Hierophany of the Open Grave

Om, throttle, throttle, stand, stand, bind, bind, slay, slay, burn, burn, bellow, bellow, blast, blast, Om, throttle, throttle, stand, stand, bind, bind, slay, slay, burn, burn, bellow, bellow, blast, blast Om, throttle, throttle, stand, stand, bind, bind, slay, slay, burn, burn, bellow, bellow, blast, blast We are as neophytes within the hoary temple of the dead, the contemplators of all states of loathsomeness. We dance with the denizens of the charnel ground in the glow of the funeral pyre beneath the black arch of desolate night. We are the skull-bearers who would dare to sound the thigh-bone trumpets to call forth our murdering shadows. May their darkness eat at our flesh and thresh the profane body from subtle bones. We are the consumers and we are the consumed. We offer the horrid oblations of our skin. We offer the dread libations of the blood of our hearts. We sate Death‟s shadow, that which ever hungers. We call forth unclean eidolons. Husks of self. Come ye forth from dens of inner depravation. As we swirl in maddening frenzy through the midnight marshes to awake them in their ravenous and desperate hunger. Our horns beseech the very Lord of Death to drive his trident through the three chambers of our existence. In throws of ecstatic death we rend the fabric of the world. To gaze with a fixed serpent iris into the darkness that is beyond darkness. Oh Devi, without knowledge of thy power liberation is mere mockery! Oh Devi-L, without knowledge of thy power liberation is mere mockery! Speech of the Slaying Tongue. Black breath of fire. Burning wind of my mouth. Raising shadow from pyre. My self-murdering darkness. Oh, famished ones come. Heed the winds of dread will. Hear the call of my tongue. Fire as breathe I utter my end. Bringing shadows of death to gnash and to rend!

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025

Inexorable Death! Thine eminence above man is the very countenance of the Devil. I would make an altar of thine aspect. I would speak thy true name with an act of silence. I would come to be before thee by way of stillness and the Serpent eye, that I might know baptism within thy waters. Death is thy name, yet I name thee God, for there is no other. To thee I give my body like fodder to the grave and offer breath that hath become as the Serpent‟s hiss. I exhale from my mouth the flame of an inner fire, the greater “I” becoming, and let my husk be filled with the wine of the abyss. I am the child of death and dreams who passes beyond death and dreams. Consummation with thy essence, I shall consume mine own death until I hath become the conqueror of death, the Eater of the Black Lead. I am the lampadiphor within the hidden chambers shinning with profound darkness. I am within Death and Death is within me.

Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 26, 2025

Psychagogoi Gooi - I am the threne singer - Psychagogoi Gooi - whose song rouses death. Psychagogoi Gooi - All gnosis is learned - Psychagogoi Gooi - by the grave. Psychagogoi Gooi – I am the voice - Psychagogoi Gooi - of the tomb. Psychagogoi Gooi - Lament priest. Psychagogoi Gooi. Hermit of darkness I am the threne singer whose song rouses Death from shadows. She partakes in my revere, and joins with me in cantor and in verse. For I am her muse, the sojourner of tomb incubation. Swathed in grave soil, ash and the shifting shadows of dusk. I wail my threnody with the sepulchral tongue of goetia, and open the gates of twilight to bare the tunnels of Night. It is here that in hymn I proclaim myself Death‟s neophyte and brave a black ocean that knows no shores. I am the dirge harpist whose song brings Death into my heart. She partakes of my flesh and joins with me in the stilling of the breath. For she is my gate the black ship upon the shore of my ascension.

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025

Woe unto ye who aspire not unto the magistry of Death! Ye are as food for the gods. Behold the Great Opposer, thou who art as Death! Oh that I may become at one with mine „otherness‟ of being. I seek the smagdarine crown jewel of the victorious conqueror of Eden, Lucifer Trismegistus, Janus-faced daimon. Thou who gazeth upon the Dark Abyss of Silence, Vast Depth of Nothingness, Great Void of Light beyond Light. Oh Highest One, Great Devourer, Universal Solvent, may I become at one with Thee! Bring forth the Flame that cracks the clay and tears the soul to unite the deathless spirit with Death itself. Illuminate me with a scourge of burning cinders that strikes me with the causeless liberty of Thine unfathomable fantasy. The draconian perfection born from thy boundless rebellion. Yea, the Lie that speaks the Truth! For to enter Thine steeping gulf is to rise unto and usurp the Throne of the highest. So may the inverted star that is Thine reflection boil my eyes until formless vision is given, oh ye dazzling burner of shades and extinguisher of the fallen sparks. Godless God, Traceless pilgrim of the Abyss, Nimbus of subterranean suns – Guide me to Thy bottomless peaks!

