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Blessed Mosaic Of Imperial Darkness

Anybody whose greed or curiosity has led them to research into the mysteries of the universe and ignore this powerful RESTRICTED ENTERTAINMENT series until now has, knowingly or not, thrown in their lot with the forces of darkness. Note, RESTRICTED ENTERTAINMENT is just a commercial label that has accelerated my E-book sales throughout the years. http://thesixthgospel.blogspot.com/ [1]

Make a controversial pact with me in return for pleasure and knowledge, a promising deal which eventually leads to our inexorable, understandable, or even noble, spectacular downfall and damnation. Are you interested ? I am !

Whether or not you aspire to be my fervent die-hard aficionado or fan to cool off my scorching profane literature beyond grave – an unusual work combining coarse black religious humor and light-hearted philosophy, among other pop-culture specialties, you are perfectly entitled to enjoy this unparalleled, uncensored part-fiction part-autobiography masterpiece labeled with PRIVATE ADVISORY, whose dramatic evidence is portrayed as highly entertaining and appropriately creepy. God, bless ? Satan, caress !

The authentic literature, dubbed The Sixth Gospel, is sold subject to the condition that it shall by way of trade or otherwise be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated with the author’s prior consent in any form. Please see the compilation preface samples and my complete SLAUGHTER CATALOGUE 1993 - 2009.

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All good religions need some bad kind of Apocalypse. ( Or all bad religions bring upon themselves some good Apocalypse – you only get what you pay for ! )

Nuisance religion – the disturbingly egregious one of malcontent Libor Soural is no exception in the spotlight. In dark echoes of no exotic pedigree, the strange creature of his age sort of prefaces his boredom and disillusionment thrillers with sinister warnings carrying the bold implication that, while he is strong, virtuous, smart enough to survive the horrors and temptations of the Princess of Darkness like the feasting fucker Faust before his spectacular downfall and damnation, you, the humble reader, are obviously not.

Reinforcing the far-fetched idea that the Nuisance religion hauler’s works of art are more than mere fictions posing a real threat to the civilized world. But, hey, these warnings add a delicious air of danger to his very particular books, while feeding the author’s a bit curious authority and ego without hurting sales much either. Though, indeed, his gradual decline in popularity, since his black-marked birth as a white (a severe passion for black women), is due to the disappearance of the world he writes about desperately, with all its informal traditions and immoral certainties.

There is not only the issue of life-after-death in question but also the one of grave-before-cradle ushered in with a rising orgy of hope and salvation at war (nightmare scenario) lived through a hard nymphomania sex wish and a smooth drug of belief crucified by pure desire.

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Here I cum with a ceremonial machete in the unveiled belly of the love/hate generation to clear-cut the thick decade-long pomposity and tolerance of my thin literary trajectory sustained by a web of conflicting values and concepts that writhe in real experience and fantasy, recognizing the bestial nature of the human animal. It’s all over now.

On and off, Spirited Bait For The Lustful, regarded by its non-conformist author as the unofficial bible for today’s trendiest perverts, both pleases and disgusts any person of sophistication or primitiveness, thus advocating, in a reinvented temple of a somewhat heretic creed, indulgence of whatever appetites a true individual might possess obsessed, like butchering the abusive father you loathe before turning to fuck your adorable mother for having screwed up your pathetic downlife.

It may massage and allay your sense of guilt or innocence, depending on your stubbornness level, as far as your spirit, mind, and body are concerned to professionally assist you on the rainbow path of glory to eternal damnation or salvation, whichever you choose or are given.

Spirited Bait For The Lustful is a tempting cocktail of sexuality and spirituality (whether achieved or not at all) to get you boozed on with quixotic reveries of world ownership and domination because you race like crazy through a shameful life of tragic wear and tear in a ruthless world of hot debris, experiencing the contagious loss of semi-innocence under the subtle effects of cold deception and derision only to profit heavily and hard.

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In the most earthbound realm of high-profile video poetry, I heavily continue to appear low-key, combining a dark spiritual stance with a supremacist light agenda, which should not be taken flippantly.

The freak show has just become a little weirder, less monotonous, and the rides a good deal scarier, a lot bigger – all in Chanting Evil Over Mourning Good ( M I X I I ), a sophomore compilation volume encouraging a dignified, predatory image of mine to somehow stand out during my slow 2004-2005 A.D. family effort of relocating to Canada from the very inspiring hardcore of imparadised Nicaragua. So, the appropriately ordered title for my chaotic pseudo doctrines of questioning orthodoxy, ignoring convention, ridiculing hypocrisy, highlighting self-rule while uncompromisingly pursuing individuality and gradually recognizing the bestial nature of the human animal cuts into the quick.

Unfairly, I might even be accused of reveling heretically in an outrageous evil-clown persona that obsessively centers on the role of multicultural villain as a delicate balancing act. In this relatively predominant sense of conspiracy, there is a growing theory that the carnival of tragedy is due back in town.

Chanting Evil Over Mourning Good ( M I X I I ) is not some obscure underground worship of Evil, but a super creed of Good ablaze where multicultural taboos are well tested by a bizarre beast whose to-be-codified movement is sustained by a web of conflicting values and concepts that misjudge the limits and nothing is unspeakable.

At least, this is the most unusual literary experiment of a bold anti-spiritual religion; a libertine love of life, garbed in the symbols of ever-present death and fear; a cynical romanticism put to use or practice, if nothing else but smug pomposity with its thin disguise of tolerance served forevermore, whether incisive or insane.

Just remember : “ Things are not always what they seem. ”

Libor Soural
2004 - 2005
The sinful margin-culture luminary of the erotic dark
A.D.

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Afterlife Bait For The Yet Undead

As religion has become a social event ,
like beautifully good drinking , God and His angels literally sit at the same blessing and curse table with Satan and His demons , virtually waging star wars of Heaven and Hell , only to bring peace and harmony , like bad ugly hangovers , to humanity, like misanthropy , in the run-down tavern of the wonder world , the Church .

My terrible admiration and disdain for both on Earth , like true sympathy , are predetermined by the never-converting perspective of a capricious unearthly ego I have held all along with nothing to regret .

With typical arrogance , to my half satisfaction , I do not find recognition on either side . Therefore , let everyone be curiously indifferent to the whole twisted affair of unclassified Love-it-or-Hate-it self-propaganda .

Well , for some reason or other in my last Death raid on Life I still appear enthusiastically growing like a poisonous fungus away from the light of mainstream media interest under the sado-masochistic imaginary mushroom clouds , prolifically developing bizarre atmosfears , theatrical imagery , and midevil philosophies , nothing to encourage the ever-present mass survival opposition to keep doing their own thing right . However , I was not wrong , was I ?

Inasmuch as the Western world is still a Christian culture , Satanism is the archetypal counterculture . Traditionally , like a seen ghost in the fog , I am beyond both . A misty escapist I have been .

Dubbed “ Live From The Theatre Of Death “ , mournfully breathed into graveyard glory , it is a self-conscious cross between some inverted performance art and narcissistic anti-social rally, blood-penned by a dead serious clown .

Religion , like any other addiction or terminal disease , is a certain death . On the other pulled leg , the opposite may only symbolize a pathetic life . Yet the blood beyond stardom nightmare is for real .

Thus let us enjoy what is left of Life in the Theatre of Death ! But there is only one way out of Death Row ! Death is just the beginning !

L.S. 2005 A.D. The Blasphemous Adventure Junkie