Member Since: 8/13/2007
Band Members: Sion
Influences: Joy Division, Skinny Puppy (and a bunch of stuff on netwerk and waxtraxx), Ministry, Christian Death, Death in June, This Mortal Coil, Radiohead, the cure, Nine inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, New Order, Coil, Love and Rockets, Bauhaus, Magnetic Fields, Leonard Cohen, The Moody Blues, Duran Duran, A-ha, Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, Pink Floyd, KMFDM, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, Tear Garden, legendary pink dots, Ladytron, Tindersticks, Crass, Sid Vicious, Robyn Hitchcock, Syd Barett, and many more....
Sounds Like:
The Telling of a Beast
None of this of course is universal. It only addresses the question of why a beast, and still only one very small angle from one beast. It is rare that they will call you by the name Beast, but when reading a myth or watching a flick, you will find yourself encouraging the monster with all of its rage and chaos. You will feel the bubbling of the witch’s skin as she hangs roped up from the smoldering stake. You will tear up while realizing the void of the vampire that drains others just to survive another day. You will know your own duality in the werewolf as it locks itself in cages just before the moon stops winking. Those familiar expressions on the faces of all in distress when Frankenstein brings death back to life will confirm it all. You will catch a reflection of yourself in the water at rest on a sunny day and will recognize the undead once again.
Nobody told me this happened to me. It was their eyes that said it all or just their faces. I was missing in a crowd. They were all on their cell phones, almost stumbling with that uneasy walk, the walk that skips a beat when I glance up. The fight or flight that kicks them in the torso. Why are they all inspecting their cell phones and pocket computers? Surely somebody needs to look up, at least to catch their own fall. Why are they shattering rape in their minds when I toddle behind them? I promise I truly had the same bearing. Do these cracks in my appearance frighten you now, or is it the expression? Does it look as if I am fiending for your flesh or is it my mane falling out before your eyes? Is it that I’ve quit laughing? Is it the scars that the terrain put on me or is it my fair skin that spotted in the sun? Does my carcass look lazy, as if I sit in a room stagnant, mulling it all over, again and again? Do I shake my skull with puzzlement too often? Do I twitch? Am I still talking to myself or was that singing that I was doing? Do I look as if I’ve had long conversations with my self and often the same ones? Why should that make you flinch if I look up from the ground in front of me?
Let me tell you, the gods will abandon you too. They in time do it to us all. Don’t let them trick you with their helping hands as life puts the skin on you and the fragrance of roses carry toward you. I see all of you still daring life to make its progress. I promise it is only being tolerant with you. It is progressing and will do it without you soon enough. You will no longer make beauty your plaything only for the satisfaction of impaling your own heart. All of it will cut dents into the skin it lent you and you will surely, lose the opportunity at romance. When you talk, it will move out as a roar. You will forget about your putrid teeth as false beauty drains your wallet. When the ones that adore you stop, you will look for it in others and find yourself here, stuck in the sludge as a departed leaf would at the end of a hard winter. You will surely find your time. You will find your skin faded but only when it matters to have brilliance. You will remember when you were the sun.
Don’t think this devolution will only happen to your most phony parts. Those myths lied to you when they conveniently left out the account of your mind. I know you’ve been told it was shallow to be loved for your flesh but I promise you that a mind can die many times faster. You will wish you had the option of being that whore you righteously looked down on. Just as the princess turns to sea foam, all this love of your mind will deteriorate and you will find yourself looking for a missing grace. You will still be there, you will always be completely aware of it. You will simply not recall what you’ve been doing about it. You will always falter now. Everything you gaze into will not distract you enough. You will experiment with the same body language that has always brought you that warm embrace but it will start to give others fright. You will pay them money, lots of money, to pretend it doesn’t. Your standards will lower much further than you ever anticipated. Even those standards you thought were righteous will be loosely bound to you. You will find your ideals to be illusionary and you will settle for less, much less, and only when you have become accustom to drinking the urine pissed out by exquisiteness will you lose the ability to consume even that. Those choices that gave you continued existence will start to kill at you. You will seek new ways to survive as this evolution begins to scrape you off. In this time, the butchery and stabbing will only swell. You will panic when pinned under a stream alone only begging for the ability to choke. Trust this, you are not alone. There will be others and the others will see your pathetic and underhanded attempts to survive. At your earliest endeavor to continue, even more will make strong judgments.
