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Sinusoidal syphilitic dead-animal-riddled-with-holes putrescence. The orchard of plague-infested fruit. The ancestral fog of flaccid flesh, gaping apertures in brownish-grey skin, frail chins with their skeletal architecture exposed, generations upon generations of writhing larvae having made entire little hamlets out of these corpse-rot habitations. Lightning. Frost. Scythe. Quicklime. Storms inside tempests inside the incomprehensible. Incomplete transmission. Parasites. Parasites. This portion of the tape is missing. (REDACTED). The dead pantry mouse gives birth to a white maggot through its belly. A soot-black nightmare wearing suspenders fashioned from the flesh of an expired amphibian. Everything has expired. Everything oozes the aftermath. Otherworldly surf-rock. The kind that belongs to leprosy. The kind that is forever hungry. The kind that weeps. Twisted grass snakes come slithering out of my eyeballs (which were punctured some 1,567 years ago). Nibbling on a knee covered in green pustules. I was learning how to die a little more with every passing second. -Sir Kuliktavikt
I - Intro II - Through The Black Gate III - Of Winding Tunnels And Twisted Corridors
