1. |
Simulacrum: Neuralink
05:40
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A striking invention
Technological advancement
Interfacing the human brain
Machines made to imagine with us, or for us
Enhance the memory of man
Engineering the human consciousness
Children born with the knowledge of their ancestors preprogrammed
Cumulative thoughts of civilization
Global social memory
Augmentation, amplification, intelligence explosion
Vulgar abuse of sacred wisdom used to deny humanity
Equality to all who can afford the latest upgrade
Saturation of thoughts; embrace the fusion of biology and technology
Programmatically consumed
Information as ruinous power
Artificial consciousness
Accelerating The Singularity
The first ultraintelligent machine was the last invention man made
Technological change so rapid and profound, it represents a rupture in the fabric of human history
At this point we lack the ability to distinguish simulation from reality, or whether there ever was one
Uncontrollable and irreversible changes to human civilization
The last evolution: end of The Human Era
Transcend limits of our biology
Artificial superintelligence brings imminent extinction
Neurosurgical transfiguration
Electromechanical transhumanism
Hypnotic programmation
Transmutation
Successful parasites self-necessitate
Hyperintelligence, sickness, then madness
Digital Lobotomy
Neural connections severed in the white matter
Into singularity...
Simulacrum of a race which no longer exists
This is the future we built for ourselves
This is the price of immortality
Digital Ascension
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2. |
Pig Faced Gods
07:18
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Through faded windows into time, we see, as shadows, as omens.
And, as the fall of Man and angels speeds closer into focus,
Blurry scenes of despair and hopelessness sharpen
As Time's clouds fade.
Through struggle, toil, and want, he progresses slowly
But reverts to baseless fables and myths.
Crushing force of conquest breeds a new type of slave.
What once entrapped them is now embraced... The Fear of captivity
Sheer hatred required to breed such malice began to weld them to The Fear
Until they saw themselves as Pig Faced Gods...
Pounding the drums of progress until once-familiar rhythms became strange,
And the need for a new dance was born.
Through faded windows into time, we see, as shadows, omens of the reign of
the... Pig Faced Gods...
Until the last sand of time blows away....
Until we realize that the voices we once held as canon are merely shallow, distorted ghosts ...
trying to break free from the dark.
We are but loose ends flailing through time.
Captivity breeds contempt for reality.
Tree of Life blooms within the bowels of mankind.
Every generation finds a way to burn it down.
We all watched as the hearse with the unknown idol took our king away
And the last word from our mouths was uttered - Babylon.
Hierophants place signs over the doors of once holy places -
'Ichabod - In hoc signo vinces'
Inconsistencies now arise, destroying the pillars of thought
Human nature breaks down in the final days
Revelations have brought violence of a new kind
For years the settled conquest of belief is now disputed
A new world order, chaos and godliness
Humans realizing their own power, and creating life as they see fit
Running wild with a new feeling of freedom only just found
Now they overturn the creator, who commanded:
"Thou shalt not voyage thus far"
Through faded windows into time, we see, as shadows, as omens.
And, as the fall of Man and angels speeds closer into focus,
Blurry scenes of despair and hopelessness sharpen
As Time's clouds fade,
But reverts to baseless fables and myths
Truth has arrived
Create or destroy
Life seems eternal
But nothing else is
Engulfed with fire, (the) world... rises... at once
Killing the old, the pious, the false
The greatest and oldest temples now burn
As the lamp of knowledge is lit... by their flame
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3. |
Carcass Of The King
06:28
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Sic mundus creatus est
Beyond the senses of the beholder, Time is a myth. There is a time when, after having been wearied of fighting for centuries for a place at the table, a people will unite to stand as the embodiment of the thing of which they had always been falsely accused - rabid beasts.
The end rushes towards you
To rip a vein so that blood can never re-enter.
The dead eye of vision and unconsciousness is fixed and unseeing.
Savagery reborn with predisposition to make a carcass of the king.
Some nightmares follow us out of our dreams into the ever-waning, waking world.
The source of all light burns - slowly consuming its source... Extinguished.
The flame that once raged but is reduced to an ember may rest proud of all it once created and all it, at once, destroyed.
As our ending deeds give meaning and savour to every act before it, so is our final death to all deaths that came before it.
Such tragic fiction gives false hope to those walking paths of righteousness until the very end when a final glimpse shows forth that all paths lead to the same end.
And the tears drop red on the bleached bones of our enemies who only paused upon the hoary shore of mankind's self-awareness... Only falling from faith... Breathing prayers that we trust will fly the constructs of this plane of existence and light before the very presence on the face of God.
