Denown by Infinexhuma

The following appeared close to me on a sheet of paper, I was able to obtain a photograph, without any reason to lie, and on everything that matters to me, it vanished. I have no recollection and or trace to where it came from:

“And here you are, so much grace. Your face was made from a different clay. For so many years I did not understand it. You have always lived inside yourself. While we have grown gangly stages and awkward limbs, it’s like your patience knew there would be an end, where for certain sets of sun and beach, we would be shining from our purest reach. You witness and patch us, you make space for every misstep we take. In your wake you create grace.”

Through tunnels as tight as before birth, glows and messages have been experienced, resulting in the tears of doors latching blossoming into tools of advancement. Through decay and rot, the extension learns the power of transmutation, and hence the honesty of fidelity to the host’s origins. Slow forming of the end vision floats in mist, but remains fractured and futile, every step is a reminder of the vastness of abysses and pinnacles remaining. Invariably inward, without lack of external energies encountered, greetings.
You were the offspring of those fallen from the heavens, or you were those fallen from the heavens. Your stature touched heights unseen by them, yet supposed teachings from beyond our stellar scope of sight. The fragile were mediators only, or the fruit of your theft while you turned so many stones. So many stones in search of experiment collateral, used to annihilate the husbands of the past. Children begotten by the blood of flesh, are not children, but what you are, the glow of your iris, as they gazed upward at the pyramids in your hand. Your creators are to blame, your creators are to blame, the chaos brings red skies, screeches from all mountains, gasps from all water formations. The tremors of your steps will not go unfelt, Unasan below this place in light, yet the threat to vitality was inferior there. Celestial roamers should have refrained from the connection, these energies of immense power are the result, watch as learnings are given through the sacrifice of their failed army, they have little chance.
Sewed fabric and wood gathered to drum against your advance, an eye is still out there on a desolate hill, songs are coming for you, beware the fumes of the leaves of war, they mean your cosmic flesh returned to your punisher. Beware the snap of sharp wood on surfaces, they will pierce you all soon. Beware the low hum, it will play again in your last moments, over that will be flight, flight of mist I go!

2023 Aberrant Recordings
Recorded at Alchemy Labor Unit studio

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The forces that lay us low are but thresholds to greater ascents.

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