As Light Lives

© 2010, Alan Hess Photography
http://alanhessphotography.com

Great… What a fucking beautiful morning, waking up to the news of Hanneman passing away…

As if his half flesh-eaten body wasn’t enough to ruin his life… It all ends now, as he rests with the worms.

Jeff, seeing you play was a dream, and now it will never be but one, what you had brought to this world has changed it, and changed us forever. And now that you’re gone, Slayer will be no more, but we swear, and the Devil be our witness, that the skies shall keep raining blood until the day we depart, for then we shall meet, south of Heaven.

R.I.P.
10:41
03/05/2013

Posted in Metal, Music, News, WarBrothers
Tags: Hell Awaits, Jeff Hanneman, Necrotizing fasciitis, Raining Blood, Reign in Blood, RIP, Slayer, South of Heaven, thrash metal

I am but a wailing wall for the broken, a bottomless well where all their pains come to vanish, all the tears they shed, all the smothered screams they fail to cry, and the shattered glass of their fragile hearts, I take it all in, as it dies within, killing a part of me as it drowns.

I close my eyes as I strip a smile off my face and redraw it on theirs, but the well is running dry…

… I’m running out of smile.

H.Q.
20:46
Sat. 30/03/2013

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

In the absence of sensory fulfilment, we covet the warmth of the distant hearts, sands and oceans apart, as we stare into the void of our own reflections in concrete walls and matt black doors, silencing our breath and stifling our dreams, while our minds get high on streams of words and scrambled cries of exiles; searching for a home they’ll never find, in a land that’s never theirs.

H.Q.
11:03
Sunday, 17/03/2013

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Today I needed to write, not because I have a lot to say–cause I don’t, not because I need to let off steam–cause it won’t change a thing, not because I need to get my word out to the world–cause I don’t give a fuck what these monsters have to say. Today I needed to write, because the silence has turned me into the devil I always feared, because these days need to be remembered, by me, the watcher, the reader, the guardian, the amnesiac god trapped in a cage of flesh, the Antichrist defying his own fate, the speck of dust with the burden of a dying Sun, the aimless ape who cared for those who hate.

There are things you need to know, there are things you need to do, just because you’re not dead yet. I read some of your old words, I looked at your old work, I dug up the broken memories of fading souls and dead angels who once stood by your side. You were someone, you were something, you were once a promise for a Phoenix that will never rise again, you were the dream of a battle won for a shape-shifting Raven, you were an artist with a hand that drew all that once was not, and a musician that overfed the strings of a bass with the melodies of a Baroque quartet, you were a saviour, a troubleshooter, a problem solver, an adviser, an inspirer, and now I look at you…

Today I write, cause I’m struggling to find the words, I write cause I’ve grown tired of the nothingness that I’ve created around myself. I write for myself to read these my words again, then feel ashamed, then delete the page and fail myself again.

For how long is it safe to smile, while the unwept acid tears flow backwards into your core, burning all that comes their way, along with the memories, the dreams, the hopes, the plans, the screams, and the corpse of an innocence once lost.

“Nailed to a cross of my denial
Bleeding streams of guilt and shame
For I await in this my trial
When ashen crows mention my name”

H.Q.
20:49
Sunday
03/03/2013

Posted in Poetry, Products of the Chaotic Mind

Tied to an office armchair with your shoelaces, blindfolded with a colourful set of shapes, menus and buttons, you’re silenced with a pair of headphones, as the minutes and seconds are sucked out through your fingertips.

This is not what you signed for when you took your first breath and opened your eyes to what you thought was the planet of dreams, for it all is the same now, all the same nothing that consumes your soul and drains your day until you no longer want to feel.

And those hands, the hands that once touched more than the plastic that our modern world is made of, they miss what they were made for, they miss what they were born to do, they miss the brush and the canvas, the bow and the strings, the hammer and the shovel, the pen and the notebook, the glass and the bottle shared by a coalition of futuristic carefree maniacs, a.k.a. “Friends”.

You look around and try to understand; they do know what you can do, they do know what you’re capable of, is this why you’re asked to do the things that anyone else can do? They don’t want your change, they don’t want your advice, what they want is for you to become the product, is for you to become the machine, so they can buy more plastic phones, more plastic cars, more plastic faces and plastic hearts.