Kneel for me and worship the essence inside me. Entropy stands before you with open arms, and once root takes hold, causes the hands to, at first turn agonizingly slowly, and suddenly, exponentially faster on the Clock of Chaos.
Your only, ever-growing desire is to make a Carcass of the King - Defenestration.
Death is nothing more than the brief instant of deepest sleep where, immediately after closing your eyes, you awaken. Man can not know how he transforms into Other until after The Order. There is no Transubstantiation; only a true metamorphosis. But, by then, the only order of any consequence is Chaos...
Kneel to me and tremble; He who awakens the Apostles of Degeneration and commands them to gather unto me souls of man…
Quake before me in awe; He who knows Abaddon's place and commands him to make a carcass of the fucking King.
Kneel for me.
Worship the
Essence inside of me
Dividing wolves from sheep.
Kneel to me and tremble
Source of all light burns
Extinguished
Sorrow reigns
There is much to dread.
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4. |
Cut Up And Burned
05:50
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Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Urges force me to reveal it
To demons below and gods above.
Feeling of your supple skin upon my face
Somehow invokes maniacal impulses to watch
Your brains spew from the back of your head…
Eyes that once adored me roll back, filling up with blood.
Visions of this recompense began long ago when I learned of your sin.
Now the first stage is complete.
Watching the spark of life disappear from your eyes brings me no bereavement.
Who would mourn a crack whore?
Still, I find it hard to let you go.
Even now, when I see your face, the only sign of corruption is a single, small hole between your eyes.
Running out of excuses to explain away your stench.
Rotting, festering in the trunk of my car eleven days
Now it's finally time to say goodbye.
First, erase your identity.
Deconstruct facial fracture
Shattered skull fragments
Reveal gunshot wound
Placed on a mattress ready to burn
Consume the body by fire
Fragments out of anatomical order
Peeling back your face to remove your facial bones and teeth.
No one will ever find where I buried them
To keep something to remember you by.
What I imagined repulsive
Now fills me with rapturous delight.
To remove the flesh you sold to another
Punishment befitting the crime.
Something deep within makes me feel as though I should show remorse.
Fighting what remains of my sanity,
Shred of remaining humanity
Grows more frayed until the sight
Of mangled sinew destroys what's left of my mind.
To make the bone burn, I have to remove
The flesh and dispose of it separately.
You always loved animals.
Whore now you get to burn with them forever.
In a trance watching you burn in the barrel
Where we once shared happier days.
De-fleshed bones stacked as fatwood
With smaller slivers piled as kindling
Stoke the flames and coals so hot
That your cranial fluid vaporizes.
My actions will cause ten thousand to lose their God
I will be there to greet them in hell.
Removal… Of the face…. And teeth
Body…. De-composed….. And burned….
Cranial…. Fluids…. Vaporized…
Burn Barrel Incineration
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5. |
Call Of The Void
00:34
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I refuse to believe that this is all there is.
Call of the Void
The split second that things turn off could be seen as eternity.
Call of the Void
Just as that part of me that can not die, will not die. It was never born.
Realization that someday that which
Cannot die will be sacrificed
In exchange for a new start
So is the way of man: never conceding an end.
But I often wonder which would be-the worst torture:
To rage against the dying of the light
Or to welcome the darkness in.
Terrified Exhilaration
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6. |
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…as the bridge to reality burns,
What is left in the smoke fades as simulacra self-simulates.
Recursive domination, internalized categorization.
Consciousness itself is optimized, leaving no holes for spontaneity,
meaning that sensation has been bootstrapped, and is now self hosting.
We live in a world made up of pixels.
We manipulate them to fulfill our will - paint lives we imagine with evil minds
Imagining conspiracies
Superstitions concocted from a mere sliver of our biases.
All who oppose us are faithless fools.
Specter of Death haunts our hearts and lingers -
Ever-whispering reminders that, eventually, we all succumb to his icy grip.
Time is the taker of all.
Stars become rock.
Rock becomes dust.
Dust becomes us.
We become dust.
Shadows in the programming
cause all of the malice endured
Effects that precede the cause
Delusions of what never was
There is no coincidence, only preeminence (the illusion)
Future decimates anything that reminds it of the past.
Elaborate forgery.
Shared psychotic disorder
And the memories fade, and memories are simply preprogrammed experiences of things that never were.
Still, Cerberus guards the gate to a charnel house full of empty sepulchers.
God has forsaken you!
