Candle light and soul forever. A dream of you and me together: say you believe it. Free your mind of doubt and danger. Be for real, don’t be a stranger: we can achieve it. Illustration: Simone Klimmeck
Here’s your music. Here’s a cryptic/pithy/pun-laden paragraph. Here’s an illustration. Easy enough, maybe, in the normal course of things. But things haven’t felt normal for some time. There’s a loose flapping bit at the corner of reality, and things feel like they’re fraying more every day. Maybe you learn to ignore it, or tether it down with illusions. Maybe you become a flattergeist, letting yourself dissolve. Maybe, for you, this reality doesn’t even exist. When people say the world is ending, whose world do they mean?
This column is a trust exercise between you and I, Reader. I agree to trust that you will find something in my words. You agree to trust my taste, but you also agree to trust that what you are reading is true. You and I have likely never met. It’s more likely we never will. Am I, each Monday, opening myself to you, giving you my thoughts and ideas—or is this merely a character I produce, a narrative dance imagined for the purpose of a scenic backdrop to the sounds you find here? If you knew that it was, would you still agree to be my partner in this false dance, or shall we return to the antiseptic anti-narrative of straightforward music writing?
I know I ask a lot of questions today, Reader. I have more of them than answers. I know as well that these snippets of my brain are hardly precise. They’re clumsy, sometimes, and hurled toward the reader at whim: “Here is the mercurial thought process.” And if you were to say to me “I trust you”, we both know that such a casual oath would mean nothing, whatever the intentions behind it.
I am writing these words as I sit in my kitchen, the bubbling sickness in my throat and lungs extending plagued fingers ever-upward. Each phlegmatic ejaculation makes the shapes of the world caper, seemingly no more real than a bedtime story I might have heard as a child: Once upon a time there was a man.
Here is a gradual acceptance, the emergence of a stronger persona. Here is learning to celebrate life without ignoring the loss that comes with it.
Existence is the trial of carbon—but the sun also rises. In that light, a form of peace may be found.
Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: Simone Klimmeck
As an owner of Teeth, I consider the the best thing about them to be the gifts they provide. You can see for yourself just how strong your Teeth are when you chew, or speak. Teeth are also useful for the following things:
—Hide them away, do not let anyone see what you are blessed with
There are no other uses.
Hands are very very good: these are sexless manifestations of the need to Control. Touch skin on or off an entity, or allow them to guide you into the post-physical transformation. The unceasing stillness of a Hand that Knows its owner ensures that one will never be a slave to permanance, to the negative stillness. A constant flux, a fixation of change that we must master before we can experience the collective Touch: Man, rule thy Thought!
Magickal Teeth do not exist. I have many things to say on this subject. This is forbidden.
If you have a story of Teeth, Hands, or wish to hear more about Magickal Teeth, email me.