But what you don’t know is what they fear, for they may own all the arms and all the bullets, all the jails, all the tanks, the TV shows, the radio waves, the space crafts and nuclear bombs, but behind it all they hide, they hide from the one weapon they fear the most, the little intelligent mobile vehicle that is you, for once you unite the mind, the tongue and the hand, a new weapon is born, a weapon that defeats all of the world’s armies combined, a weapon that transmits its spores in a form of thought, that clones itself through sound waves and ink stains, a weapon they can never spot and never stop, a weapon of flesh, a weapon of hope, a Weapon of Mass Construction.

H.Q.
7:22:50 pm
Thursday, 14th of February 2013

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

This is where the ageless comes to wither, where the troubled mind comes to find its peace. This is where the angels come to perish, where wings turn to dust, and halos sear the shadowless night sky.

Posted in Metal, Music, Products of the Chaotic Mind, WarBrothers
Tags: Amorphis, Angels, Dark, Decay, Decease, Distress, Doom, Funeral, Metal, Pasi Koskinen, Ruoja, Shape of Despair

Love is the word they say the most when they love the least, for those who truly love, are those to never speak.

H.Q.
19:18
Monday
04/02/2013

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Immaculate is she, born to an earth of flesh and mud, and a sky of mist and blood, born to him of the fragile heart and to her of the fertile mind. Through the haze of her ashen eyes you see the dawn of an unborn world, for in her every blink she sends a wave of anguish to chase away the Cimmerian clouds smothering your heart. With bleeding words and a fading breath, the pain untold purifies your sinful soul, as the pouring rain from them heavenly pearls cleanses your mortal shell with an ocean of quiescent solace, leaving an eternal trail of invisible scars on your ever-lying façade.

Touched by a feather of a broken wing, you stand again and count the thorns, for the crown you wear is earned not by the blood you shed, but the blood you save, and the black of tar running through your veins shall be drained out by the smiles of those once burnt, of those once shattered, and of those once lost. Only then, the black within shall set free the light besieged, to welcome back the grey for which you yearned.

H.Q.
20:15
Sunday
03/02/2013

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Once upon a time, when everything was younger, someone wanted to try my special dish of Pure Honesty™

… To Maria

Oh any time! Though I must warn you, it is sour, with a hint of colourless mushroom clouds, dream-shaped cheese and anti-viruses, best served dead with hollow raven heads and sliced brown dwarves (23-33 Mj is recommended)… Enjoy!

H.Q.
10th Aug 2011

What she replied with, is something that I no longer remember, but what I know is, it was so bright it lit a spark inside a once-infertile mind, and these lines were born:

But the sliced brown dwarves said nothing,
for they were sliced, and they were cold…
And the mistletoe is no more;
as The Grinch stole her sanity with a bat’s spinal cord…

Thus here I wait, with a box that ain’t mine,
a key that ain’t hers and an elf that ain’t there,
we look at each other and laugh as one,
for we just did what’s never been done!

The old gnome smiles, his name was “Answer”,
he loved to raise elks, he’s a hell of a dancer!
He solved the quiz and opened the box,
he didn’t need a key for he’s half an ox!

But then it happened, the secret was revealed!
The bats went slaying, their wounds cannot be healed!
I screamed and begged for the mercy of the Master,
but he just flew as he blasted into laughter!

“Oh Lord of Bats, ye Harbinger of Sin,
can’t ya save Vesper and save her elven-kin!?”…
“HOHOO HELL NO!” he jawed from outer space
“YER ON YOUR OWN, SO SHUT YER UGLY FACE!”…

So here I lie, split in half and shattered,
my blood runs dry as I think of what he’s muttered;
could it be true? Or does it really matter!?
Is it just ma face? Or am I gettin’ fatter!!

The answer to this troubling quest,
shalt not be known to man or beast,
for the jolly “Answer” ain’t no more
than half a gnome and half a feast…

H.Q.
22:40
2011 Aug 12

Posted in Lullabies, Products of the Chaotic Mind

The nearer to my throat this world comes closing in, the deeper I breathe, and the more I see death around me, and the more I see the premonitions of failure burning brighter, the clearer this my path I see.

I won’t apologise for the dreams I chase, I won’t say sorry for the words I utter but you misunderstand, I won’t stand ashamed for I know all that you never will, I won’t step back in fear of your arrogant ignorance crushing my every plan, I won’t ask for forgiveness from a schizophrenic God who’s yet uncertain of his own fate; for my only regret is the time I listened to those who do not know, those who cannot see beyond the walls built around their minds, those who weigh not but the mere mud from which they’ve come, those who smother you with rusty chains of inherited dogmas and expired beliefs, those who would do anything and everything to keep you from being the smile you once saw on the other side.

