Posts Tagged ‘Fantasy’

Do you think the Earth has a gravekeeper?
An elderly man worked to the bone,
Not truly living himself,
A retainer of Father Time,
Caked in mud of prehistory,

Tending to markers of civilisations that have fallen,
The graves of cultures rotting,
Peoples long past,
Traditions preserved in dirt and amber,
Their stories insulated against times decay,

He is a curator of memories,
Propagator of the ways of peoples of eld,
Pyramids and ruins and spires,
Egypt and Inca and Cree,
Among others these graves will not vanish into dust,

Whether lost to famine or conquest,
Plague or assimilation,
Old flames will be kept alive,
Flowers will bloom upon their epitaphs,
For all to remember and learn,

Our gravekeeper digs evermore,
His shovel groans in earnest,
All cultures fall to the grind of time,
All empires collapse,
Our western culture indeed has a grave waiting cleared.

I know of a place,
Supposedly above us all,
A hive of powerful insects,
Within a gothic revival cathedral of the politik,
A nest of invertebrates in fancy suits,
Exoskeletons with party badges,

They titter to each other with slavering mouthparts,
Which service for the poor do they consume next?
Which welfare element to scavenge from?
Arguments made in clicks and buzzing,
Elected and opposition bicker in a childish game,
One that the electorate lose every time,

The hive walls writhe as the swarms debate,
Their original purpose drowned,
Feasted upon by mandibles myriad,
Now the numbers must only rise,
Compound eyes scanning statistic analyses,
Claws rubbing together in hunger,

This infestation is beyond purging,
You voted for this,
This elitist hive of twisted democracy,
Allegiance to the party colony is all to these villains,
The people are simply a source of sustenance,
I fear they too can be the only effective insecticide,

Raise your voices,
Don’t fall prey.

You would not have noticed me,
It’s entirely alright,
I am an essence blessed of mediocrity,
As I extol my virtues and values I am see-through,
I am every shade of grey between lifes colours,
The type one walks by while looking at the sidewalk,

I’m nothing special,
Barely subpar,
Middling at best,
A gemstone found to be fake,
An unnoticed epitaph of a man,
A walking grave of someone with promise,

I write cold tales and impish sonnets,
A doomsayer and miser on a street corner,
You would not have heard of me,
But it’s alright,
I am nobody,
I am nothing.

Hello there inmates!

I hope that you have all been keeping safe and enjoying each day to the fullest. Another week has passed and its been quite an interesting week has it not? The US elected a new president (despite clamours of fraud), the UK has descended into a second lesser lockdown for some reason and my bike had its MOT and full service. It’s been a full one here at the asylum. My posting times have been all over the place I know, but I’m keeping my usual rate up I think. Apologies regardless.

Now on this day, it’s time for the next spurt of the Harlequins writing music! I’ve elected to create one of my single band editions once again. Showcasing a single band that I particularly enjoy and draw inspiration from. Can you guess who it is this time?

Recognise them? It’s alright if you don’t. This is Ghost. One of my favourite ever bands, despite them being a more recent discovery for my part (2-3 yeara ago). They are a metal band from Sweden that formed in 2006. They are known for their eccentric performance style and theatricality. As you can see in that photo, they focus quite a lot on their costumes. They resemble a twisted version of a catholic church group. This is deliberate. Most of their music sounds like a satanic ritual performed through the lense of Black Sabbath or Blue Oyster Cult. They satirise religion quite intentionally, highlighting the absurdity of some of its elements. I’d say some could even find this satire offensive or infantile.

I’m hardly experienced enough in musicality or instrumentation to be able to judge how the music stands up to the greats. But I find it amazing! The vocals are superb as ever. Its easy to head bang to, surprisingly easy to sing along to and also initiate the traditional air guitar move! Yet the lyrics are quite deep or nuanced when looked into. So, enough babbling from this madman, would you like to listen to some? I’ll share my six favourites as I usually do. Let’s get on to it!

So, join me as we delve into the satanic musical minds of Ghost!

Ghost – Ritual

Ghost – Witch Image

Ghost – He Is

Ghost – Year Zero

Ghost – Rats

Ghost – Cirice

So there we have it for our display of the band Ghost!

I hope that you give this band a try. They’re quite unique in my eyes and the singingis really quite grand. I’ll include the link to their website here so you can look into them further. Please do my friends!

