Alla inlägg under december 2011

Av Christian - 23 december 2011 16:06

As for the relationship between my father and my uncle; 

I have mentioned before that the feelings between them got more and more aggravated and that as I grew up, the times that hey spoke at all seemed to be far and few between. As I child I did not know why, but after that fateful night when first I heard that intense argument things became clearer, and soon I began to unravel the mystery behind a brothers´ fall from grace and a family estranged.
From that one night at my 10th birthday until I left home for my high school studies in a small town som 200 kilometers away I did not hear much from my Uncle exept from my fathers´ mutterings about "unhealthy interests" and "waste of time and money" - litte of which I understood at the time - but that was soon to change.

I was just back to my apartement - my first one - when I saw the big, padded envelope that the mailman had tried in vain to shove through through the slot in the dore before giving up and leaving it jammed. A moments of irritation soon changed into curiosity when I saw the name and adress of the sender; my uncle had written to me, and not only that, but from Egypt, and from the look of the package there was more than just letters in it.
Anticipation gripped me, and I could not get indoors fast enough before I ripped up the envelope and with the sound of paper tearing a scent that to this day stays with me and reminds me of those first days spread through my small flat; old parchment, sun-bleached bones and as always a lingering note of the wretched cigars I´ve never seen him without either in pictures or in person.

I sat down in the kitchen with the stack of papers and something small and heavy covered in bubblewrap.

At first glance it looked like nothing more than a piece of rock, and while I knew my uncle to be excentric I did not think him  the type to send random gravel to someone he had not med in more that 5 years. There simply -had- to be some meaning behind it. Carefully unwrapping the covering, the shape became visible, and yet another strange scent wafted into my home, this time a hint of rain, salt and sage-bush... the ocean?

Why would a small, star-shaped stone sent from the scorched deserts of Egypt smell of the ocean in autumn?  Looking closer, the star-shaped little stone had a carving on its surface - at first hard to discern, after a careful rinse it turned out so be something like another star not unlike the shape of the stone itself, with what could be either a flame, an eye or perhaps just a crack running through the center of it.

If it was a hieroglyph stolen from the walls of the Necropolis, then it was one I had never seen before. Granted, I´m certainly no expert in matters Egyptian, but as any other young boy I went through a persiod of intense fascination with pyramids and mummies, and I knew for a fact that I had not once seen the symbol on this stone before. Indeed it did not even resemble the signs from the pharaonic tombs my books showed me, which did nothing to still my cursed curiosity... and I do not doubt that my Uncle had that part figured out whenhe sent it to me. Putting the strange stone away for the moment, I reached for the letter. Written in a small cramped hand it took me some time to read, but what it said opened my eyes to a whole new reality:

Dear nephew.
I hope you do not mind the `dear´ - although we have not met many times or spoken many words to each other, the simple fact that you are of the very same bloodline as myself and your father makes you dear to me indeed. Your father may have turned away from our legacy and tried to keep the knowledge therein from you, but I know that your have heard something of our arguments, and while those small peices of the puzzel have not yet given you a complete picture, you -are- on your way to something great, and though it will surely cause my brother to damn me forever for endangering his only son, the same blood that binds us all together also compels me to share the truths with the only worthy heir; you.
And so it to you I shall bequeath what I have uncovered during a life dedicated to finding the lost, unseen and forgotten things hiding in the outskirts of what we call reality; old gods, ancient beings of unfathomable origin dwelling beyond our universe, beyond our ability to even begin to understand.
Vast, powerful and very, very alien.

I can almost see your face as you read this.
You hesitate, you doubt that this is anything but insanity or the ranblings of a senile old man, but I also know that there burns a fire deep inside your mind, a fire that no amount of rationality can ever quench. I know, for it burns in me as well, and has so done since I was around the age you are now. The spark that awoke in me then has guided me throughout all of my life, guided me to a kings ransom in treasures as well as to the realm of unimaginable nightmares... and I would not change it for anything. Curiosity has been my driving forde, and the knowledge it has brought me to is far greater than all I have sacrificed.