Here’s to the ones, above and below, who saw the aura I’ve never had, who bled and wept for me to rise, who touched the beast behind the mask and deep within they carved their names, forever there, till my demise. Here my oath, and the dead be my witness, for I shall walk the path I drew, lone, firm and fearless, leaving my trail on every ground, on every wall and every heart; forever there, until the end of time.

For I only make the memory, thence it’s yours to keep.

H.Q.
IX:XIV p.m.
dies mercuri, ante diem III Nonas Ianuarius, anno MMDCCLXVI a.U.c

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

And round it spins, and round it goes around your fingers; a perfect world in a perfect circle, a portal through which your soul is channelled to the heart for which it longs, to a cradle in a room that is your home, to an empty bottle, to a lonely glass, to a desolate shadow that is not yours to embrace.

Your eyes can no longer sleep, awaiting a ray of light that’s gone astray, for all you see are blackened shards of shattered glass and bleeding curtains of murdered hopes. You turn the ring, you close the portal, you lock the door, and back to the darkest of all of them corners you crawl.

“Stolen chords and borrowed rhymes,
fractured songs of madness
Echo with the bleakest chimes
dragging trails of sadness

By the altar of the lost
and torn, her vows she’d utter
Bathed in darkness, with a crown
of thorns, her heart aflutter

So broke the void from whence he show’d;
a crow of wit and age
And there he stood, with night adorned
Thus quoth the sightless sage:

“This my kingdom, thou behold
nigh the shores of Lethe,
nurtures neither love nor gold
hence foredoomed shall be thee”

Stolen chords and borrowed rhymes,
fractured songs of madness
Echoed in my bleakest times
and wrought my life of sadness”

H.Q.
04:33
Monday, 07/01/2013

Posted in Poetry, Products of the Chaotic Mind

Idiots, waiting for the end of a 365-days cycle to plan, love, forgive, do “good” and remember the ones worth the remembrance; all to be forgotten by the dawn of a brand new day, a day that’s no different from any other day except for the stench of shame that stinks off your soul during a 24 hours marathon of alcohol consumption, improvised patriotism, consumerist-grade immaturity and primal screams of beasts trapped within.

Time is defined not by the way you break it down into equal, swallowable doses of darkness and light, but by the deeds that outlast the decomposition of your mundane existence, separate from time and space, separate from the temporary selfish measures of right and wrong, separate from the savage genes which would kill one of their own to survive a hand-made apocalypse.

Here a toast, to a species that keeps stabbing itself in the hand, forever learning, forever failing, forever falling, and soon to be wiped off the face of the earth.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, fade to blank.

H.Q.
03:14
Monday
31/12/2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

The harder I try to understand what they want, the deeper I drown in misconceptions. And the harder I try to speak my heart out, the further they’re lost into misdirection.

Raven, queen of land and skies, guardian of the shades and seer of all that dwells, to your eternal wisdom I submit my heart, and the answer I await to all that burns inside.

H.Q.
16:18
Sun. 30 Dec. 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

And then I have to pretend that nothing has happened, that the night has never been, that the words were never spoken, that the dream I once had and the wish I once smothered were never those of the distant soul for which I’ve yearned; for when the sun rises I am the only one who knows, and as the sun sets I am the one to never sleep, for I am the one who saw, I am the one who heard, I am the one who felt and the one who tasted your tears.

H.Q.
04:55
Fri. 28/12/2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Terrorists, martyrs, soldiers or mothers; you all look the same engulfed in a flame, and the burning flesh smells of a dying wish of a prophet without a name.

H.Q.
Wed, 18:33
21st Nov. 2012

Posted in Politics, Products of the Chaotic Mind

This piece was found in an email I sent to myself on the 2nd of August 2012, I don’t recall writing this at all, neither do I remember what it is about. But there’s one thing, and one thing is for sure; they are already here…

Microscopic cyborgs invading stagnant brains in search for recyclable nerve cells and unused storage space. Grey matter matter not anymore; you are but a defectively engineered, high-maintenance, low-efficient and constantly pollutive mess of low-voltage transmission lines and carbon-based circuitry. Micro-cyborgs now come with nanotubes and atom-scale pneumatic drills, Micro-cyborgs know what is best for you, Micro-cyborgs shall set you free…

H.Q.
11:49
Thursday, 2 August 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind
Tags: Apocalypse, brain, Cyborgs, DNA, evolution, HUAR, Humans United Against Robots, Microorganisms, Nerve Cells, Pollution, Robots, Schizophrenia, Tesla, the matrix, Weapons of Mass destruction

These my words shall not be judged by a poet, a critic or a writer, hence them I hang on desolate walls and them I shout into the void. They’re meant not for the tainted hearts or tainted minds, for they are not but fading rhymes for the thirsty wanderer, soothing chimes for the lost and the mad, aching howls for the deaf and the wicked, and waning hymns for a barren god.

