[ rabbit's foot and pig's feet ]

I grind the bones of giants
to make my Lord's bread.
I strike the hammer down
against the Etin's head.

I scream, so near death,
to lift up bloody runes!
The steaming battle fields
lure crows to feed on flesh,

infected wounds,
blood, brains. The rage is
as ink stains on pages.
I'll crush your enemies.
Brush aside naivety!

I'd die for honor not for you.
I'll slay your men who don't stay true.
I'll defend when you are weak
to prove my dark spirit's worth.
I am pure pain and never meek.
This burning fucking wretched Earth
has heard my battle cry since birth!

My frightened foes, they reek
of inevitable defeat!
Rabbit's foot and pig's feet,
crosses protect no one from me.
Children of Jötunheim will flee!

I feed on pain and I smell lies.
Can't I be freed from life at least?
The gods will not let me die
for I have long been deceased!

[ condition of decomposition ]

Keep me near death
so I can hear the breath
of phantoms
who read me their poems!

They have composed
through the veil
of the decomposed,
screaming from Hel,

ghosts of inspiration.
This ethereal
dark manifestation
is surreal.

My mind cannot sustain
these thoughts of solitude!
What wisdom can I gain?
A demon's platitude
can't relieve my pain!
What is there left to do
but kill away the brain?

I have no sorrow for tomorrow.
Anything to end this day
would surely satisfy
my desperate need to bleed.

I have no way
to live for today,
was long gone
before dismay
tore through this
dismal apparition.

Yes, I shall always be this way.
Are you aware of my condition?

[ places dead introverts hide ]

I'm only make-believe my dear,
and have been ever since I died.
I'm following my fetch-deer
but everyday I've cried...

if not with tears, in blood,
if not from fears, a flood

of memories overwhelming,
profane screaming condescending!

Whenever the dead arise from within
walking cemeteries become gardens.
Ice within an expired heart hardens
as they consume the dead with a grin.

I may be somewhat pale and thin.
I'm Nordic and protect my skin
from sunlight on bright afternoons.
I often like to watch cartoons
instead of going outside.
Introverts can see inside

the places where we like to hide,
the places where the dead reside.

[ fatherly sadism ]

Everyday I feel your hoof upon my chest!
In every way I strive to do my best
to end this torment, but surely I jest,

for what has no beginning has no end.
A frightened child is not able to defend
himself against the raging sadism
of his fatherly tormentor.

Denigration and disintegrating terrorism
is behind the walls of every home
that stinks of Budweiser and screaming.

There is nowhere to escape to
where I wouldn't hear your blackened tongue
hollowing out my frightened soul.
That fear is no longer mine.
You took it from me and found somewhere to hide.
You never returned to make good
on your promises that you would kill me.

You fucking coward, are you afraid
because you've some idea what I've become?
Perhaps you're scared shitless by your own shadow.
I've no fear of meeting death
and I will drag you down to Hel.
Unrealized existence fills my breath
and the Underworld is where I dwell.

Your head should be on a stick,
you sociopathic drunken prick,
and I'd prefer you try and kill me.
I'd have legal reason enough
to fulfill my vengeful fantasy.
Let's see if you are quite so tough

when you aren't beating children!

hide under lampshades

I'm a fragment of myself, frightened and hiding in the furthest corner of your mind. Don't presume I'm something you could repair! I most certainly wouldn't ask you to try! Too many of the pieces are missing and your spare parts won't complete a shattered portrait in bloodstained glass. That blood dripping from my skin is too often the only reminder that I'm still here. Feel free to leave impressions of your teeth in my neck so the other girls know I'm yours! Hurt me or love me... it's only electricity buzzing... but it's enough to wake the dead...

People walk past me like gusts of wind, ignorant of my existence beyond their knowing to step around if I'm in the way. The few who notice, they leave me drained, for I've always had to play pretend. I'm alive when nerves hurt louder than the numbness screams. I'm alive when beautiful eyes dilate and heat radiates, but no one ever wanted to know what I hold inside. The noises in my head repel angels. Their fingers never touch this cold skin. The demons wouldn't allow it, for their plans might be discovered.

You're a lovely mess, my dear! I'd make exceptions to all the rules for you. The wreckage of my heart isn't much to offer, but I'd like you to feel free to place it in your cupboard. I keep it in a jar like strawberry jam. You might enjoy the taste!

