Sometimes we get sad about things and we don’t like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don’t know why we are sad, so we say we aren’t sad but we really are.
Once I get my passport sorted I’m gonna fuck off for a bit.
I’ve grown bored.
Anyone want to come?
Article about Satan’s poet Glyve Nagel, aka Hank Amarillo, aka Fenriz of Darkthrone! From Isten zine - Playing With Fire
Tha’s heard’t howl ut wolf
Down’t Agbrigg way
Tha knows t’beast in’t wood theer
An up on’t moor, she roams theer an all
Shut thus flep an she’ll not hear thee
Step’d on’t branch, th wolf step’d o’er mardy
Tha’s stark legs move ar’a pace
But tha’s too lame t’beat her
Alone an thee hear’t wolf cry;
Threap an she’ll bite thee no mistake
Thoil thus burden an break fert wood
Through unkerd wood an moor-fog
Laiking bairn in’t wood an thus blood curdles
She’s on’t way tha shout but he’s gut torn
Yer off before his heart stops, beast in’tow
Dassent breathe in nor out and hide by’t rock
Then that old howl and tha drops down dead
Alone again, tha’ll hear’t wolf cry,
Swallowing Bile - Side A
Open your mouth for my piss
it doesn’t taste like malt liquor, does it?
One of the years best