Wednesday, 7 June 2017

Southern skies

As ever, we have lost some blossoms to the snow. The Allman brer's are together again, and Ian's ashes, like pollen, will settle on Saddleworth moor.

Thanks to Magreb for gathering and asking some meaningful questions, then editing and illuminating my garbled responses. This can be found at:

 Miss Emily's Tiki bar, Y'all...


A new track, celebrating redness by the forger is on, entitled 'lake of burning pitch', and there are also t shirts, in a variety of psychedelic distress, in the merch section:

Friday, 14 April 2017

Lord of the crossroads

 light years ago they nailed a jewish prophet to a cross
the cross is a crossroads, a gateway
the interstices of spirit and matter, whether straight up or slantwise, something enters (jackal, anubis is the enterer) something alien entered the human lifewave at golgotha, at which point I further submit; the 'holy ghost' is the wholly other, a spirit every which way as inhuman as our dark god.

Pendas fen: Defend this land, walk this land. Elgar walked the hills at Settle, in Pendas Fen he says he returns, haunts, to see the light on water, broken in rills and trills as it falls on stream river and brook. When Heathcliff has gone beyond, they both return to haunt the moors they have loved, like Elgar, Emily, WB, we will return, for nowhere in this arrangement of whirling atoms is there any spectacle for me, as lovely as light on this english water.

the goldskull/ghede was glyphed by our frere/frater/brother Romain 'vomir' Perrot, and inked in by Mb...

Thursday, 16 March 2017

Ikons falling from the spires

More live photos at
our huge heartfelt thanks to Alexey and Sofia, Gael, Phurpa, Philip (Sound!) and all who attended what was our best show in forever...
And an appreciation to the patriarchs and saints of the gold clad holy russian orthodox church who have knelt and crawled and prayed on the hard road of bitter redemption, where when you least expect it you may be borne up in the arms of winged angels to find yourself dizzyingly suspended over inverted churches and squares to ring like unhinged cracked and true church bells swinging in an empty sky of purest azure, Amen.

Friday, 24 February 2017

Gondal, Dragons Lair Abyss...

If I might briefly address the lack of change in our music:
drama or interest is a product of attention
a wall of flaking plaster is a blank wall and a fairy land of rotting mountain ranges and chasms also.
our music is for meditation, (and "y'gotta meditate as the maharishi says...." (Bob 'the bear' Hite) )
for a very attentive inatention, a letting go, whilst maintaining a general directed mood
(I think here of stalking, our music moooves with a sorcerous gait)
Now, Emily Bronte, on the subject of leaving the body, astral projection in the mauve zone:

I'm happiest when most away
I can bear my soul from its home of clay,
On a windy night, when the moon is bright
and my eye can wander through worlds of light-

When I am Not and none beside-
Nor earth, nor sea, nor cloudless sky -
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.

January was marked by the arrival of Voudon Maistre Michael Bertiaux's 'Ontological Graffiti' a sumptious gnostic feastwerke of oracles and paintings, maps and graffiti. One should never dip, but, a first fateful dipping shewed: "What has happened in the 19th century can happen again in your circle, bring it into the present as you feel it, receiving it humbly, as past treasures."
Precisely: Brujo is Keeper. The Moors are the same (despite the New Estates) and the Dragon-Lands exist alongside, and superimposed on the moors, castles, oceans and wastes of Gondal (and Oz and Glandenia and Westeros)

'Dragons Lair Abyss' is the new 'e.p' of three transmissions from the floating worlds, featuring the first six string contribution from my esteemed brother, Philip, since 'morning dew' on 1995's 'transformer', and particuarly bruitiste violin from Silkie on the finale, 'Pillar of cloud, Pillar of fire'.