H.Q.
18:55
Thu.  09 Aug. 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

I await for my soul to transcend your mundane filth and inherited ignorance, as I leave this my corpse for your fangs to shred and your hungry lustful eyes to devour all which does not last.

Tired counting the seconds, tired watching them fly away as the halo wanes, tired wasting minutes, hours, days and years waiting for nothing, waiting for no one; no one but a phoenix, bathed in darkness, shining with a blackness of a thousand crows, for she is my raven, for she is the end for which I yearn.

I cling to your shadow, I scream your martyred name; Black Bird, guardian of the night, keeper of the keys to my insane mind, don’t leave this hawk blindly drifting southwards, don’t fly before the dawn takes me away, don’t burn until I burn, don’t fall unless I fall, don’t die before I do.

H.Q.
02:05
Sun. 29/7/2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Are we but astronauts on a rusty old ship; watching, waiting, devouring our path round a dying star.

H.Q.
00:58
Mon. 23 Jul. 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

You greet the pellucid walls of thin air and redundant space, scanning them with blurry eyes, it has been some time since the two of you had a genuine conversation.

I know you gave up on planning, for it seemed not to ever work, but there’s this someone, this out-of-the-Matrix individual, who makes the relative heaviness of the burden of time dedication feel relatively bearable, yet absolutely worthwhile.

I don’t think time matters when it comes to these few, these singularities, these ones of a kind, the ones you never knew yet yearn to unite back with, the ones whom lifelines shall interweave with yours—or thus you aspire—, the ones who found their way out of the headless crowds amongst which they were raised, the ones who follow not, nor lead the herd, but stray away from the paths once paved by their forefathers, finding their own destiny, sculpting their own future, and seeing you in it.

It is for the one who makes you sway your quill with binary thoughts and scribe them onto the frail walls of imaginary space, the one who makes your ashen heart of a leopard-hawk reclaim its colour and ache again with melodies of alien hopes, the one who makes you render undying structures of concrete dreams and artificial realms for the barren minds and forlorn souls, and see a reflection of a human form in these shattered mirrors of age; a form that has been replaced by an abhorrence of an infernal shape since the departing of faith.

And you thought it was the time you got back to erasing. But I think not, my friend, for it is time you rewrote your fate.

“Guardians, down the hills they march
and blackness they beset
As watchmen eye them from afar
and havoc they beget

Seize them words of baleful bile
blighting this my fit
for now I ride to earn them scars
and them I shan’t regret”

H.Q.
12:49
Mon. 18th June 2012

Posted in Poetry, Products of the Chaotic Mind
Tags: blind, defiance, destiny, dreams, faithless, fate, forlorn, I, illusions, imaginary, lost, lost hopes, love, no regrets, reality, sanity, soul seeker, the guardian, the matrix, the unknown, the watcher, you

The deeper you dig in this chaotic mass of thoughts, the stronger the gravitational pull of your grey matter becomes, sucking in all the dark words you want said, drying the black ink off the sentences you want written down, and negating the third face of what once was a trinity. And the closer you think you’re drawing to the balance you sought out, the further you find yourself falling, down to the compressed space-time of your black-hole mind, where your existence collides with your illusions, nullifying both, and your dark thoughts clash with your conceptual being, producing artifacts of anti-matter and emitting rays of black light, only to be pulled back in beyond the event horizon, where your memory—or what is left of it—gets scrambled and randomly scattered all over your multi-word DNA deviations.

An absolute erasure of data in its physical form, a 40,960 bit encryption in a quark-plasma cloud, and you thought you were too alone? Wait until you meet singularity…

H.Q.
12:35
Sun. 3 June 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Posted in Uncategorized

Never in my conscious existence have I imagined that someone can be brought into my life, and then be taken away in an instant… It hurts… It fucking hurts…
This is the one you cannot see, the one who hides, the one you’ll never hear, the one who lurks in the shadows of his own smile, the one with a black hole for a heart, a black hole for a mind, and three black holes for eyes…
An unexplainable feeling of guilt for a sin I haven’t yet committed, and a haunting sense of shame that I can’t run away from… What Have I done to deserve this…
You can feel your insides getting torn apart… And then you wish it was for real… You wish you could just leave this fucking hell…
You can feel hatred filling the void within, as anger crawls out of your blackness tickling your fingertips… You want to kill, and you know your target… He’s right here… Inside of me… Oh how I wish I could slit his throat…
Do you realise how much I hate you?
Do you know how hard it is to laugh while you have nothing but pure fucking hatred inside?