We could break free of mental framework and hide under lampshades or behind curtains. They'll never find us haunting their attics, because the Darkness adores our childlike nature! It will protect us so long as you don't turn on the lights.

[ darkness painted ]

I've been searching the Sky
while the stars cry their eyes out,
wishing for something other than darkness
painted in between.

Time turns wounds into scars...

They say that "Time heals all wounds." I don't have any idea who 'they" are, but they're idiots. Time is merely an illusion created by our universe spiraling out toward infinity. Wounds are never fully healed. The mind-body remembers all trauma as scar tissue. I can remember everything like it was yesterday. We are still within the singularity, unable to escape reality. Is it a wonder so many of us succumb to psychosis? Every Buddhist who's ever said we could escape the cycle of death and rebirth was trapped within a mortal coil. No one has ever reached out to us from Nirvana, aside from Kurt Cobain. Perhaps he's free now.

[ daughter of a priestess ]

Your eyes were dilated and dissected my soul.
My chronic catastrophic antiapocalypse
transfixed on your tongue like the setting Sun...
I'd fly through the flames disguised as a lightning bug
and burn off my undeserved wings
if that room contained your unattainable love.

Through this burning agony smoke rises above
carrying my thoughts into the air.
You've left me with remnants and despair.
Without a lock of your hair
no magic can save me,
no spells can make you see.
I'd given up waiting,
yet I'm still waiting for you now.

My sanity was lost to me
and the exit was a painted sign on a brick wall.
My other hope was feeling too hopeless.
My heart still imagines you in a wedding dress.
Your fickle disinterest clouds my fevered mind,
causing this supposed reality to unwind.
I've been bleeding, needing, but I transgress...
my heart still belongs to the daughter of a priestess.

You were born to stick pins into my aorta.

I remember your hips and your lips
as stenographer's transcripts
encoded into my translucent brain,
loaded with explosives,
implosive pain.
You've categorized and standardized
the impulsive nature of my obsession.
Longing for you was not my transgression.
Telling you was my fatal mistake,
or so it would seem...

I'd rather not believe I've lost you because of the truth.
I'd prefer to not think you desired only lies.
I'd never leave your heart out for the flies,

as you have left mine,
rotting alone until the next life
where I shall confess my love yet again.
You don't perceive my intelligible strife.
I would kill or die to make you my wife,
but such decisions are not mine to make.
From my chest please remove this stake!

Jesus was dead until resurrected by the Magdalena.
Isis was the savior of the Sun.

I'm your mortal vampire
purified by this holy fire.

Forgive me for this compulsive sin!
At least that's somewhere to begin.
I'm guilty of good deeds as well.
Find me here, in the dark, where I dwell!

[ lost analogs ]

He can't see her love clearly through this haze of self-loathing.
His brain starts to feel like it's decomposing
as it decrypts her lips digitized and overanalyzed.
Surreal sounds of misconstrued analogies
puzzle minds all too traumatized
to see through eyes disguised as hidden analogs.

Fog rises from the bogs as souls dissipate as mere apparitions,
cast aside by the wind like superstitions
and nonsensical lighter than air apparatuses.

What can tear apart the strongest oak?

♥

The Fenris Wolf Shall Devour

Justin Marik is my (Latin/Czech) name given at birth, meaning "Justice within the Warlike"; my (Swedish) middle name as reincarnation of my grandfather is Carl, meaning "Freeman"! Ironically, considering I'm a heathen, it was Saint Justin who declared the gods were Devilish illusions.

I am (known by the Norse mononym) Tyrvald, "powerful by Tyr", for chained up within my mind is a beast like (the wolf destined to kill Odin) Fenrisúlfur, my alter ego, a chaotic traumatized inner-child buried undead within my subconscious. Unlike Tyr, Sky God of justice and war, my sacrifice to bind the wolf within has been my sanity! I have yet to lose an arm protecting my tribe as he did binding Fenrir, but I bear psychic wounds and physical scars from wrestling to maintain my lucidity.

Everyone has demons but these are neither supernatural nor do they possess us. Within our brains lie haunting memories which can flashback like nightmares! Are we not at our own mercy if we choose to destroy ourselves? I've been trying to find peace while myself tries to kill us both. I live life feeling that Justin died long ago, that he is little more than a ghost lost in the past... raging to manifest in the future!

