Heart’s Nodal River Weltschmerz. Philosophy must give man a civilizational impetus, make him a professional in the act of coexistence. I don't see something like that coming from recent philosophies, at most vapors full of beautiful words, without philosophical direction, uninteresting aberrations. Today's philosophy is about a past it doesn't understand, stuck in this aimless debate. It must bring an addition, a change, not a dramatization of flawed past. Weltschmerz. Comic gang of criminals. Real public danger. Thieves inside the temple. Parallel corporations. Profiteers off the aggressiveness of others. You don't create. You build failures. We became domesticated criminals. Inaction. All the paths are choking us. Weltschmerz. Shepherd's Star. The muddy road. The hooting from the hall. We wander aimlessly. We watch time replay. Reprehensible diversion. We stamp the graves. Old information from a future without cancellation. Weltschmerz. Fooled by human foxes. Used as bullets. Slaves of social errors. Rest days. No freedom days. Economic imperialism. One man's freedom, another man's prison. Weltschmerz. Propaganda is swirling among us. Reality becomes conspiracy. We swallow compositions. Mental disinstallation. Primitives in modern society. History repeats itself, neither accepted nor understood. Freedom today, destruction of perception, the destruction of all that has been built.
Born In 84, Died In The 84th Year Eine Kindheit zwischen Fürstenthal und Glitt Mardschina. Rennend durch das Efeutal. Mardschina. Der Baum fürs Leben. Die Luft zur Sublimation. Brennender Vulkan. Meine Geschichte ist meine Religion. Er bewegt sich herzlich. Durch Schiffe mit dem Schiff voller Ängste. Es bildet Vulkanismus. Bildet eine Allergie. Ich sammle Bilder unter fruchtbarer Haut. Und sie bilden die Krankheit. Die Krankheit, durch die das Schiff schliddert. Das Schiff voller Ängste. Ich habe keine Angst. Ich höre nicht auf. Ich halte durch bis zum Ende. Die Dunkelheit am Ende des Tunnels. Der junge Mann wurde immer noch der gejagt. Er hatte keine andere Chance. Er hat seine Vorstellungskraft die ganze Zeit missbraucht. Schmerz, Schmerz. Wo warst du, als ich mich an meinem eigenen Maßstab geschnitten habe? Childhood between Fürstenthal and Glitt. Mardschina. Running in the ivy valley. Mardschina. The tree for life. The air for sublimation. Burning volcano. My history is my religion. He moves cordially. Through vessels with the vessel full of fears. It forms volcanism. Forms allergy. I collect images under fertile skin. And they form the disease. The disease through which the vessel slips. The ship full of fears. I am not afraid. I do not stop. I push to the end. The darkness at the end of the tunnel. The young man was still being hunted. He had no other chance. He abused his imagination all the way. Pain pain. Where were you when I cut myself with my own scales? One day I was impressed by these windows facing inwards. Everything was red, no sign of freedom. The right path was dialogue with the stranger. Trying to get through the wood. Trying to understand some sounds. I could not clean. Now I take it from the beginning. The signs take on colour. Traces too. Recreated creation. The clean volcano. Being able to understand wood. Managing to penetrate through sounds. The signs and traces recreated me. And now, somewhat at peace with his soul, I cast sympathetic glances at the inner cosmos, the only one. Born In 84, Died In The 84th Year.
Isolated Illusion All is moving around us and we are still blinded by the stars named after ourselves. By a star surrounded with different arrows of different sizes, sharper, with more cutting edges. But regardless of these characteristics the stars are here to destroy and to die. They are complex, unimaginably complex, but only for the small steps of the universe. Whatever we think about each other, we are perfect thereof …Of the universe. The stars are here to destroy. The stars are here to die.
Lost Painting The painting is dead. The creator of death remains untouchable through times. We're lost on one of his artistic manipulations. We are lost.
Cadavers Dangerous stock of humans perambulates around my existence. Routinely mistreated morally. We fucking desire to die to humiliate the existence. Billions of graves surrounded by sea. I light these cadavers to discover mine. A new world to come, a new disorder, a new cycle, no fucking conclusion.
Ship Of Hope Chapter I: Disconnected from the moral carnage. Separated from the mental massacre. We sail in our story and we do not wait for the beautiful sleep to take us away. We sail, we sail through these libelous times til all our visions become alive. Chapter II: I am the face that smiles. I am the warm voice who supports you eternal and unconditional. I am the loud, noisy, full of exuberance and whose energy you feed. In these clouds inside their waters we swim relentless. We'll let freedom to howl with us. I am the one full of hope. I am the ship of hope. I am the one full of hope untouched by the darkness and nothingness. I am your wild expression, free, without fear, bold and passionate. Nature is recording us she knows everything.
The Painter Of Voices Voices making choruses that link corpses in a sea of noises. Life is a season in fire. I laugh with understanding at your idiot thoughts. Mephistophelian islands are burning to carry your corpses into everlastingness. Being warned from the white pages written with white paste. Being mauled by the pride of being nobody. Your appreciation stabbed me in the back. The painter of mind. The painter of death. In the sense of humans I am mentally deranged but the humans have no fucking sense
Earth's Necropolis Walk through minds to light innocent cadavers. Immure them around the mountain of complexes. I am inside of this mountain. Choke with your revelations and become a part of the necropolis. Loneliness is a cage of freedom. Loneliness is my kingdom. Earth come take them.
Trial Against Humanity So strong so passionate. Shall I fly above myself or shall I save the world from the beauty of despair. Welcome to my funeral. Enjoy the tears and forever silence.
From These Rumors Your Guilt Is Bleeding
Knives Left Bleeding
Words From Blood Never Came
Outraged Cry Of Protest
The Enemy Leaves Dead
The End Is Burning
The Intentional Taking Of One's Life
Next Up: Adventure
River Of Letters
I Will Burn
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How To Name The Song?
The Only Problem In This Case Is The Solution
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