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

It’s brewed from the ashes of the last Raven-Phœnix, the one who opened the eyes of the blind, then shut her own; never to awaken, never to rise again…

What a beautiful day! To my fellow mortals; humans, cats, ravens, crows, angels and phœnix. To my fellow illusionists, craftsmen, musicians, artists, geeks, warriors, poets and rebels. To the hopeless, the honest, the sad, the ugly, the moron, the sane, the dead, the brave and the wicked. To those waiting to live, to those wanting to die and to those now watching over us. To YOU, the prisoner of your own virtual cell, locked up behind curtains of smog and walls of multi-touch displays, to YOU, once the dreamer, now the nightmare chaser. To everything that breathes, and everyone who no longer does, such a wonderful day to waste, such a glorious day to kill, such a good day to die…

H.Q.
9:44
Tue. 22 May 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

Disgusted, all the way deep down to your inner-self… Your hatred grows tenfold with every beat your crippled heart tries to make… Love has no place here no more, as you can almost hear The Guardian impatiently boiling as he climbs up, with his claws piercing through your throat, promising of a painful takeover, chanting with fading words of an eternal anthem to self-destruction…

H.Q.
14:59
Thu. 17th May 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

You do not fucking exist… That, I know…

Back to confusion, looking for words and reasons haven’t been harder, you barely have enough will to move your fingers and press these buttons; but they’re aching for something else… It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the trigger… Maybe that was your only chance…

Destructive, forgetful, hopeless, careless, regretless, impatient, depleted, exhausted, abused and damaged beyond repair.

I’d give ten years to go back another ten, to slap this kid in the face, to wake him up, to let him know it’s not worth it, to kill the coward puffin within, at least then some good could’ve come out of him.

You’re forcing words out of your fingertips, I’m trying to hold them back but you won’t let it be… I don’t want you to read my lines yet I’m throwing them unto your face, it is the mundane silent scream for

I take over.

And I’m back to erasing…

FUCK YOU H.Q.

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind

I think they’ve completely misunderstood the point of us “having a brain”; they’re supposed to “use” it, not deplete it by a non-ending stream of small exhaustive quests and a series of stupidly mixed error-rich signals, that’s what MACHINES are for…

Yet sometimes I wish I was one of them machines; for at least they’ll have someone to take care of them, oil the gears, clean their parts, and fix their short circuits may an idiotic user decide to use his child-like creativity and convert them into a coaster for his coke… But then I turn towards the mirror, and what my photoreceptors send back to my occipital lobe is nothing but a blurry image of a rusty broken engine…

I shut down, and wait, for i chose silence…

H.Q.
Thu, 26/04/2012
21:59

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind
Tags: abuse, blurry image, brain, depletion, exhaustion, gears, HUAR, machines, occipital lobe, photoreceptors, portal, red pill, short circuits, silence, slavery, the other side

ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:13)
A blank mind can do no good to anyone…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:14)
But in this age you don’t need to commit suicide…
There’s always someone who’s willing to do it for you…
For free…
Change…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:15)
Open your heart to the dead…
For the living can only make it worse…
The dead will never judge your language…
They can read right through your words…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:16)
They know what you mean…
They know what you are talking about…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:17)
Raven…
Phoenix of the black dusk…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:18)
It is time…
He’s waiting…
Come and take back what he owes you…
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:27)
H.Q.
ΞΨΞ ŦџġєЯ Ω ĦəшҜ ΞΦΞ … said (22:28)
22:27
Tue. 17/04/2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind
Tags: black ash, hawk, panther, Phoenix, raven, tiger, tyger

Don’t smother yourself within your digital curtains, don’t waste your life behind progress bars; for the day is still young, and so you are. Go out, leave this colourful cage of yours, let whatever is left of life breathe into you, and get to know the Sun…

H.Q.
15:48
Fri, 13th of April, 2012

Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind
Tags: digital world, games, life, loss, the Sun, time, Virtual Reality, waste, you