So, here’s my usual social media bit! The asylum has a Facebook page, an Instagram account and a twitter accounta twitter account. If you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-fi page. Thanks for everything!

So as always, until next week have a very crazy week inmates!

Among the dank forests of mud and blood,
You catch the scent of cauldron glub,
Ingredients combined in a frenzied hubbub,
Magical energies coalesce in a flood,

Sticks and stones,
And forest animal bones,
Among leather-bound tomes,
Not to mention victims groans,

A hag lives here,
Behind mask fashioned from skull of deer,
And ornery robes of woolen shear,
Many centuries alive has this grey seer,

Dare you not irk her,
Lest you lose all your heads fur,
And see frogs pads where your hands were,
Followed of course by a cold grave inter.

Words fall upon my work,
Daggers of syllables and critical edges,
This deluge of societal pressure grows tiresome,
You must do it this way they proclaim,
Overbearing suits looking down,

They extol rules of grammar and structure,
Scripture of artistic canon,
Why must art follow a blueprint?
Does it follow a routine?
Is it supposed to follow monotony?

I am no revolutionary,
But I write in anarchic tones,
I create as a spirit of chaos,
It is as spraypaint wind,
My stanzas form as they may,

I am no vandal,
You shall never find me looting or pillaging,
But I shall create as I do,
I simply cannot succumb,
There are no rules to my art,

I’m an anarchist.

Aloft I hold this charred skull,
In the parlance of Hamlet,
Mocking the heavens,
Eye to eye,
Ocular to cavity,
Azure to dark void,
A hateful grimace grows across my face,

I feel the desire to interrogate this spectre,
Of inevitability,
Of decay,
Of entropy,
Of black veils and autopsies,
The unwanted rest and ones left behind,
Of an end like a runaway train,

I hate all of it,
I hate you death,
I resent the fires of hell,
And the zephyrs of heaven,
I hate your wielder of the scythe,
I hate that you force this rot upon us,
I hate that this all ends,

In the laconic gloom,
I swear the skull grinned back.

The Scottish highlands are known for beauty,
Indeed it is undeniable,
Even as rain descends,
It simply gives a different light for the hills allure,
A real life portrait coated in dew,
But it once held a nightmare,
A horror story on folkloric wings,

The Bean clan,
A revel of teeth and butchers blades,
Hailing from East Lothian,
Along with his wife Black Agnes Douglas,
A cave became their grisly home,
Siring a family of abhorrents,
The family that kills together dines together,

Their cannibalistic reign ended many,
And their larder held what remained,
Jars of pickled limbs,
Hooks for the leftovers,
Assorted blades for the best cuts,
An incestuous family feasting together,
Blood indistinguishable from saliva,

Ambushing scores of innocents,
Under cover of night,
A prey with plenty of protein,
Enough to claim the ire of a king,
Who descended with militia and hound,
The gallows and stakes wait,
And so ended the tale of Sawney Bean,

We hope.

Look at me,
Gaze upon my singular face,
Hark to this clown,
For it takes a fool to see the truth of things,
A madman to understand the world,
So I daub each colour upon my jesters aspect,

This face of paints,
It shifts like a tumultuous sea,
Replete with vivid corals of all shades,
Prismatic tsunamis as expressions shift,
Yet this mind is more of a circus,
I’m a deranged showman in truth,

I wield these colours instead of emotions,
Each chroma deciphering an aspect of reality,
To shine light on mans vices,
They are my true face,
For it requires lunacy to be totally free,
And insanity is the only truly sane way to exist,

An arbiter of pure chaos,
True art,
A clown to point the crooked way,
I’m the Oldschool Harlequin.

The day has come,
To see an empire fall in real time,
These cracks have been propagating for some time,
Decadence and arrogance have weakened this people,
When are allies are shunned,
Dollars put before livelihoods,
Minorities beaten and shut,
A constitution thrown atop a pyre,

Equality is a hymn forgotten,
Ogres of bigotry and hate prowl each street,
Looking for innocents to dismember,
A flag of red white and blue drips crimson,
To an anthem ringing hollow,
Doomsday cults vote against their own interests,
Your gates of Rome are sundered,
But the barbarians are not without but in your tallest office,

Which ever way the cards fall,
Which ever name the polls screech,
The wounds are already necrotic,
The damage is done,
Measured in respect lost and orphans made,
Scales tipped too far,
The seas rise,
And the foundations of this empire dissipate,

No life jackets will be thrown.