Before Man can love His stars, He must love himself.

I am a seeker of the grail of gnosis,
I have found it deep within, and raised it high above the void.
I am an initiate of Apotheosis,
my light shall emanate without, scorching the world with excellence.

I have opened up the gates of hell,
I have faced the wrath of Choronzon, and kept my mind whole.
I fear not the tolling of the bell,
for my destiny is clear, to seize the immortality of the soul.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

I walked upon and across the waters,
to a chapel on the stormy sea.

Inside there was an altar of gold,
and a peculiar effigy.

My eyes beheld it's white marble face,
my mind paid homage to it's maker.

And when I finally turned my gaze,
I spied the hermit undertaker.

I asked him: "Who's effigy is that?"
He pointed to the Greek word for God.

"He, the almighty?" I enquired,
the hermit gave me a deathly nod.

I turned from him to the statuette,
But what I saw surely couldn't be.

For as I peered with widened eyes,
I saw that the figure there was me.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

Transmute from lead to gold this crooked soul.
Memories of times old create the whole.
I am unashamed to stand before God.
My spirit naked, covered with dirt and sod.

You did this to me yet I rolled the dice.
Forgot to check the trap - my fatal vice.
Dabbled with the darkened void in your heart.
Should have known it was rotten from the start.

Betrayal makes for a more grounded man.
Locking his emotions into a sealed can.
So I raise my head in bold defiance.
And slay that "God" with cynical science.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

My hands around your heart,
grip ceasing pulsation,
dying sconce, ember fades.

Convulsion, revulsion,
pathetic emotive,
response contradiction.

Electrically impulsive
transmission flat lines addiction,
and radiates into ether.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

Behold the lotus unfolding,
rising, steadily ascending.
Feel the fires burn,
as the "elite" are cast into the flames.
Children of the Sun, unity,
circling round, sweet eternity.
Feel the fires burn,
as the "elite" are cast into the flames.
Shed the dream for something better,
now we all know that truth matters.
Feel the fires burn,
as the "elite" are cast into the flames.
Paradise has come at long last,
Satan is done, his kingdom passed.
Feel the fires burn,
as the "elite" are cast into the flames.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

Oh Madness is a lonely child,
from whom the many run away,
the odd thing is - when we are wild;
it is the one with whom we play.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

I sit upon an tall bar stool and watch them play.

The air is humid and full of mosquitoes.

One falls into my cocktail and writhes about in what I like to think is terror. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.

Though its all too easy to think that.

My eyes and attention stray from those I had been previously observing. Drawn to the glass as though it were a beacon.

"Hello little guy." I whisper into my glass. "Want me to help you?"

I laugh quietly to myself for a moment, then down the contents. "A new page tonight?" I ask myself mockingly.

Smoke is billowing into the dimming sky. It is far away, but almost perceptible to my nostrils.

I wonder: is anyone burning? Perhaps a once happy family. Too far away for me to help anyhow. Even though the desire is there.

Hopefully it works out how I hope it will.

I regress with closed eyes back to the day a relation brought home a retriever puppy. Remembering how I had kicked it like one would a football to make it stop crying.

Such bad behaviour. Deserving a beating that. Its a shame my relative was such a soft-hearted one. More punishment would have been deserved.

My eyes open and dart back to the place I was watching before. I notice they're gone.

Playing a childish game near the poolside. One falls into the pool and splashes about furiously. No one is around to help it.

I stand up and walk over.

A look of terror, perhaps hope, appears on its face as it looks up at me. I know better of course.

Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.

After all,
The mosquito,
Fire,
Dog...

It all just depends on personal perspective.

Above the scarlet oceans,
above the crimson sands,
I stand high upon divinity,
and witness the fate of tortured lands.

Fires burning to the West,
heaped bodies to the East,
cities fall like crumbling cancers,
the work of Man, a savage beast.

Beauty gone from Paradise,
the survivors live in squalor,
ashen forests smoulder,
as I peer upon this horror.

My glassy eyes survey the ruins,
of a town I used to know,
many bloated, torn, familiar faces,
what have they left to show?

"Lucifer where have you gone?
This is our time of need."
I ask you this but all you say is:
"When I warned you would not heed."


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.

I have walked a thousand deserts. I have swam so many lakes. I have died in countless fires on a reel of ever blurring takes.

I have woken from a thousand dreams. And cried so many tears. I have kept on searching for my love throughout a million grief filled years.

I have been told that Truth sets free. But for it I have seen many good folk hung. And oft have sighed at a new war, that same old butcherer of the young.

Yet seldom have I been at peace. And only once did I give my heart away. For an oath, sworn in my troubled start, has caused the ghost of Hope to stay.

I walk the path alone. Though I am never without company. For the wind and trees sing lullabies; lulling me into a sleepwalk-stupor.
The rain caresses my face like a kind lover. Making everything seem...
But the way is dark and I regret to realise that I cannot see beyond the skeletal frames of those dark boughs. Oh how they whistle mercies unto me, my sweetly singing entourage of thornéd ghouls.
Come, oh stifling Death. You whose omnipresence disturbs my skin and forces it to crawl deeper into the shadows.
Leave me, oh pain. You who I alone have elected my captor. Do not bind me with your mordant roots. Roots nourishing my doubt and uncertainty, indeed utter disbelief in that supposed truth - salvation.
"God save me, guide my steps." I cry aloud this pathetic plea, and then wind answers me; that immaterial half, so quiet - whispers:
"There is no God where you are".

Some are shrill and some whiny,
Some are deep and hoarse or smarmy.

Some sing, and others scream,
Some are lazy, some are keen.

Some are there to comfort and to reassure. Or there to ridicule and to exacerbate an emotional sore.

Mine are, mostly, the latter type.