Who will love you if I don't?
Who will fuck you if I won't?
Who will love you if I don't?
Who will fuck you if I won't?
May failure be a garment to wrap 'round you
May failure be a belt with which to gird you
May failure be a noose with which to hang you (You have cut me down)
May failure be a noose with which to hang you
(Lingua Ignota - May Failure Be Your Noose)
(Psalm 109, often called the Judas Psalm: Let it be unto him as the garment which covereth him, and for a girdle wherewith he is girded continually. – Verse 19 Let mine adversaries be clothed with shame, and let them cover themselves with their own confusion, as with a mantle. – Verse 29)
The world as it is – politically, ecologically – is a grotesque farce. It makes me want to vanish. Not die. Just disappear. Become invisible. A silent witness drifting through the wreckage. I have no interest in participating in this circus of collapse, curated by billionaires and psychopaths. This isn’t my world. I’m just haunting it. This isn’t my world. (gebaseerd op Supervert - Necrophilia Variations)
I want to hear you scream. I like to hear you scream. Not in anger or in pain. I like to hear you scream in fright. I like to hear the sound you make, the sigh of pleasure amplified to a shriek. Fear fucks you, fucks you hard, with passion and intensity. You express how much you love it when you open your mouth in a great wail. Oh, the naughty blisses I have known, climactic panics and orgasmic horrors. (gebaseerd op Supervert - Necrophilia Variations)
A volte immagino di fondermi con qualcosa di non umano. Vedo un albero e voglio diventare quell'albero: corteccia, linfa e radici. Nuotare è la cosa che lo somigliava più. L'acqua scivola sulla pelle, si infila in ogni buco. Il corpo si ammorbidisce, si dissolve. Diventa acqua. Sono sicuro che c'è vita oltre questo pianeta. Non riesco a pensare che siamo soli. Ma cosa significherebbe toccare un corpo alieno? Fondersi con lui? La domanda mi affascina: Come si fa a fare l'amore con qualcosa che non si riesce a capire? / I fantasize about merging with something non-human. I see a tree and want to become that tree: bark, sap and root. Swimming is the closest I’ve felt to it. The water gliding over skin, slipping into every hole. The body softens, dissolves. Becomes water. I’m sure there’s life beyond this planet. I can’t imagine we’re alone. But what would it mean to touch an alien body? To merge with it? I am fascinated by the question: How do you make love to something you can’t understand? (gebaseerd op Supervert - Necrophilia Variations)
Seduce me
Drink me
Crave me
Devour me
Run-on
pointless
Faint
dreams
creeping
endless
Timeless
wasted
fucking
jaded
Destroy
demand
ending
desiring
Seething
teething
Power
Power
Seduce me
Drink me
Crave me
Devour me
Hear
speak
breathe
eat
Lust
need
Wake
never
fully
ever
Shiver
shake
Power
Power
Haunted
sex-
uality
Seduce me
Drink me
Crave me
Devour me
Curves
angles
Memory
history
capsize
explain
Express
Express
Joy
Joy
Bleeding
Crying
Silence
Noise
Seduce me
Drink me
Crave me
Devour me
Anger
Hoping
Pain
Loving
Threads
Breaking
Choice
Voicing
Truth
Obedience
Weakness
Disturbance
Power
Power
Out
out
out
out
The heart of man is an orchid
The heart of man is the open gulch itself
The heart of man is the Seventh Gate of Hell
The heart of man is the crushed horse's tail
The heart of man is a furnace
The heart of man is the open fiery pit
The heart of man is the hand of God extended
The heart of man is the burning barn upended
The heart of man is an orchid
The heart of man is the open gulch itself
The heart of man is the Seventh Gate of Hell
The heart of man is the crushed horse's tail
No love is enough
Love is not enough
No one is enough
The heart of man is unbearable to hold
(Lingua Ignota - Man Is Like A Spring Flower)
I carry a hunger for blood, not as violence, but as intimacy. A craving older than hunger itself. I love vampire stories, those dark mirrors where we project our need to surrender, to deviate, to be devoured. The vampire is not a monster. It’s a concept: dependency eroticized, perversion sanctified. I dream of becoming one. To drift through centuries with a mouth full of secrets. To collect symbionts. Sleep by day, stalk the night, live outside morality like it was just another dead religion. This is not death. This is freedom dressed in fangs. (Michiel)