Deathspell Omega
Fas - Ite, Maledicti, in Ignem Aeternum
1. Obombration
Hagios Ho Theos, Sanctus Deus,
Hagios Ischyros, Sanctus Fortis.
Deus, Judica Me...
Ut Quid, Domine, Recessisti Longe?
Judica Me... Perinde ac cadaver...
2. The Shrine Of Mad Laughter
God of terror, very low dost thou bring us, very low hast thou brought us
A sensation of everlasting rot and those frantic wails, no, it is not a fall into
the abyss, the defiance of descent, a coronation beyond liberty and slavery;
the cry of woe and deliverance exudes a flame, evasive as sound and ether:
an instant of collusion with death, without hope nor prospect, yet it is a
world below and above and in all eternity, a gift of fever, the wind of death
that sustains the life in me, yes, the lightness of hovering in permanent
anguish; i dared to borrow those words, to articulate them and to savour
their turpitude, as i beheld the shrine of mad laughter.
The limit is crossed with a weary horror: hope seemed a respect which
fatigue grants to the necessity of the world
As if Death was dashed onto the death within, a violent thrust stealing the
light of the eyes, a ray of darkness, a negation, the bread of bitterness that
ignites neither devotion nor fervour; resplendent nothingness! make all
things appear with clarity, ruined in the flame of repudiation, in the flame
of God! Interwoven joy and confusion, a stabbing confusion, asphyxiation
from within, yet i gained this certitude: malediction, degradation, sown in
me like seeds, now I belonged to my flesh; I belonged to death, in harbouring
a desire for the hideous, I was beckoning to death. Insatiable combustion,
expand, this body is thy vessel of grace!
The idea of God is pale next to that of perdition, but of this i could have no
inkling in advance
3. Bread Of Bitterness
From a supplication without response, the essence of man, his ground
giving way, comes illumination by a sun of great evil that sets aflame the
inner core and enthrones suffocation and the intolerable without respite as
the joyful reward for a million aborted truths, this silence that among all
man has charged with sacred horror, it becomes sovereign, in repugnant
nativity, and detaches itself from the bonds which paralyse a vertiginous
movement towards the void.
Breathless ecstatic experience,
it opens the horizon a bit more,
this wound of God;
it is the assassination of the abyss of possibilities, the depths of being left to holy vultures.
Such monstrous impurity, and this incessant piety, no less revolting, cried
out to heaven and they bore an affinity to God, inasmuch as only utter darkness can be likened to light
4. The Repellent Scars Of Abandon And Election
The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance
with the angels of innocence amidst thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of
a divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear
hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales
besides the cry this shattering truth wrests from all fellow men, there is
more to it than suffering and sounds of suffering, it is a process that only
the extinction of a divine soul could terminate. The eye can outstare neither
the sun, nor death... if i sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of
temptation.
The idea of Salvation comes, i believe, from one whom suffering breaks
apart. He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed
on the path towards the rupture.
Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without
degradation, without sin,- is it no burden to bear the repellent scars of
abandon, of election?- it leaves but a state of supplication and deserted
expanses, an absorption into despair. The existence of things cannot enclose
the death which it brings to me; the existence is itself projected into my
death, and it is my death which encloses it. Am I deranged? Over and above
quietism! Nurtured by the multitude of man's misfortune, a thousand halos
like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitfalls of brimstone
and the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter...
I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. I invoked it and blessed it.
I progressed ever further into vileness and degradation. Am i resurging,
intact, out of infamy?
5. A Chore For The Lost
An exhausted fall into disgrace, famished for peace, for a mere moment
of respite in dying eternities, on the verge of being deprived of all
humanity: non-sense is the outcome of every possible sense, it is the start of
transcendence, the dissolution that spreads without limits and the critical
violation; what pleasure of inconceivable purity there is in being an object
of abhorrence for the sole being to whom destiny links my life! The rupture
is too profound to stand up, nothing remains but a terrified consolation in
a laughable renunciation that is not the one of a single man, thou art not
dead to the devoration of sin!
Every human being not going to the extreme limit is the servant or the
enemy of man and the accomplice of a nameless obscenity.
Let us be a blight on the orchard, on all orchards of this world, even the
least of these words will be judged during the times of reckoning, bearing
a latent damnation, a feverish seduction exasperated in death, every letter
is a code to extreme horror, utter contempt and divine conflict; it is a lethal
to speak the language of resistance, every gasp exhales a particle of the
remission of Golgotha, as if the blazing Logos demanded the exercise of the
fragile power just above the annihilation, the one of a harmony in ruins; it is a
task for a man who cannot bear any longer to be, a chore for the lost in the
denial of free will: perinde ac cadaver!
Le vent de la Vérité a répondu comme une gifle à la joue tendue de la piété
God of terror, very low dost thou bring us, very low hast thou brought us...
6. Obombration
Deus, Judica Me
...et Factus est sudor eius sicut guttae sanguinis decurrentis in Terram...
Domine, in pulverem mortis deduxisti me
PERINDE AC CADAVER!
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