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Crypt Of Demons

by Abysmal Growls Of Despair

/
1.
There is nothing. ... and there is no one. ... and all maggot October I lay on the dirt floor, face down, asphyxiating amidst the dead earth's ugliest creatures, writhing in the atramentous ashes of what once was blood. With a funereal docility, I accepted my own burial ... as it has been so black here, for so long. ... Aphotic visions fade to pure oblivion. We long to eat each other, them and I. ... because there is no one. ... and there is nothing. ... and there is no solace in this desolate, forsaken land. The agonies of starvation come and go, like the missing days and nights, ever more painful than before. ... tormented by memories of light and dreams of the unattainable life outside, my desperate psyche finally caved in and devoured itself. ... and the ravenous worms entwined around my spine to haste the inevitable putrefication. ... to work their infernal alchemies.
2.
Dark Corner 07:51
This life makes me long for Hell -- did I bring this torment upon myself? Desperation more than blinds. I carved out my eyes and placed them on the wrong altar, a fruitless sacrifice. It's not a flesh wound that bled the sable tears of Acheron. It will damn me to all I ever longed for ... damn me to Xura -- the void within, where the long empty days silently fade into cold black years, and existence slowly congelates into a hiemal eternity. The glacier, internalized, that place to which all roads and rivers lead ... eventually ... eternally. ... that nocturnal realm where the stars have long since drowned and caved in upon themselves ... their spectral fires blaze, inverted and black, draining the realm of light. The sky screams in constant agony as it attempts to rip itself apart. It bleeds hiemal streams of perpetual sorrow; they flood the blackened earth, snuffing the vitae from all that they touch. A melancholy chill lingers in the dismal harbor where the shadowy waters collect ... infinity's hell-black depths.
3.
The caliginous night hangs like a shroud, a shadow-hoard of moribund souls and mortal stars long-extinguished. The deceased never sleep. ... and in this corporeal perdition, amicable dreams are forbidden. I stare unblinking, into the void as the ashes of extinguished aspirations drift wearily through my cobwebbed cerebellum. I have been submerged for so long, in the decrepit ruins of my cadaverous mind, that the worms that ate me, themselves, have died. ... and the stagnant waters that once suffocated my desires for resurrection, have evaporated. The shadows now hold my chains in open hands. A malefic ray breaks through the moth-holes. -- In Serpens' unhallowed light, my arid eyes ignite, The frostbite fades in the wake of the inferno. the agonizing rush of reawakened blood enters my carrion veins. ... and the fiend they tried to exorcise, rises. The shadows tell me to lie down. ... be quiet. ... stay dead. ... and drink my formaldehyde. and they'll bring flowers to adorn my grave, in all the colors I never knew in life. ... won't that be nice? Then they push the lids over my eyes, lock the casket, drive the nails in place and lay me to rest in my solitary hellscape. ... but somewhere in the nebulous depths of my mind, an impious litany echoes -- a perpetual invocation to the diabolical apex of darkness, the most inverted of conflagrations. -- the hell-black lightening that could incinerate this pernicious cycle of re-interment.
4.
I. Portals to Oblivion In the beginning there was a plague, summoned from the malignant pages of the most execrable of books. -- bound in flesh, written with blood, each letter is infused with pestilence, every word is a wormhole to a curse. In the middle there was a conflagration, the crematory rites for human-kind. From their ashes, a cimmerian nebulae rose and engulfed the goat-forsaken fields of the devil's dead earth. a shroud woven by forty-two shadows, contrived to snuff the light with the charnel stench of their devotion. ... I've suffocated and died a thousand times, trying not to inhale the dust of that dead aurora, throughout a somber procession of incarnations, crepuscular visions I never considered "lives" -- but intervals of asphyxiation on a six-spoke rotar. ... and the severed hearts still slither, gangrenous, in the pool of dead blood. Fools sacrifice in futility ... then say it's my athame through their valves. Time alone heals nothing. The incorporeal scars fester beyond the confines of infinity like the eidolon stars that unravel the cosmos, invert existence ... portals into oblivion. ... and therein lies the end, where non-existence reaches its black culmination, the inverse zenith of desolation. ... II. Dying Embers of the Final Twilight The worms mutated as the dead phosphorescence dimmed, morphing into grotesque forms as they ate their way through the forgotten corridors of my mind, opening doors for the devil, six inverted eyes, windows to Serpens' unholy light, the venom of gods ... a torch to the shroud; all the filaments of my artificial existence turned to cinders. ... I gazed upon those forsaken conflagrations as the spectral embers of that final twilight faded. The stygian sea disgorged its serpents; cthonian currents rose with the hydra, disintegrating the sepulchral towers of the impaled, staining the heavens with the lustrous blood of the seraphim. Enochian screams of mortal anguish cascaded into the long-anhydrous veins of mortuary earth, auguring the return of immemorable gods. The arachnid flora of a primordial evil ascended, a charnel garden, their gargoyle hearts bared to the welkin, secreting the necrotic vapors of damnation, the sulphrous nepenthe of the netherworld. ... a balm to my blackened, bleeding psyche. I peeled off my skin ... the better to breathe it in, to let the infernal visions flood my perception. ... in a temple between worlds, a pair of ravens dine on the charred flesh of angels. ... III. The Devil's Empyrium My draconian wings unfolded as I drank from a dark prism, the lifeblood of shadows, the last light of fading ghosts, as their composite annihilation formed my dark haven, an atramental dimension where the obsidian cataracts of mist and flame converge and ascend to hyper-demonic frequencies, octaves beyond the comparatively pale, pestilent planes of colored light. ... It seems that dreams, like everything, were forged in this hell-black miasma, from the aphotic dust of long-dead stars, from the cinders of mortal souls that have, in anguish, faded back into the aethers. ... ... in the beginning there was only blood on the parchment, inverted angles, a demonic stigmata.

about

Three acoustic horns were used, all drums are VSTi, Choirs are VSTi.
Guttural voices, growls, kargyraa, were made by Hangsvart.

Consider visiting those links:
Steven Greer:
www.youtube.com/channel/UCC6B4Y0oFACv9QBlf0ebBcg
Gregg Braden:
www.youtube.com/c/GreggBradenOfficial
Eileen Day McKusick:
www.biofieldtuning.com
Gaia:
www.gaia.com

credits

released February 24, 2017

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Abysmal Growls Of Despair UK

Onemanband of extreme musics, drifting through a wide range of sounds like ritualistic dark ambient, drone and funeral doom.

"It's just so overwhelming that it overtakes you and, like I said, a few times I had to switch it off to take a breath and escape the suffocating grip this yields on the body and spirit."
Doom-metal.com
... more

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