And I Gallop the Dastard Earth

by Zachariah Holte

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05:09

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*piano performance on track 5 and 6 by Sarah Seelig

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released October 23, 2012

© Zachariah Holte 2012
Recorded in Granite Shoals, Texas
All lyrics, music, and production by Zachariah Holte*
Mastered by Zachariah Holte

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Zachariah Holte Smithwick, Texas

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Track Name: This Demonstration of Excess
This Demonstration of Excess

I experience myself devouring your flesh.
I experience myself fecund an indulgence indicative of a mortal decadence,
an appetite both ferocious and altogether murderous.
Now the serpents gather around my feet.
Now the prophesy is revealed and our blood fills the streets
(Yes the prophesy is revealed and the forest begins to speak.)
I am crawling towards your majesty, that self-evident degradation of ministry.
I am inquiring upon the earth to mark me with its fucking testament,
cast me destitute in the opprobrium of a moral winter.
Yes, I am ready to annul everything hitherto subsumed,
espouse the verse of mouth with that tongue of doom.
I am calling out the name of the beast!
The exhilaration transports my body back to a malicious brevity,
back to the whores, speed diurnal, and that bottle which kept me company;
I wish to oppugn all these miracles which bore witness of you.

I kissed the damp ground as you repeated my name
and your voice in my head gave impetus to this phantasmagoria.
Now the frontiers envelope the landscape
and the wind and rain wash away the path formed out of soil and carrion.
Now the night teaches me to bleed thereby transforming my journey into symbolic mockery
and I ask you to step inside me and atone my mortal infamy.

I suppose you could place yourself inside of me and never surface again.
I am saying you could empty yourself in me and until nothing remains,
I am saying you could enter me and erase the form of your birth,
yes come inside and nullify everything you once were.
I am screaming your name prostrate at the institution of disease.
I will bury tomorrow and make slaves of our progeny.
Yes, I am screaming for vindication prostrate at the institution of revenge.
I will bury tomorrow and make the hate I feel my fucking catalyst
in order to destroy you even if this means my own mortal end

Now I drank from your mouth with the vehemence of a wild dog.
I stripped you naked of your vanity and molested your crude body.
I made my sacrifice at the alter of ignorance thereby enriching my own pedigree.
Now as the pious prayer expounds equanimity
I drink from your mouth so as to celebrate;
I feed on the wine that flows from your gender
and I make my fucking body this temple at which to mutilate.

I suppose I could crawl inside you and never surface again.
I could become enslaved to your soporific prescriptions of indifference.
I could allow myself to be broken beneath your motherfucking curse;
sacrifice my flesh and blood to sate your thirst.
Well, I could empty myself into you until nothing of me remains.
Yes, I could step inside you and heretofore never exist.
I could empty myself into you and heretofore never exist.
Track Name: The Gifts of Infamy
The Gifts of Infamy

Now I cultivate the drugs which will soon pour over us,
set fire to the boundaries within us,
annihilate the limitations which thwart our resistance.
I will sup upon the putrid milk which ebbs from your rancid breast
and with my head buried in your bosom I will confess to the crimes I have yet to commit.
And I will fall in a paroxysm of laughter after a phenomenon of invective's part my lips.
This is the monument at which you suffer.
This is the flesh you must discipline.
This is the monument of perdition.
What is left when humiliation has no place within?

Now bestial spirit,
I have come to feed you,
to advance your system.
You survive upon the barbarism of man!
Now take me to the desert,
far, far in the distance
and scathe my fucking mind in fabulized exonerations,
but cease to explain,
let me expound the new miracle
which infests my brain.

Now place the pedestal (above me) so far out of reach,
so I may journey forthcoming,
so I may beseech the product of discovery,
through the derisive probabilities,
so i might forget that land of longevity.
But make no attempt to protect a moral linage and delineate this new systematic sentiment.

Now as the earth befouls my body with the preterlapsing valuations of man
and the age in which I am bounded becomes the mightiest challenge to contend
I will sup upon your petty offerings, I will sup upon the gifts of infamy
to obtain the white light of knowledge from the sorcery bespangled within.

Now I cultivate the drugs which will soon pour over us.
Track Name: Veil of Tears
Veil of Tears

Bespeaking the apocryphal Deluge, these are the days of the flood. Veil of tears inflames me—carnal pleasures doth seek me out.

