Throw Roses Into The Abyss

Shona. Formerly abyssdolls and entropyangels. “Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best thing in you”. ig entropyangels Australian/Irish alien⚡️Philosophy & Magick fiend🩸

[entropydemons]

“I abandon myself to the fever of dreams, in search for new laws”. Antonin Artaud

[lychens]

Ryk Naves

[deep-dive]

Baroque (Sting Entertainment, 1998) fan translation by Plissken

[placideavantia]

[showings]

“To escape from horror, as we have said, bury yourself in it.”

— Jean Genet | Our Lady of the Flowers

[arafrenglish]

"اغْمُريني/اغْمُرني"

Literal meaning: "immerse/flood me"

Figurative meaning: "hug me"

It's not just wrap your arms around me. It's immerse me with your being; I want to forget me and feel you only.

It's in Lebanese dialect.

[jxn-xoxo]

[amal-ix]

“And I know there is something all wrong about me— believe me. Sometimes I shock myself.”

— Sophokles, from An Oresteia: Elektra (tr. Anne Carson)

[irisiver]

“For I am I: ergo, the truth of myself; my own sphinx, conflict, chaos, vortex—asymmetric to all rhythms, oblique to all paths. I am the prism between black and white: mine own unison in duality.”

— Austin Osman Spare, from ‘The Logomachy of Zos’ (via aqua-regia009)

[entropydemons]

I’m in my Romanian insomniac philosopher era , drifting through semi-dark swamps of my own lucid dream designs. Not self indulgent in sadness enough to be only a poet nor as fucking apathetic as most analytical philosophers are. Cioran’s right that we want to self-destruct to compete with TIME itself, defy the way we seem to be born for the slaughterhouse. Of course we want more than that! And so I’m also drawn to saints and mystics, sex and death, the thanos/eros merry-go-round,  where sublimation shrouds suffering in spasmodic screams of bliss. No; I lie there is no shroud. The veil is ripped wide open. God spears me through the heart.

I must have been branded with invisible stigmata at birth. All my organs and their meat and matter machinery transubstantiated into fire. Ever-flowing flames. I want to kill everything that is non-cosmic inside of me. Metaphysics are a mirror game. We need illusions to survive but if God is real I want to taste his tears!  

I know why when faced with the choice of playing the artificial roles of mother, saint or whore Teresa of Avila and Catherine of Siena chose devotion to the divine disease that festered in their bodies and their inflamed, infernally astute brains. Their fervour has me palpitating and I too want to be pulverized like stardust. 

These angel-faced mystics want to devour the world and so do I. Bite down on the seething void, juice of the universe dripping down my chin. They are Lilith reincarnate. Inverted and enslaved by chains of her own design. Their ferocious will to power disguised by the blank white light of sacred nothingness. 

[bebemoon]

“A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”

— Franz Kafka (via writingdotcoffee)

[evahdestrvction]

2021 horror movie diary

THE WICKER MAN (1973) dir. robin hardy

[lionfloss]

lawrencexhardy

[hiyutekivigil]

"There is something grotesque in having my own evils save my life."

-

Sophocles, Elektra, trans. Anne Carson

[entropydemons]

I’m scared of falling asleep now because I keep waking up in excruciating pain :(

[finita--la--commedia]

– Emil Cioran in “Cioran and Petre Tutea - An Exercise in Admiration“ (1991), directed by Gabriel Liiceanu (philosopher) and Constantin Chelba (artistic technician) In this interview, Cioran is talking about a 26-year old young man, a very competent clerk and who earned very well. He had read the ideas Cioran wrote about suicide and came to see him. They walked around Luxembourg for 3 hours and talked about suicide. The above words are some of many thoughts Cioran expressed him that evening. 3 years later, Cioran met him again, and the young man told him: “I followed your advice, and I am still alive”.

[criminal-delirium]

“It is time to abandon the world of the civilized and its light. It is too late to be reasonable and educated–which has led to a life without appeal. Secretly or not, it is necessary to become completely different, or to cease being.”

— Georges Bataille. ’The Sacred Conspiracy’. Visions of Excess.