Who of us hasn't at one time painted our eyes black as racoons and dared to dream by the moonlight pools and glowing obelisk tombs? How odd it feels to be the only person back in high school to actually enjoy watching the 70's version of Romeo and Juliet or to pour over any of Edgar Allen Poe's great classics whilst others were content to throw things at each other and gossip. The Bottle of half cognac and 3 roses left on his grave every year is proof that not all wonders ceased with the romantic eras past.
My true interests lay in the creative expressive translation of thought into something much like free-formed poetry. Beyond that, I seek to bring into creation a lacking sense of originality in today's plastic Goth world. I revel in the dying aesthetics of decades and centuries past. I feel I was born to be a sort of strange dark muse for some. Tying in with that, I hope to be looked upon as a great source of fantasy, Noirsolaris. . . a sort of dark and strange place much like the cold and occultic world of Giger with the dreaminess of Siouxsie's words.
What we perceive as reality is reflection of whatever goes on in the realm of the spirit.Magick isn't necessarily the spells people cast with their little tools and rhymes. We ARE magick. We are spiritual beings wether or not we choose to acknowledge that. Because we can't see ourselves as a body of light with our physical eyes does not mean it isn't so.
"The Black Sun sheds darkness instead of light (if darkness were a substance instead of absence), and is rolled across the sky by the hind feet of the divine scarab Khefri. By its unlight, the visible becomes hidden and the secret becomes known."