Of ye hypocrites insincere concession to the antiquated religious monopoly, built on avarice and manipulation—banal imprecations hath spake my name.

Our atavistic nature opposes virtue but a mendacious eclipse provokes spiritual uniformity—martial glory betwixt alter and crown.

Bespeaking the sophistries of man, this is not the end of the world. A new valuation can form within the apostate, depredating in the bondage of this mortal coil.

Alas, this incestuous consanguinity, the epochs psychic catastrophe, bewildered by the blood and the bone, favoring a histrionic institution comprised of lies—carnal pleasures doth seek me out.
Track Name: The Eternal Release
The Eternal Release

“Oh infanticide!” quoth your dear mother; a proselyte—better still, new infamies.

These and numerous other raptures have begun to elude me, the belief that nature bestows upon man an accordance towards civil purity.

I search for the divorce from these inherent dogmatisms. How could the espousement of numerous ambiguities disregard are innate profanation?

Deigning on the ceremonial blood of my pagan ancestry—an antithesis of fate brought forth by prophetic foresight.

I feign for the reprieve from this derision and opprobrium, likewise to escape the ridiculous sophistries of man. Neither genderlessness nor neutrality could either punctuate or stimulate my virility. I implore the eternal release from these ancient horrors; moreover, the epoch of humanity.

Sickly ordained in ornate chains of pedantry—no satisfaction for the coming attraction of the age. These idolatries which promote virtuosity are nothing more than mere acquired scapegraces.
Track Name: Activate Me
Activate Me

I stood in scorn and abjection, patiently, as you desecrated my face; removed the flesh to place upon your skull like a mask.
I became you briefly but just as quickly crawled forth from your open mouth.
I became the words in which to mollify you thereby finding myself moribund.

I stood scathed in infamy, patiently , as you mutilated my body; gave rise to atrocious affliction repudiating all spiritual boundaries.
I became you briefly but just as quickly poured forth from your eye holes which are now teeming with serpents.
Advancements towards your flesh and I soon find myself ensconced in death.

I stood naked and erect for ignominy, patiently, as you molested my liberties; the taste of human bondage on my tongue was a cruel and familiar consanguinity.
You became me briefly but just as quickly divested the miracle which beget uniformity; now lost to this schism which naturally negates me.

The crown of vile achievement adorns your skull.
My prostrations imbibe a hymnal manifestation of pure self-renunciation.

Your violence activates me.
Your cruelty inflames me.
Your crudity manipulates my sex.

The blood in which I spill acts as a veil against your brutality.
I stand apostatical and patient as you desecrate me.
Track Name: Atonement
Atonement

If I were to compromise the fate of another’s rebellion I would atone my betrayal in blood.
I must refrain from a noncommittal for the solution gathers around the calls and the flags of armistice.
Perhaps in the treaty of surrender.
My will escapes me, furrowed in an effigy of sacrifice—impossible to restrain thus impossible to control.

The blood of her menstruation stained my hands, my genitals engrossed in this comedy as I applaud the disavowal.
Cyclamen hemorrhages from her anus.

Serving none other than thy self.
Climb with me upon the mountains of incest, upon the monuments and the alters of idolatry which feed my bellicose spirit.
It is from these elevated heights that the rain alights upon sin thereby granting the earth a communal amnesty wherewith your glorified martyrdom discerns as superfluous.

Wine-flush are my eyes as I draw out my dagger, take aim with mortal haste, abridge the days, thus mark a spade upon my chest.
Upstairs the papacy spake blasphemies in mendacious tongues; my mouth hangs open pouring salvia from the agape abyss; rotted abscess where my fucking thoughts dwell.

Heir to thy cowards and thy heroes the same.
Vainglorious Convolvulus!

The persecution restores the thread of condemnation.
The heroes capitulate, still, whilst alone, in the dastardly oblique channels of the soil.

