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III

by Spectral Lore

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    Double CD in Jewelcase, 20 page booklet. artwork by Benjamin Vierling, layout by Francesco Gemelli

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1.
Omphalos 07:28
The weight of the World Is crushing down Everything to the core. Despotically it protects From straying into the void Despotically it commands For omnipresent strength. I have fallen From the weight of the world And I am being pulled down Towards the center of being. It is as if Matter Wants to hold itself together In vain, against the cold estrangement Of continuous expansion. I rise to claim my Identity Against the grind of amorphous clay Pushing the soil down Destroying the Rock with my fists To see the Light of Day ~ Born to the world of Wonder Of endless promise and finite, abrupt reality With dreams directed towards the Higher dimensions Inbetween deceptive phenomena and elusive noumena The navel of Motherly love must be cut To escape the inevitable demise From the blazing hands of the Father Without wanton belief and asuredness The path to the gateway of cosmos Is a small ray, deep throughout the inmensurable darkness.
2.
O Dream, a painter you are, vivid and exquisite. Winged and unchained, you lead me into worlds of lightness and magnitude. But the soil I set my foot on, is the sole I can feel. And so you return me, dazzled and bewitched, each time to it. Cold and hard it has turned, unattended. Where is my Will? Where is my Persistence? In my Dreamland I am Strong and Unbending. Soaring the Skies, defeating Tyrants, facing the Sun. The soil hides roots that go deep into the earth. With toil they are kindled, unveiling fruit hidden within. Slowly I must tender them. Each fruit is also a Dream. Of texture harsh, of weight considerable. If opened, it reveals a world of its own. Unique and unimaginable. But, things of Matter are harsh for my hands. They bleed from the thorns of Struggle and Necessity. Their painful embrace triggers remembrance, Of scornful past and accursed future. A burning ache in the chest, in the eyes, The grotesque dance of vermin under the skin And the fog starts to set back in again. ~ I awake within the forest. It is unusually solemn and contemplative, Almost sensuous in its near silence of faint gust and rustling. A drifting presence is felt near the bounds of my senses. Through the silver pathways of the forest I hunt for it. I cannot reach but its mirage, which gracefully flees. A trail with blood on its side appears. It leads to a deer which had its throat cut open. Then to a woman, severed in the same manner. Not with terror, but in inexplicable awe I move on. The red path ends in a garden surrounded by shadows. An altar lies inside, besides it, a dark figure. It holds two severed heads, each one the source of a crimson river. It turns over to me. The memory brutally unveils the curtain of "I" I look, eye to eye, to the concealed Truth of ages past. It commands me, pointing into the white stone. The urge to submit is abominable. I look away and run towards the Sun. In hope it is real and not part of a scenery that's falling apart. With every last ounce of strength, I throw myself towards the scorching heat. Defiant Fire of Judgement, for Now and Forever, measure my Spirit!
3.
Winter awakes. Cold wind and white drapery everywhere. I emerge through the ice. Every nerve comes alive in excruciating pain. Here, the soul fights eternally, inertia and stagnation its nemesis. The march towards Actualization begins from the plainest of pathways. Yet behind every step, as heavy or lumpy as it may be, lies a purpose. What is the fabric that makes the dreams of Day? The Statue of Self, sculpted from the hardest, finest rock. A most Noble Warrior. I see it in a great distance, concealed by mist. The world cast a small shadow over me. It is he, the tragic hero, who does not simply want to Grow, But to Change. What is, that makes Man? What is, that makes the Over-man? Time passes as I cannot ever seem to get close enough. Yet, eventually, the mist collapses and the figure clears out. It is crude, without details, contorted into grotesque proportions. Empty on the inside, a simple shell. The wind blows softly and shatters it into pieces. Around the remains, a multitude of streams pour their waters Flooding the wretched land, carrying me, away with them Into another place, of Light. The Seeker is tired to look back. The gaze must awaken Outwards, to be fully alive. Rejoice, Soul Touch the Ecstatic Truth Sense the Eternal Now Awake within the Gaia The broken, constituent parts were carried along with the stream Each one is the name of a Virtue. I reassemble and bury them within the ground. I still carry the Black Beast, chained inside. And all past rememberance. What is my ideal then? But a dream with roots in the ground. Of roots weaved together into a colossal, collective trunk, That rises, piercing the Sky, into the depths of the Universe. ~ Throughout the times of perplexity and illusion We've got some last Gods left, worth keeping That go by such names as Kindness and Honesty. I want us to hold swords again As in the years of the old tales. But this time, to fight for Dignity and Solidarity. I want us to look like idiots into the eyes of the Dragons Like newborns, lying under the sun. Against the waves of darkness and death I'm walking with Eternal Brightness in my eyes.