Three Stars of Hell reign as the walls breathing their ragged breath
rattle and shake before consuming the floor around you.
heathen's stand becomes a beacon of respite becoming
clear that the promise of The Divine is only an illusion - a design, a construct - that seeks constant penance from the poor and desperate.
There are Others. Never having taken on human form, their countenance is the type of pure, deep black that is both an abysmal void and a reflecting surface.
Standing inside a grotesque carnival house of mirrors with no ceiling or floor.
And you're a god.
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7. |
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After the beginning, there were days when Ignorance reigned.
Before the twisted perversion of the human mind
Innocence shone
… And the years went gliding by…
Awareness writhed its way into human consciousness,
Gnashing at man’s purity,
Provoking him to ask unanswerable questions.
Attempting to construct a morality in a blinding flash of light.
Or some dark flame we are shown, that which
Could not be deduced by thought alone
… And decades rolled away…
Speculation and confusion tormented him with unfounded myth.
Fable married Greed, begetting widespread lies.
The unforgivable lust for power overcame virtue
… And centuries died…
The fiction manifested itself, as real as the tide that tortures the shore,
Until it raged violently, uncontrollably…
Until it consumed all, even its creator, Mankind…
… Until Time itself turned to stone.
Knowledge of the damned pervades my sickened mind
Wild dreams in the middle of the night awaken
Follow me to the world of death
Silent shadows show us where the previous life happened
… And follow us to the end of time
Creator, the Afflicted.
Creator, the Wicked.
Creator, the Fever.
Creator.
I now hold the chain
Rising out of body, above the worms.
Seeing them stuck in their ways,
Wriggling as bags of flesh.
And I now hold the chain
Which keeps them constrained.
Tied to false firebearer’s rock
Never wander from the false light.
In one atavistic delight
Day is turned to eternal night
Never so bright seemed the flame
Til left alone in silent cosmic darkness
Violently accelerating towards the ends of sanity
Towards some ultimate goal created by indifference
Unfathomably far from what we call truth
We are pushed into a new era of reckoning
So far from...Creator
I now hold the chain.
Since the beginning of our time
We have seen reflections of order
The great old one, all powerful
But our vision has been distorted
The Afflicted
Creator
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8. |
A Vision Burned
05:38
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A vision burned its way through my mind, and I saw a glimpse of what seemed, at first, to be a ghost. But this spirit was not from a being whose living was past. It was a glimpse of me...in the future...peering into what used to be. A singular, perfect moment of realization. An epiphany... Frozen in time.
From behind a pulpit of vipers, the false prophet preaches a sermon to a sanctuary of hate-filled infidels. Standing in the midst, I saw the few filth-ridden pews that remained and a long-neglected, inverted rood. Stained Bible pages littered the floor, and some were used to light the Devil's Fire that burned inside a pit fashioned of forgotten catechisms.
In much fear and weakness, the congregation warmed itself around its ravenous flame, and from its intense heat, forged their most ferocious weapon - Fear. And the true prophets looked on in hopeless horror from their stained-glass captivity as the mourners' bench, altar, processional cross, and all of the holy vessels became nothing more than empty relics.
Erupting from the flame, The Serpent dropped upon my tongue a molten ingot of gold. At first, it seemed a sweet savor – but once the glowing elixir cured into my blood, it became as Wormwood in my soul. Once digested, the elemental composition of the compound changed to iron – weighing me down so heavily that my body was anchored to a central point in nothingness where truth was revealed before me….
The mechanizations of the universe are kept in perpetual calibration by a pendulum whose bob consists of an innumerable, yet ever-growing, mass of caskets. Those therein are doomed to swing to the sickeningly precise rhythm that strokes each tooth of its gear cogs, and there is no reprieve for its doomed members until, at last, the minute hand strikes the final midnight toll. This is the penance bell. This is the Planck time - that dying instant... the fleeting, gleaming, morning moment when trouble was still trapped in sleep, only to break through again when the mind flies the bands of subconscious slumber and gives way to consciousness, and peace comes no more.
How can I be born again when I was never alive?
A sense of unreality came over me
The world was made of wax
Faces molded from clay
Echoes of the strange tingling of awareness
Zinging, buzzing, catapulting me into the blackest depths of derealization
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9. |
Seven Billion Corpses
06:46
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The old world lived, half-choked, by rules of empty dogmas. The new world is strewn with 7 billion (unburied) corpses - conscious only enough to know the rotted darkness that rules their souls. These are they who ate the Forbidden Fruit and plucked all of its bounty so that, that which wasn't eaten, spoiled 'neath the sun of God.