Thy prejudice are far to great, cometh no reprieving wind to put to rest, finally, this immense despair.
The blood of his execution stained my hands—my sovereignty reduced to mere poverty as I fustigate the man who bares my crimes.
The blood of his libation stained my hands—my divinity thwarted by a travesty which was made hymnal with this reprise.
Roses hemorrhage from the soil where his corpse lies blessed.
Track Name: Self-Worship
Self-Worship

Deny yourself, let your spirit rise, cleanse yourself in the macabre blood-pool of inner paradise.
Watch your flesh disperse; hear your wings duress, as you take flight in this demonic exodus.

Rise, rise, rise, towards the alters of self-worship, morbid isolation inclined towards extinction, solitary in this fanatical and obsessive cause.

Deny yourself, allow your body redress, indulge upon the malignant nature of your own compulsiveness. Watch your flesh distort; hear wings collapse, as you drag your tortured body through the bondage of the earth’s exquisiteness.

Crawl, crawl, crawl, towards the alters of self-worship, masochistic deprivation inclined towards extinction, solitary in this abrasive and destructive cause.

Deny yourself, deny your spirit, forfeit your decency to obtain carnal separation. Watch your flesh burn in flames; hear your screams testify, you created a god-head psychosis, the product of this disease was a mania which you called paradise.

Burn, burn, burn, incense of flesh, at the alters of self-worship, beastly mutilation inclined towards a grotesque immolation, solitary in this dyspeptic and psychotic cause.
Track Name: You Know This Miracle By Name
You Know This Miracle by Name

As I raise my hands towards the sky and beg for you to enter me, my tongue becomes revivified by all the lies I spoke all those years ago. Which now masticate upon the symbol of shame, which redefine all human indignities. My body lost to the flames; my body this testament of pain. For self-abuse—you know this miracle by name. My chalice runneth over with guilt and suffering. The cup to my lips is forever filled with alcohol; the brutality of my drunken-violence is all I can recall. Now the fruit in my hands rots before my very eyes. I smell the stench of death, I feel this life subside. I taste the music of flesh and bath in formaldehyde, soon to decompose beneath the throne and rose which once blessed this life.

And I crawl towards your light; self-obsessed with this image of death. Please empty me, yes take what is mine, so I might divest this morbid existence and reappear in that please of infinity.

Speak to me in the language of tears. Tear from my rotten heart the evidence which verifies that I still feel. Breathe into me the beauty of your gender. Let us copulate an excuse to surrender. My mind is this cesspool of waste; my mind is this monument of disgrace. Deep down with the darkened corridors of my soul, I find you there bearing the candle which burnt away long ago. Now I am dead, as cold as can be. I use these morbid hands to prolong uncertainty. My lungs forever filled with methadrine, the dyspepsia of this disease spans for eternity. Mark my words there is no cure. No matter the means by which to mollify, you remain this curse. Mark my words for they are written in blood, for I have seen the bottom of everything and there is no truth to us.

And I gallop the dastard earth, over and again I have crawled towards you light, towards you light; self-evident within this representation of death. Please empty me, yes take what is mine, so I might divest this mortal decadence and reestablish my place within the mouth of infinity.
Track Name: The Communal Mouth
The Communal Mouth

Rise from the body that you deprecate—rise. Rise from the skin that you mutilate. Rise from the disease you propagate. Rise from the flesh you profane.

Serve yourself from a world of skin, fill your chalice with the gluttony that creates the emptiness within—now here’s a taste.
Why run back to the desert to deduce your new mythologies based on self-deception? Now tell me, tell me, can you fucking taste this state of rapture you celebrate?

Now serve yourself from a litany of ridiculous religious practices. Knell down before any pagan alter and adorn your mouth with their specific nomenclature—now here’s a taste.
Why run back to the desert to deduce your new mythology based on self-deception? Now tell me, tell me, can you fucking taste this state of rapture you celebrate?