4.
5.
A breath, formed into the atmosphere, Rained down into the oceans Was led into a little stream That fed a spiral fountain. From there, drops of ocean blood Fell down into the ground And mixed with the earth Forming patterns, from chaos born. A child, full of wonder, arose Destined to walk the gardens of Eden. Uncertainty, its parting present, Potency its destiny. A manifest of cosmic will. The child wandered, hunted, killed and quenched its thirst from the marbled stone. And it rejoiced; but as time passed on, discovered there was nothing else to see, to hunt, to kill, to drink. In despair, the Man turned to his Mother The sight reflected on the water And returned with a vision of Self Transparent, he saw a multitude Of I's, each with the same spiral inside. "You, Fountain, who has given me birth You, who grew me into a Man, powerful and sane, Save me now from wither, madness and solitude" The Stone laid unmoved, in silence. The Stream continued to flow, in perpetual motion. The Man understood; yet his soul did not rest But was filled with the Fire of Defiance. He stepped into the crooked stone To ascend into the spiral staircase Leading up, into the heavens high Where the Breath of the Father was once uttered. At the staircase's end, way above the Earth, Nothing laid, but the blackness of space And the one primordial molecule, carrying the Word. "No eternity was ever promised to you, Child. To travel beyond the Stars, into the marvels of macrocosm, You must first conquer the smallest, inner void. To reach the point where universes intersect. My Word is forgotten, with every division, every new birth. Learn me, renew me, reach into the end of my telos."
6.
Like the Wind, I sweep through majestic landscapes Wandering, lost, among endless deserts, forests, Deep seas and high mountains. They rise, glorious but melancholic around me. As if knowing... their own impermanence. How small and insignificant they make me feel. Then, time creeps in, and I remember Death. And questions do not leave me. Why did the first organic molecule copy itself? Did it think it could retain its consciousness that way? Or hoped that its offspring would someway, someday, escape mortality? Maybe through constant change and evolution? Gaia screams and coils around me. The organic and inorganic in union. Affecting and re-defining each other. Is it complete, that way, or still void, as ourselves, seeking for fulfillment? I see the pain and meaninglessness, and feel it deep inside. The cycle of renewal, of the demise of individual existence, is still one of tragedy. Why would we have attained consciousness, If we were always supposed to adhere to the Eternal Law? Is my Will opposite to that of the Outer? Or, can we forge paths of harmony, inbetween us? If I can dream, therefore I can transform. We are Warriors of the Universe. We are here for a reason. I believe it wants us to change it. It wants us to evolve ourselves, then our surroundings. But how? In what direction? Where is right and wrong, in the cosmic scale? Is it enough to be "good" human beings? Or is this feat, of such unimaginable difficulty, That every human must absolutely surpass the limits of one's existence, Towards greater and greater understanding, complexity, continuity, fulfillment. In a great mission to defeat Gravity, to liberate, once and forever, All Existence from the cycle of birth and death (bang and crunch). To extend into all dimensions, physical and temporal.
7.

about

Love Metal | Hate Fascism

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released May 2, 2014

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Spectral Lore Αθήνα, Greece

This page hosts most of the music I've released through Spectral Lore and other projects. Atmospheric black metal, ambient, dungeon synth and more. I'm antifascist so NSBM fans stay away.

Other projects:

A Compendium of Curiosities (dungeon synth)

acompendiumofcuriosities.bandcamp.com/releases

Divine Element

(epic/melodic black/death metal)

divineelement.bandcamp.com
... more

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