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 26, 2025

Death be my hierophant! Lay bare the paths to the precipice. I would endure the torment of black Eden‟s thorn strewn paths of ingress. I would bask in the shadow of the Tree of Death and pluck such terrible fruits from its vines to taste of their soma. I seek entrance to the Death-Mother‟s womb. I am compelled towards her chasm which entraps and destroys all light and forms. Oh matron of the aphotic and primordial night! Thou art manifest and un-manifest, point of paradox. Thou art the darkness of empty sky and the glutinous hollows of the earth, bloated with corpses and slaked on blood-seed. I would enter with thee into fatal copulations. In wrath, pray you scourge my flesh and burn your gnosis upon my heart until my heart is naught but flame. Black Illuminatrix! May I shine with brilliance within your darkness, from which my own shadow may arise, cast across your form, a shadow that might endure in the absence of the radiant moment of its own becoming. I desire to be washed within the streams of the counter-current, within the provenance that heaves with the dispersion of forms. To drink of the lentor of this chasm is to drink the libation of the Devil‟s grail, for to sate ones thirst from this cup is to gain the burning pathway that trespasses beyond the binding circle of all eminences of an other. Only then may one upraise one‟s hands towards the image of the Great Opposer and pass through the mirror to become one with the reflection that hath become one‟s own, one‟s absolute divinity.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

Oh merciless Titan! I direct my vision upon Thy terrible glare, that our sight may conjoin as one. For I have crawled out from the wombgrave of silent serenity, rested my burning tongue in the cold waters of oblivion and placed a skull atop the staff of my ascension. Cloaked in starless night have I journeyed upon the mare of shadow, across mountains made of childrens' bones unto the saturnian springs where I washed the face off my soul. Soundless there, I plunged my sword into the knot of existence. With eyes covered in salt I beheld the Angel of smokeless fire, singing wordless hymns through the chthonian winds, piercing his voice through my chest, void of heart, to awaken the pole unto which all iniquity is drawn. Pulsating with death-like vigor, I there was crowned upon a tomb crowded with the glimmering reflections upon the lunar lakes. Eye gleaming with ancient terror stolen from the Abysmal sparks that dance above my anointed brow. The Throne of shameless murder be my seat, under which weight even the burden of life is crushed. Devouring the Word of reason to spew it into the bowels of the great Dragon, so that I may become Dumah – The angel of the silence of death, spreading the fourfold wings of solar Darkness across the blind mass called ALL.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025

All hymns are hollow, unheard outside the gate of in-between and unbeknown fall like wounded birds from the heavens back unto the supplicant. Thus I slumber upon the threshold of death and dream the dreams of gods. It is here that I have sung my hymns into the mouths of the dead, that they may not rise but fall down and down through the chambers of slumber and unto the darkness of death‟s ingress. Lamentation and evocations in the same cadence, resounding like the songs of Thessalian witches. And with bones snatched from the maws of ravening dogs I have mocked the cathedral‟s mason, constructing an ill house of darkness mirrored within the birdless lake, a black mansion of dreaming Night. Within these dolente lands where the Incubi abound, I have chased the children of the psalm-singers from cyprus to tomb and jugulated them one by one. In my visions I have spilled the haimakuria within graven trenches dug by my nails from cemetery marle. I would dare to do more. I would will to go further. I would sit opposite the Lord of Slumber, face down turned to gaze upon the cascading abyss. I would hear truths unspoken and un-scribed within silence. I would place death‟s crown upon my head and intone my will in a tongue of stygian threnodies, with cacophonous and mournful wails upon nightmare choruses of dying lepers falling before their graves. I would draw the gaze of my daemon self upon myself that I may murder myself and become my daemon, and move ever closer towards the incalculable totality of the Great Darkness that is the Supreme.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

The perfected will of the sojourner of the serpent‟s path is the will of Lucifer crowned, triumphant. It is the fulgurous diamond resplendent above the crowns of gods. Rapt in the burning catharsis of this enigma, feed all fears and desires to the flames of a rising conflagration of the soul, in a rite of self-immolation, a sacrament of cleansing fire. The flesh is the furnace of sacrifice that bathes the dark of the abyss in brilliant illumination so that one may behold the very face of the Devil who in turn is God, who in turn is “I”, engendered by naught but the radiance of the Absolute. Through the successions of descending chambers, chase the shadow of thy deific self through the sins of innumerable trespasses. Pit thyself against the Black. Let all violations be devoid of revulsion and adoration that they may conquer and seal the quintessence of their elemental forces within the “I”. The evocation and possession of all transgressions, sins and passions is a means to claim the Serpent‟s tongue one‟s own, with which one might proclaim “I am!” in fulmination before all pantheons. The naked will of the perfected sorcerer is the anathema of god, for the nimbus of immutable being engulfs all divinities like a radiant inferno casting a deathly shadow across the face of the world.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025

Thou hermit of Old Night who wadest into the turbulence of the waters un-drowned, who verily enters into death‟s magisterium without fear, thou whose toil is the ineffable work of the abyss that draws forth the all slaying solve, thou art amongst the deathless race of the kingless, beyond the provenance of god. In the light of Lucifer‟s dawn, thy shadow casts long and dim before thee. In the pitch of Noctifer‟s saturnine night thy shadow is the very face of the abyss. Oh vajra-hearted lord enthroned within the silence between the birth and death of every thought, in thronismos within the shadowed temple at the crux of the cruciform! Yet shall the very abyss of thought be wholly illuminated by the gleam from thy morningstar lantern, the fruit plucked from the deepest root. To guide the pandemonion of self unto the scarlet hill of martyrdom, upon the path that even devas are cursed to tread. Thou hast withdrawn the husks of the most bitter seed and the garments from the gods themselves, to reach the hypostasis that is a black pearl dazzling the 7 aeons. Betwixt the hammer and anvil of becoming is thy presence eternal that is in between-ness known as N.O.X. Self-murderer and Self-begetter, with eyes fixed unto the cup of Djemscheed, thou breakest the chains forged by stellar gravity. Oh, the motionless movement of Death! With both the soberness of the Amethyst and the mad Satyr's ecstatic thirst, leap ye forth into the Mandala's center – The Point where sun and moon collide, crushed to lifeless splinters before ancient Night's hollow eye.

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025