Rise from the body deprecate! Rise from the mendacity that you celebrate. Rise from the skin you mutilate. Rise from the arrogance you adumbrate. Rise from the prejudice you facilitate; tear away the veil, bring down thy vanity—free yourself from the brainwash; command yourself with new discipline; reflect on a pure rebellion; let yourself taste, oh let yourself taste, oh let yourself taste what is real—there’s a taste.
Track Name: Punishment and Reward
Punishment and Reward

I look deep inside myself and begin loathing. Yes, I reach deep inside myself and I feel nothing.
I indulge myself upon an arrogance that feeds itself in a morbid celebration.
I indulge myself upon an ignorance in this insipid ritual of forgetting.
I am consumed by the craft and by the ethics of self-mutilation.
And I look towards the sky and see myself in bondage; I look towards the earth and become inflamed and obsessed with the prospects of death.
And I climb the monuments of idolatry to have a better look at my human limitations.
And I hear the intrinsic voice, steeped in pathos, declare, “Arm yourself against decadence before your back’s against the wall—if they obtain word of you liberation, it will be upon you whom they set the dogs.”
I search the literature of the past for the knowledge to subsume.
I build this fucking enterprise of self-deception, and I climb the monuments of avarice and corruption; bathing in the river of forgetfulness.
And I pray, yes I pray, to the lordship of sick vanity.
And I genuflect in the mouth of infinity and give rise to my own spiritual poverty.
Well I scream for the sky to engulf me; release me from this bondage.
And I stamp my feet and I bray and I spit as I curse the goddamn earth, awaiting its’ carnal respite.
Yes, I place the spade in the earth; I eat the soil and I allow the serpent to enter my mouth.
And I call out, “Earth, earth, earth, nature take me down, take me down!”
And I create this fucking enterprise of self-delusion, and I am cold and sick and degenerative in the depths of mortal confusion.
Now the over-man commands me to bite down and I am consumed in a poisonous laughter.
I search the sky for answers; I drink the blood of the imprecation.
And I climb the monuments of violence.
Track Name: The Gifts of Betrayal
The Gifts of Betrayal

As I intimated my worth and contrived this new arrogance, I felt a blade enter the flesh at my back. Now each new betrayal, perhaps, could be a beautiful gift of which you bestow upon me. But I squander my vengeance when I contend against myself. Moments before a final domestic castigation, where one choice, merely one action could provoke the fortitude of complete asepsis from your diseased life. But I fuck myself out of the opportunity which your beautiful gifts of betrayal and abuse bestow upon me, when I contend against myself. And your constant encomiastical remarks are nothing more than a pretext of that slanderous tongue, that dirty little mouth. And each time I believe I feel you I am confronted by a fucking lie. And each breath you take has been confounded by a falsehood we both contrive. And each time I believe in you, well I deceive myself—and I believe in you, thus I deceive myself. And I am a fool as I condole your pithy depravity, and I am a fool as implore my pernicious memories of you to expire. And I am a coward as I sleep in your bed dreaming of murdering you. I am a coward and what is more, we are bound together by need–but the truth, you fucking bitch, is that I don’t need you, and to call myself a fool and a coward is a fucking misnomer, but I deceive myself when I praise the perdition that we extenuate; when I praise the abusive mechanism of what my fucking hands create; when I praise the glory of insipid violence. Deceive me, deceive me, well I deceive myself, when I praise the masochistic declaration of what my fucking words create. And I deceive myself when I praise the perdition that we extenuate; when I praise the abusive mechanism of what my fucking hands create; when I praise the glory of impetuous violence. Deceive me, deceive me, as we celebrate our fucking misery, oh misery, oh misery, oh misery. And I deceive myself when I praise the abusive mechanism of what my fucking hands create. I deceive myself when I praise what my fucking hands create.
Track Name: Yes
Yes

I bemoan this atavism. I see you elevated. I am an animal genuflecting in this paphian concession. I am an animal; your abuse is a divination—and I feel nothing inside myself.

This world is merely sensation alone.

My body is bloated and expanding. But I have mortified my flesh; my body lies open, subsumed in the distance, suspended beyond your valuations. Violence and pain mean nothing here, but I gave you everything in which to destroy me—and I feel nothing inside myself.

This world is merely sensation alone.

I have long retired those insipid conjectures regarding man, existence, and the preternatural being. I want the dissonance of this life to enter me and leave me cold. It is this sensation which deepens the game, but I feel nothing inside myself.

Yes master, it is working, and I feel nothing inside myself. Yes master, I see you smile, I want it. Yes master, I see you’re pleased with this martyrdom. Yes master, it is working, and I feel nothing, I feel fucking nothing inside myself. I see you're pleased; I want it. Yes master, it is working and I feel absolutely nothing, I feel fucking nothing inside myself. Yes master, it is working. Yes!