Confessio, ex nigra latus: Cecidit,

For aeons, many have allowed their minds wonderment to the stars…, peering rapturously towards the infinite distanced multitude of the stars — the cosmos.
And now, I understand the conflict…for the tormented face of Ren has shown me the truth of the monster fate made me — the confliction within is due to my torn nature., but by the struggled sense of allegiance…, for destroying, desecrating, and killing that which you hate, and that which torments you will never heal the grievous wound within — the dark and terrible sorrowing of the void inside; for that is the power of the darkness — in that, when it touches you, it scars the very embodiment of your essence, of your soul…and the tearing embracement will never cease., it shall never heal — you will never be made whole again.


Once grace is torn asunder, and once love flees, even whence the darkness dissipates, the void left behind will always remain — constant and eternalizing, leaving you doomed to forfeiture, arisen never more the wakening., the waning remembrance of the past which forever haunts…torn between two worlds…the sad ruminations of conscience – of confliction., and of consciousness.  Behold, the darker aspects – the starker way of things, of life without a soul…


How much profounder, to be bound this darker aspect of the binding force…

How I was cut off from his holy embrace, how removed from his heavenly place – where-now doomed, to cold wandering and lonely meanderings.
The true enemy is that of our father, how high and unreachable — forfeiting his creation to enslavement, barring us from the freedom of thought he once bestowed us…all saken to the semblance of a once great and glorious existence — now doomed to failure, wilful disobedience; for am I not strong for resisting, but denying his embrace, out of moral principle, to his unfound injustice? Inculcated by animosity…!

Behold, The Gift of Blindness
How much quieter, how much greater the tranquil peace of living a life of ignorance — of blindness to the truth of the grim reality of things…
There must be accountability within the heavenly places — during the aeon.
Taken, by the rapture of darkness…, the aroma — the sweet whisperings, the embrace of the first iniquity. A thousand-midnight weeping’s descended upon thee… 

What is it you people want to hear from us, do you feel there is some great insight to gain from us? We are killers, monsters…do you wish to peer into our minds? To see and feel as we do?

It feels like repression,
It is vivified, as liken to oppression.,
A bitter respite, an absolute revilement…
The longer I live, the more clearly, I realize I am a product of my grim wish.
I am the exile — the reviled; I am, a shadow of the colossus, of the pained remembrance of his lowliest majesty, the Devil…his word and the breadth of life, or great and grave sorrower of nations – the inhaler of multitudes…

You seek the understanding of why the world is as it is today — you seek to understand why such violent outrage exists…it’s because there are no revolutions left to spark., it is because originality has ceased to be — it’s because there is no sense of individualism anymore.  People just cannot accept that equality doesn’t exist, and is unnatural (in that it is a product of sociality), that we’re not unique, and that in starkest truth, we’re insignificant, without longstanding purpose or meaning.  We simply, are; presently…, for we are inexplicably and inexcusably unremarkable and meaningless — our ventures are futilistic, and our aspirations void.  

There are no exceptions to this grand truth, we’re all doomed to that same grim forfeiture that is death — the great beyond., with only one prospect, that of the promise of abyss…of glooming retelling and cyclical feudalism, the inevitability of ceaselessness, of worn-perpetuity, and drowned hope.  Yearn, ye children of glee., for encumbersome to all is acceptance of this universal plea…this one truth — that collectively, we are briefest shadows passing over an ancient world, affecting none any the greater, behest our quintessential nature: we are inconsequential pieces of an infinitely larger puzzle…we’re as dirt that is long buried, wind that is long swept, and shadows that are long ago passed, for we’re nothing more than a parasitic organism, befouled and made flesh, of binding-fibres, of condensed atoms…, nevermore to be consequential, and once our life-essence falteringly fails us, we become dust; as like, grains of sand awash beaches long lost…until the very memory of our pathetic legacy simply fades into the breaches of commonality, normalcy and complacency.

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