown be Beauty’s worthlessness, While Cruelty has brought me happiness, For thus from Beauty’s face I did depart On whom to gaze I’d striv’n with all my heart. Seeing no more the Beauty of your brow, Your cold hard heart I felt more keenly now, Yet your command I truly did obey, Wherefore yet happy and content I stay, For I see that Time, who caused my Love so strong, Has shown me pity by his tarrying long, Has served me well and served me with such grace, I have no wish to come unto this place, Except it be to say and say full well, Not ‘I greet you’ but a last ‘Farewell’. Time has shown me Love’s poor naked frame E’en as it is and shown me whence it came, AndTime it is who makes me now to rue That Time that once I loved for Love of you, A Love that blinded all my senses so That now no feeling save regret I know. But as deceitful Love I came to see, Time did the One True Love reveal to me, Here in this solitary place where I For seven silent plaintive years do lie. Love from on high through Time I came to know, And other Love seemed poorer then to grow. Through Time I bowed to Love’s supremacy, And Time from lesser Love defended me. My soul and flesh in sacrifice I give To serve not you but true Love while I live. When you I served, you valued me at naught, But he this naught, though it offend, hath sought. For all my service Death alone you give, But he, though him I shunned, doth bid me live. Through Time true Love with goodness from above Hath vanquished and laid low that other Love,  And it hath melted back into the air, Air once so sweet to me and falsely fair. To you this Love I now entire restore, For nor of him nor you have I need more, Since perfect Love, the which I shall never die, Joins me to him with never-ending tie. To him I fly, to him myself enslave, No more to you nor to your god the slave. I take my leave of Cruelty and pain, Of torment, hatred, and of proud disdain; Of burning fires, which fill your lovely breast E’ven as with perfect Beauty you are dressed. My best adieu to all these miseries, To all these woes and dire adversities, To all the flames of love, that very Hell, Is this one word to say, Madame: Farewell ! Without a hope, whatever is in store, That e’er again we see each other more.

Marguerite de Navarre, The Heptameron