He feels the drift crawl free through chestwounds.
He knows that all his friends are just ghosts now.
As the goddess in the glass bathes him in clouds
of sepia silence. As stranded lanterns bury him in
their thrall. He sleeps beneath his shield, dressed
in withered flags under the carrion trees. He sees
the mannequin brides plague the blizzards in his
nightmares as the concrete moon sings her song
in tongues. Sleeping shores dress in the song of
the sunken bell as grey widow mists clothe him in
their tattered gossamer skin.
Nothing else left to say.
This picture shows why you should never get into a staring contest with Gaahl. Because you WILL lose. And Cry.
(Source: nocturnaldeath, via petrichoriam)
So I just finished reading this earlier after waking up from a rubbish dream where nothing happened. This has got to be one of the best books I’ve ever read. A truly insane piece of work. Misanthropy and blasphemy peppered with a feverish surrealism. Definitely something that will resonate with me for a long time to come.
Absolute legend. Seeing pics of this fella is making me want to see Eyehategod play over here again.
(Source: gydja)