Yes, I knew that word would catch your eyes, but do not worry about such trivialities at this moment; all things in due time, this I promise you.

I must soon leave the hotel room in whick I currently stay and board the last train to Abydos. I have recently learned that the Black Pharao was once worshipped in that place before the temple now in ruins was buildt, and I can ill afford to let this train grow cold once more. Thus my time for letter-writing draws to an end for this time, but I will writ you again as soon as I am able. In the time, discover what you can about the stone carving I have sent to you. It is a gift for you, and an item of great power should you discover how to use it. I cannot simply tell you, for it is a power that must be awakened anew for each user, but it -will-protect you as your flame of curiosity starts leadning you further on the path of knowledge.
Treasure it, know it and most of all; keep it always close to you.

From under the warm sun of Africa,
Your Uncle.

Av Christian - 20 december 2011 19:25

We have all heard of Him, but few and far between are those of us who know

what truly hides beneath the beard, the rotund shape and the forced jolliness of a "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

echoing through the coldness of the shopping malls where His unwitting worshippers gather.

Before Him they come, and unto Him they offer their children, their young voices trembling

in a strange semblance of prayers born from greed and the lust for material goods;

each hall where he appears immediately consecrated to Mammon.
And by their offering of youth´s splendour and by the remnants of belief in young and old alike

He is sommuned into the homes of all, summoned by boughs of green and the flames in the hearths,

by candle light and the silence of breath held in anticipation tinged with fear.

Then in the black of night the sound of dread bells grows slowly louder,

and as you and yours turn in fitful sleep, His unholy beasts, creatures from the far shores of Naggai,

drags through the night skies what might - for the sake of our minds - be called a sleigh wrought from ancient wood, and the less details mentioned the better.

And so He unfolds His considerable bulk from dimensions beyond mortal ken,

and by the laws of a science older than mankind He appeares not only in flesh but in spirit;

the spirit of Himself and also in the spirit of a being transformed by centuries of fickle mortal beings´

belief if a reality far different from His own.

Still. By prayer and by sacrifice, by boughs of green and by flames he has been summoned,

and far be it from Him to loose the Privilege of Flesh and a short escape from the realms of Ithaqua

for a single night.

We call, and He comes.

The Filler of Stockings; Lord of The Red and The White; The Lurker in Fireplaces;
Bringer of Greeds´ Reward... we salute thee!

The Many-named One has been called and awaits his due;
The King in Red has risen once more.

Av Christian - 15 december 2011 16:58

[I likhet med förra inlägget är jag lite osäker på om detta lagts upp tidigare.

Gamla rader som grävts fram och förbättrats (?)]


Red and gray soaks into the cloth and flesh and carpet
Tang of metal, salt, oil
Flows from your mouth like the Styx at dusk.

Glide across the room
silent rustling of cloth on flesh on carpet
sit on the bed.

Stand up slowly
Wait for the world to follow
Turn your head, see the colors smear.

Reach down to your pants
Slide the barrel out
run your fingers; chamber and shaft

Neon yellow and black pictures
run through your head as you
touch it and think of the future

Slide it in your mouth
Warm from transferred heat
Tongue flicks over it, exploring...

The rain outside patters down,
watering the unkempt lawn,
soaking away the pain of a decade.

Droplets on the window
inside and out
Rainbow of colors from reflected light
and stains of a life.

Eye twitch.
Muscle spasm.

Lead ejaculation.

Av Christian - 10 december 2011 16:43

[Jag är lite osäker på om jag lagt upp den här texten innan, men en eventuell upprepning får Ni stå ut med]

The first blood
from your teeth
cutting my lips as you
force your breath into
my being

The second
gravel scraping my knees
through well-worn denim
and your hands, powerful
on my shoulders

As if you were
a God unto whom
kneeling was meant
to be a sacred thing
and not like this

The third blood
cresents suddenly blooming
across the palms
of my hands;
tight fists behind my back

Scar tissue to be
not a ring of love
but ownership
branded on to something
you feel like you own

The final blood
shed willingly
as I, my heart, my very self
bursts when I try to say
three simple words.

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