Column: Gates of The Abyss

“When you hunt for souls in the winter rain
I shall listen in the gaps between towns knowing
Your face is the night storm of the underworld
And you shall bring terror to end all terror.” From Enchanting The Shadowlands, by Lorna Smithers

The Hunter Of Souls
Recommended listening while reading:
Undertaker by Disemballerina

Waiting for a band to play, I thumbed through a Nihilist tract and remember what it means to be mortal while silver-and-black antlers sharpen against flesh. I remember: it’s from the Dead we weave our lives. It’s from the Dead we weave our Meaning. The Cauldron of Awen is as Black as the Cauldron of Annwn, and from both spring the songs of Meaning.