Mercy will abandon you at the time of your first outburst. Your face will correspond with your soul as you become the aggressor. You will find this core of self you thought you had only to be an observer to all of this whipping. Your face will alter in the mirror, but not in any forward direction. It will change back and forth which will only make your activities spiratic and impulsive to the still young. Knowledge of your appearance will fade but you will recognize your own lack of any previous knowledge of it. All that you used to furnish to the world will be rejected but it will surely take what you still require and are in use of. This all will seize the pleasure in contribution and sacrifice leaving you sociopathic.
Then there is the occasional infantile hero that comes with his presumptive strike. He is there to slaughter the beast. You will surely recoil into a cave which will in turn, steal your color leaving you loose skinned and shriveled. When you come away from your cave and are weak with atrophy, they will smirk, laugh, point and spit. You will attempt to strike and will hate them even more when the wind forgives them and forces you to the ground.
You will see the ones that came before you and their eyes will hemorrhage clear while the maggots eat their tissue down to loam. Even the naive white rose shrub you will notice there will be cleaning up the clutter. Infancy will be picking that established flower bud in order to remind itself of its own splendor. This will not kill the entire plant but surely its most mundane parts will remain, leaving it to be remembered for its thorns.
I was unscathed once too and I also thought it was due to my extraordinary and faultless action only leading to a superior evolution. I glanced through your eyes once and saw scrawny minds in all my illumination. I can assure you that you will never identify what “Cool” is just as I will never value “Groovy”, but I know that neither of them are found in thrift stores anymore.
I can also see that you think your intelligence is moving in a forward direction. This will be archaic soon enough. Your credibility will be stolen as you begin to break at names and dates that just fell out before. Your mind will exhaust but just as I said before, your awareness of this atrophy won’t. Short circuits will run through your nervous system and reminiscences will bewilder you. You, of course, will have perfect logic to yourself. You will keep some concepts but forget where you acquired them. You will try to conceit yourself on wisdom but younger things will turn their eyes back toward the most recent machinery.
You will find most things you assumed were spiritual are just as materialistic as your own pop culture clothing. You will find the love of people and things to be associations from your past. You will find empathy to be familiarities with your own torment. You will find the immorality in others to be your own overcoming. You will look for a new idol when your last no longer understands you and once you lose all of your gods, you will detest the ones that encouraged you to conceive them.
When this beast is made of you, they will suspend you from a rope and gaze. Some will applaud and others will shelter their eyes from all the unsightly. They will fault you exclusively for all things that are revolting and when you are departed, they will blame and generate folklore of your specter. If you ever do revisit, if you ever can be the ghost they speak of, you will torment their town. You will conceal in the closets of their children and whisper all night long to keep them from slumber. You will show there hearts beauty and love only to seize it from them.
You will wish there were gods to hate for what you feel is unwarranted. Only when you have restricted your vengeance will your skin smolder again and remind you just why you perpetuate all the malice. You will surely be marked with the beast if born on this path. Some say it is an ordinary path and still others scream hell to the deserving few.
It goes understood that swine is made out of beauty. Just as only the largest of stars eventually turns inward to devour space. I think it was Lucifer that did this after his blunder. There are no tongues that chatter of his years of beauty. He is now there only to take accountability. It was a god’s, not his, lack of forgiveness that drove him insane. In a garden, I heard a child whisper to just sip something sweet as she stole an apple from a tree. So beast I am, from the smallest central philosopher stone to the furthest of infinity, it made me.
-Sion