Dating Men and Women, Friends

Dec 2008

666 satanist street, demonic hell

lost company

http://profiles.friendster.com/92520308

stanford university

arms dealer

mafia society

sex drugs and rock n roll

metal maniacs, revolver, metal edge, hightimes mag, bible of satan

blooded film

death, thrash, black metal

future weapon

Scorpio

†††"I am Courage
I am Strength
In the midst of the great clashes in time, I stood strong
Emulate me
For you are mine
There is no need to bow down before those who oppress you
By so doing, you give them your power
Oppose stagnancy, oppose guilt, oppose conformity
For it is I who said in the beginning, “I will ascend”
Rise with me
Let anxiety, fear and all hindrances flow out of you
Trample them, so they no longer hold you back
Take hold of the fire
Do what you never thought you were able
And with pride say, “I AM SATANIST”†††


†“Fear not, my chosen
For my strength is under you, over you, within you
Courage is your guide
I am always with you
You are never alone
Under my protection you stand
Walk without fear of thy enemies
Pursue your goals, let nothing stand in your way
You have strength greater than the mightiest volcano
Wisdom is yours to obtain
Knowledge is in every corner; seek it
Take hold of what is yours
If you fall, stand up, go on
Nothing is impossible
Achieve
The only one holding you back, is you
The hardest rain cannot keep you down
The deepest hurt can be overcome
Recognize the power within
Take hold
For nothing can defeat you
You are mine, claim your birthright
And walk through the flames, Child of mine
Know who you are"†††

THE OLD QUAIS


That exquisite hour at evening's approach,
when the heavens fill with processions tinged rose
which advance, shedding souls and flowers,
casting into the air the fragrance of censers.

Then, more lucid beneath the declining light
of sunset, whose crimson glow gradually dies,
a charm is revealed to the dreamer's jaded eye:
the charm of old walls where ancient streets end.

Facades ornamented, coloured stained glass,
bands of captive cupids in the mournfulness of cartouches,
women on whom dust has shed the blossom of their lips,
flowers of stone lending cheer to walls lavishly historiated.

The black gothic of the gables is traced
on the slumbering current as stairways of crepe
and the moon rises at the halo's core,
like a lamp of gold upon a grand wooden bier.

Oh, the old quais drowsing in the solemn evening
sensing of a sudden on their faces of stone
the icy kiss of the river's farewell
that runs under bridges and into their tunnels.

Oh, the bluish shade they acquire at the hour
when lamps are lit, canals gazed on by lovers
who before the waters exchange their vows
as they hear through the mist the bells moaning sound.

All is in the throes of death, all keeps silent:
nothing is heard but a melancholy tune on a weeping flute,
alone in some blackened dwelling, unseen
on whose worm-eaten remains the player leans!

And one imagines far off, the mournful musician,
crestfallen, impoverished, playing beneath crumbling roofs;
as into his fingers passed evening's sorrow,
and from the holes he draws song from the shadows.