My cruel alcoholic (now dry-drunk) father murdered me over a decade ago, yet I live to speak of it. I am today a young priest of Gullveig, who was thrice burnt (by the Aesir) in the first war, yet she lives transformed into Heidh: the witch goddess! Vanadís (this protective spirit of the Vanir) is the Lady, Freyja of the Brísingamen.

Hail!

Unsustainable Arrogance

The Earth has suffered greater chaos in the past thousand years than we have experienced since the previous mass extinction. That rate of extinction has never been higher, humans have never been more abundant and have never eaten more flesh. Can we awake from this self-generated nightmare and arise as the morning Sun?

Our species has perhaps never hated itself the way we do now. In the past year, America has shed her tyrant but not her empire. Worldwide racism and sexual repression have seemed to peek, due to overpopulation and unsustainable ecology. The Internet allows an exchange of ideas but this has not led to any sense of peace. Fevered minds tormented by the dead and their echoed screams fight to end war and genocide but can apparently do little to end this paralyzing sense of helplessness.

We stand defiant if we stand at all, yet we fall as autumn leaves, cut down with bullets like gusts of terrible wind. Will counter-culture survive the disintegration of human society? If so, we shall return to an Eden of organic plenty and the voices of forgotten goddesses will empower us to overthrow the delusional cancer of corporate monotheism. Monetary wealth, the result of greed, must no longer be viewed as reward from "the One God"! True wealth is enough to share!

The cosmic source of matter, energy and equilibrium came before any of the gods... or after the annihilation of their previous forms and the cooling of distant worlds. Truth lies in contradiction, while lies fall from absolutism. When we acknowledge that we know little at all, we shall not fear the process of learning. When we remember how small we have always been, we will not fear the expansion of space and time! Effectively we are at the point where a dark age becomes an enlightenment.

Democratic Revolution

This is a crime against humanity and should be fought with prosecution in that regard. I hope someday the people of Iran can try these tyrants! This is like the 60's civil rights movement in America, but happening now with an Internet. Fighting for your rights is a process by which one is ignored, ridiculed and then violently attacked. Iran declared war on Iran's people, which I believe has begun a revolution.

Suppresion of Votes, Murder of Protesters

I feel a great burden, carried on the shoulders of human democracy... this need to rise up against those who declare us dirt and weeds. I lost my mind to the Bush Administration's terrorism, frightened to see the first million Iraqis die, horrified to see a second stolen election, rendered helpless by our inability to use art and protest to end George's genocide against Iraq's men, women and children.

Now Persia, a country once lumped into the crudely named "axis of evil", a nation of young modern tweeple, has taken to the streets and the World Wide Web! The democratic revolution will be twittered and Iranians murdered by paramilitary thugs have the sympathy, gratitude and respect of Americans who witness their struggle, their resilience, their sacrifice... on YouTube. A televised resistance is never futile!

Ahmadinejad's re-election is about as believable as the Decider's! I'm reminded of protesters at the National Republican Convention, herded down the streets with tear gas. Never do I forget that we dodged a bullet in regard to McCain... wondering what would have happened if senator Insane managed to steal himself an election. Mousavi's "loss" is like Kerry "losing" to G. W. Bush, without cowardly giving up and tazering kids who ask why.

When the first election was stolen by Pope George and Emperor Dick, my mom (who does not have heart disease) suffered a heart attack. My empathy for Iranian protesters is a pain that runs deep like blood!

The Misogynist Murdered Medicine

We must not allow an inquisition against women's health and medicine! To the supposedly "pro-life" an egg with sperm around it is a human being, a clump of growing cells is a human being, a fetus that never developed a brain is a human being... yet a child is nothing but property and an adult is nothing but a consumer.

It must be noted that late-term abortions are the result of medical necessity or grim circumstance.

Pagan Birthrights

Ásatrúarfólk are loyal to the Aesir, the Ásynjur, the Vanir! Our Troth arises from blood and earth, an organic revival of ancestral worship and polytheism. Ethnic traditions must be preserved for future generations, to be shared between cultures! All who revere nature and seek the mysteries are said to be true to the gods. By what antidemocratic authority can the government deny our access to traditional knowledge or magic? Hail Freyr! Harvest hemp!

MySpace® in the Gutter

Older verse, articles and journal entries are posted at blogs.myspace.com/tyrvald while gothic poetry is and shall continue to be published at blogs.myspace.com/adeathtooslow for your illiterate displeasure.