By request, a new post.

From a hand-scribbled piece of bloodstained parchment found in the ancestral New England home of Axel Larsson, I give you this bit of verse I discovered after the passing of my paternal grandfather. He too heard the "dream songs of the nightmare repertory"....

ways of men & beasts

in the reek

of caves

& the bosom

of the black earth

madness

copulates

the foul seed

of carnal things

writhe

& bleed

in the ways

of men

& beasts.

Found Arcana III

I've actually moved on to one of the other collections, again just skimming. This text was from a mustard colored book, probably goldenrod when it was first bound, faded with age and use. The first page of the collection has a number of symbols scribbled on it which remind me of the Led Zeppelin IV (or "ZoSo") album, which I find slightly amusing in the fact that most of the verses contained within have some sort of rhythm or lyrical sense to them. The following is one of the more coherent song/poems:

In (t)his image....

a silken heart

of spider borne

wretched & wrought

with blood forlorn

a rotted mind

of fabrique torn

blackened thoughts

rife with scorn

a broken face

of features shorn

a crown beset

by ring of thorns

a sickly soul

stretched & worn

in faith tatter'd

the star of morn.

I'm a bit loathe to imagine the melody (or lack thereof) that this hymn may be companion to...perhaps composed by a certain mute old man and his trusty viol?

Found Arcana Dos

Here's more from the little red book (my apologies to Arthur Lee). This one's page was a little faded but not so much as to obscure the letters. Some of the pages in the book suffer from water damage, but amazingly enough the inks are intact. This one's title is in latin and appears as a coda to the verse's original idea.

Acta est fabula

Crude. unlovely

peals of laughter

shake the timbers

of my soul.

Cruel, inhuman

voices stutter

in unclean timbres

debasing and cold.

Mindless, wander

as covetous djinni

render my spirit

a thousand fold.

Mocking, virile

tones archaic

delivered dirge-like

my story is told.

A bit Lovecraftian in tone, perhaps penned within the stygian morass of some poor Miskatonic scholar's mind. More to come....

Found Arcana

On one of my many jaunts to the local Goodwill I discovered a strange little tome wrapped in red fiber. It was one of several in a series of abbreviated texts, chapbooks perhaps, each bound in a different colored fiber. I snatched up all the little books, each embossed with a gold roman numeral on the front, for less than a trade paperback. Unfortunately they were only part of a complete set and seeing as that there is little publishing information contained within their pages, I am at a complete loss to identify them. I will try to provide more information in the future, however what I can surmise now is that these wee journals are old; the print is faded, the pages are made of a heavy stock and give off a foul, stale odor, like musk or fungus. Contained within these pages are random musings in poetry/prose format. Some of the passages are titled, others are not. There are no table of contents or page numbers to speak of, nor introduction or conclusion.

I've only had time to skim through the red book and have included two of the more interesting passages in this post.

The first has no title, just a quote:

"When the heart speaks, few listen.

When the mind speaks, few comprehend."

All that sparks the soul is spoken for

The thoughtless status quo maintained

with a slogan sought within the mantra

"mundane".

yet...

there must be those who hear the sonnets

must be some whom sing in praise

in twisted timbre

of forgotten things

of past denials

and occult meaning.

These secret songs, above, below,

inaudible betwixt the twain

for the chosen heard

in reverent mind

the illumined heart will sing.

Like the previous verse, the next one begins with a quote. Its tone is somewhat more ominous, but the imagery is bit less obtuse:

"In the lonliness of birth,

so we expire."

Against my best defenses

a void awaits

at every angle

and every moment.

As inevitable

as the gravity

of hope imploding

an infernal expanse

breeds

nourished by anxiety

sated by fear

its twisted bowels

hunger still.

Against my greatest show of strength

a ravenous maw persists

as ever

vigilant

...infinite.

I will post more as time permits.

"I live...again!"

I'm back, simply because I never left.