Nightbringer Dreaming Above The Sepulcher
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.
