He asked me, “how do you climb a mountain?”

“I don’t understand the question,” I stumbled.

“…from the top,” he replied.

And with that he turned my world upside down.

“Do you reject what I have given you?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then, why in heaven are you doing everything but follow my guidance?”

“Fear of your glory… I’m afraid to see you.”

“You are afraid of love!”

“Yes… I’m afraid it will strip me of my illusions.”

“You are afraid of me…”  He looked down weighted in thought.

“I’m sick with mortality, holding on to my stale delusions and phantoms, a prisoner of myself… Help me!”

“You are a leaf… I’ve already told you the Tree has Fallen Off the Leaves… Now, you are a floating leaf. Burn before you hit the ground!” His eyes were on fire as he spoke.

“…a leaf? A mere leaf?” I whimpered and cowered in my mortal coil…

“Did you ever expect anything else? Now burn before you shrivel up.  Have faith in my gift!”

-Iliad Alexander Terra   w/God speaking through my Conscience…

Fisher King, Cormac McCarthy's arrow symbolism

We’re hunkered down here, trying to fend off darkness.

Yet it encroaches, indomitably, pulling its shroud over our day…

We’re blinded with fear, our God has been crucified, stabbed with a spear, mortally wounded.

Shall we ask him: “What Ails You my King?”

Yet no one ever asks.

And so our Sun bleeds at the edge of the world, a crimson farewell, as he enters the underworld,

And enters stage left the queen of night, dark-veiled and cold…

But…

In the heart of darkness, in the bitter cold, we find revelation scripted in light, the radiant decree of heavens writ with starry bright.

And so we wait for the resurrection of our Sun King, the rebirth of our Corn God, once more, spear in hand, dagger poised, ready to stab him and send him off to his sacrificial journey, yet again.

I will eat of your body, and drink of your blood! I will kill you! I love you so…

Nothing new under the sun,

Nothing but the cycle anew!

Every story is of me and you,

Every story adieu…

-IAT

Find the arrow on The Road

I’ve taken the liberty to grab some pictures from Hutch and Sarah’s  snapshots from the Ash film set on Sunday, October the 4^th.

We had such wonderful time, and we especially enjoyed interacting with Striker, …what gentle tender souls are serpents… and how brutal does the Patriarch seem at times…

I wonder, oh do I wonder, what travesty did Peter wrought upon Christendom, and the distortion that imprisons our perception…

So indeed it’s time to forgive the Serpent, take a bite of the hidden “Apple”, and face fates’ fury steadfastly with eyes on fire…

-Iliad Alexander Terra

He was fast asleep as I kissed him on his warm forehead, filled with faraway dreams in distant lands.

I grabbed the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum and stepped out in the gray morning drizzle…

By mid morning the sun had come out in full glory, burning off the humid air in fields of rising mist across the grasslands and asphalt.

In the distance the perfume of a roasting hog, mixed with that of moist clay and pungent decaying weeds, wafted through the branches in rivulet wisps of blue-gray smoke, rendering the palate wholly of earth’s final texture.

The clouds with their cascades of towering cumulus plume-castles were barely discernible through the haze, drifting slowly, looking down on our futile mortal struggle.

He loaded the revolver, his eyes glinting darkly with anticipation.

I fired.

The report of exploding gunpowder echoed sharply through the damp air, ricocheting, cutting the haze.

We smiled.  The line had been crossed…

Later, we chanced upon an enchanted stupa and watched iridescent turquoise dragonflies inscribe the air.  We traced their diaphanous dissolving language while sitting zazen…

-Iliad Alexander Terra

a fanciful map created by Kc4 and modified by me, but you fill in the blanks...

Well, we’ve been telling you,

Hinting, winking, even hoodwinking you…

Don’t tell a lie, we’ve been preparing you, we the lunatic fringe, the insane outcasts of your polished world, we have been telling you…

The world, if you want to call it that, for it is not more than a superfluous rash, is about to flare up into a nasty and fatally-flawed-yet-irrelevant-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things hemorrhoid in the summer heat…  Only the fire guardians will keep the beat.

Iran has been fomented into the much anticipated NWO campaign of consolidation…  Summer of hell is about to hit the fan!  so buckle up…

This will be a bumpy ride, but don’t complain that we haven’t been telling you!

Pissing Pieces of Peace with Sweet Pees, we’ve been telling you…

But Wait!

If the masses of malleable automatons storming the streets of Tehran are not sufficient to stir the blood bath, here’s an emotionally stirring piece of propag to get our boys over there…and the gunships ablaze, Metallica blasting through the headphones amid the prancing cavalcade of M1 Abrams…  Oh how very epic! …and the films that would be scored, the heroes that would be carved under the penmanship of dreamers…

How the engine churns the same with every generation afoot, marching to the tune of puppeteers, of soulless traitors of hope…

So believe in your caricatures, in your made-up inculcated fantasy…  You’ve been spoon-fed a world of ghosts populating the catacombs where your late-departed soul once gleamed — yeah that dead memory tethered to the crevices of your flesh - a prisoner in your drifting corpse…

Just listen to the music, just listen to it move you to send your sons to that glory’s cry:  The Stoning…

Guardian of fire, smith of Radiant Daggers fashioned from the ore of yore,
-Iliad Alexnader Terra