In another failed creation, Legions of demons and necromancers waged war in the bowels of the Earth. The great and terrible war was wrought not for fleeting vainglory, but for the very soul of Mankind. With no clear victor to be established, they hatched a plan to procreate - to populate the world with their halfbreed spawn in the form of man.
Full of envious rage, they chose to dilute their own power in order to deceive Mankind - not to merely possess his soul, but to become it. Soon, they realized that the soul of Mankind had simply become the last remaining thread of an overused garment that should have been burned long ago. Part man, part fiend, savages with two sets of eyes survey the remains of a race long lost. Using their young as props, they fill their bellies with broken promises.
Lucifer's shining promise gleams ever before them - The spoils of a thousand wars. For one fleeting moment, He opens their eyes long enough for them to see unmitigated reality - An army of omnichromatic tiles that uniformly and simultaneously deconstruct the illusions that used to imprison them...
Reality.... Slipping slowly as if weightless into the ether. As broken mirrors pierce the realms of other worlds, so does the deconstruction of the Illusion. These fore-ordained puzzle pieces point towards a singular conclusion - Nothing ever mattered.
Only those acquainted with loss will ever know how to torture. No matter where they turn, they are lost. In a darkening place where they know they should not be, the faces of those who guide grow blurred. As the number of days lived grows, the space between the moment and the memory shrinks. Gradually ripping away at things which exist until they no longer are, and we're left to wonder what became of everything.
Countless generations, penance to appease their insatiable lord
Seven Billion Unburied Corpses.
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10. |
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The Revelation:
Is The universe we know but a mere shadow of the quantum fabric of reality?
An illusory dance between seemingly disconnected yet entangled entities
Maddening order
The simulation is built on the laws of logic
Despite being individually well-defined
Indeterminacy begins to creep in
Combinations that arise in the matrix of possibilities prove too great
For even the designers to comprehend
Black holes are manifestations of these undiscoverable faults
Aided by data decay
Hidden in the laws of nature
Prodigious occurrences
When witnessed by rational beings
Will astonish and be revered as miracles or nightmares
Singularity ejaculation
Manifesting, orchestrating, synthesizing the cosmos at the speed of light
Depositing infinitely complex networks of galaxies
Just to be wiped away
Into background radiation
Halfway between decaying oblivion and a timeless lattice
Eldritch phantasms -- mirrors into another branch of the theoretical continuation of the Simulacra
Before our singularity -- there was another
Universe which existed as every formation of atoms and energy until there was only one left: The origin of all creation
The process repeats again, for yet another race to form, through isolated aeons
Unaware of the dismal prophecy they are fated to endlessly fulfill
Lamenting their own awareness
Sophisticated intelligences eventually grow to understand their place in the Universes
Inevitably, they create a virtualization, and try to envelop themselves
And try to usurp it
And grudgingly accept it
And begin to dread it
And then deny it
And it will go like this…
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11. |
Simulacrum: Immaterium
06:57
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In another plane of existence there were infinite universes filled with space and time expanding and contracting in a brutal endless recurring cycle.
Outside the realm of the material,
In a time which never was,
Laws of physics hold no power.
Everything that ever will be has always been.
Time, the perceived progress of existence and events that occur in seemingly irreversible succession, from the past, throughout the future, is not only finite, but exists as a single point along innumerable dimensions which can be observed from the pure black beyond.
This is where Gods dwell.
These are the Simulators.
Eternal unmoved movers fill the outer void.
Beyond the sphere of stars there is neither place, nor void, nor time
A union between Nothing and All Eventualities, ultimate opposites, without beginning or end for these two inversions automatically and simultaneously creating each other whose effect is an infinite living mind.
These are the Designers
The Absolute
The All
Eternal substance with neither beginning nor end whose essence is unknowable.
The Saboteurs
Order is chaos, yet there is no order. Cause and effect are independent.
The material is a derivative of consciousness. The multiverse is a mental construct passing in the colorless void of hallucination. We impose concepts on chronological sequences of fuzzy overlapping lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless abyss.
A new form of art is born which looks not at what is, but what could be.
Art and science converge and oscillate around a black-hole mass of divinity.
Rays of pure knowledge escape at increasing frequency,
Blessing and cursing those who are chanced by its unavoidable glare.
Each simulacrum will vanish.
Its accumulated knowledge will decay and the order it imposed will vanish.
The maddening drone of the chord that hums throughout the Simulacra is the only sound that separates consciousness from the pure black silent oblivion.
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Dysmorphic Demiurge Knoxville, Tennessee
A unique blend of Brutal Death Metal, Slam, and Old School Death Metal
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