The Last Taboo….

“The last taboo is the myth of civilisation. It is built upon the stories we have constructed about our genius, our indestructibility, our manifest destiny as a chosen species. It is where our vision and our self-belief intertwine with our reckless refusal to face the reality of our position on this Earth. It has led the human race to achieve what it has achieved; and has led the planet into the age of ecocide. The two are intimately linked. We believe they must decoupled if anything is to remain.

We believe that artists — which is to us the most welcoming of words, taking under its wing writers of all kinds, painters, musicians, sculptors, poets, designers, creators, makers of things, dreamers of dreams — have a responsibility to begin the process of decoupling. We believe that, in the age of ecocide, the last taboo must be broken — and that only artists can do it.”

Dreams, Nightmares, Childhood, Ancient Egypt

My connection to dreams (or nightmares) began at a young age. They’ve always been at least semi-lucid and complex. Quite often I have random dreams. David Lynchian, with a faint and subtle underlying meaning that I cannot quite put my finger on. Hidden rooms and doors. Things where common sense (or physics) dictates they should not be. Sometimes dreams are not perfectly in one dimension either (Or rather, 3), but rather the world seems like a paper cardboard cutout. Sometimes planes lunge a bit too fast in the sky for reality. But even more often I have had dreams that play out as if I am merely watching through the eyes of a surveillance camera as the lives of obvious dream people unfold.

Before I even had the vocabulary or the extensive film knowledge to conjure up an entire storyline either on paper or in my mind, I was having vivid dreams of people i’ve never met and locations I have never visited. A man at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere [close up of receipt] glancing at his receipt, the written lines in the white paper clear as day (Mohegan Sun?), a glass and dishes on the side. An intimate night at a concert you’ve never been to, in crisps black and white. Even the empty glasses at the bar clearly in focus, smudged with thick fog from smoke or breath (who knows). I use to wonder whether or not my dreams were abnormal psychologically. But having seen no adverse affects in the time in which i’ve grown up i’ve come to enjoy them. Anticipate them even. Every now and then, when you sift through those which clearly have no meaning (video games, cartoons, characters from tv shows, etc) you may find that there are dreams which have a great amount of meaning.

One of my earliest dreams from my childhood was of Ancient Egypt. I awoke in a golden land and was almost immediately chased by two guards and a women. They all wore plated gold. The woman wore a long, sheer white gown. The guards were bare-chested. They were all dressed in your usual if not stereotypical Egyptian wear. I ran to a stable filled with hay and removed a golden brick and climbed out into the city I was living in at the time. The noise of the city was deafening. Cars. Traffic. I noticed that even out here I could see the gold brick expanded upward and formed a great pyramid. So I climbed. As far as I knew I was still being chased. I climbed as far as I could go and removed yet another golden brick and pulled myself inside the pyramid. This was a dark room but I could still see the blue sky outside. I walked around and saw a dog. It looked like a doberman pinscher. Naturally, I think I tried to pet it, at which time it both growled and then whimpered. I snatched my hand back right away/started walking away.Thankfully I wasn’t mauled to death by dream dog. That is about as much as I remember….

Of course, when I told people about the dream, they immediately made connections to Anubis, God of the Underworld (doberman pinscher) .

More to come. I’ve dreamt it all…Even in other languages. So I have many more tales to share.

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Myrkur- Self-Titled EP


Published by Skullbanger Media at

By: Praxilla

Label: Relapse Records

Available: September 16

Official Website:



            Hailing from the frostbitten climes of Scandinavia is the one-woman Black Metal project Myrkur, whose name comes from the Icelandic for darkness. Her self-titled debut EP is a marriage of light and darkness, somewhere between old school Bergtatt-era Ulver and Madra-era Miranda Sex Garden. A thin gossamer of pristine a cappella provides the backdrop to raw, unadulterated Black Metal. 


            Myrkur begins with “Ravnens Banner”, a track that starts off deceptively enough with a choral reminiscent of Hildegaard Von Bingen (yes i’m aware I butchered the name haha, though it seems ‘Hildegaard’ is an acceptable alt spelling) but then metamorphoses down tempo into cold and sinister passages. “Ma Du Braende i Helvede” is the EP’s only purely raw track with guttural vocals throughout; while from start to finish “Latvian Feguro” sounds akin to a Celtic lullaby set to a nightmarish ambiance. Alternately, “Dybt I skoven” has more in common with Shoegaze, a la Cocteau Twins or Autumn’s Grey Solace, than anything else. But it is a refreshing departure from the beauty-and-the-beast sensibilities of Myrkur that reign elsewhere throughout the EP; as is the acoustic Neofolk number “Frosne Vind”.


            All in all, the Myrkur EP is perfection from concept to delivery. Fresh and original. A new sound with endless possibilities. It will please fans of both pure medieval/folk and Black Metal, from Kari Rueslatten and the Mediaeval Baebes, to Darkthrone and Carpathian Forest. Never thought that’d be said in one sentence…


            Black Metal meet the Ice Queen


Building Hallway Int/Morning

So about this time last year I spent a week at a hostel in New York City. Well, it wasn’t a real hostel. Basically it was a room out of an apartment. One room of the many rented by the owner. Besides myself, there were at least four or five other souls. I specifically had the pleasure of meeting one of them;. An actor/wandering nomad named Mike “Angel” [cannot remember your last name for the life of me]. He gave me invaluable advice concerning Demonized, which I was still writing at the time (still am). He gave me the idea of creating small vignettes to sell the idea of the feature length. That burgeoned into the idea of origin stories, which in turn fueled the concept of writing a short film that would provide the backstory to important characters in Demonized. However I later decided that one film would not do and thus “Delilah” and “God and the Devil” were written a few months later…

My time at the hostel proved to be very fruitful. As it turns out, the lead character in my film lives in an apartment building much like the one I stayed in. Exploring this place was akin to being inside the deepest nooks and crannies of my own writing. My imagination was working overtime. I spent a good six hours writing every day I was there, if not more. I went up to the fenceless roof at one point and surveyed the city from above. Took pictures of dark hallways and crevices, welcome mats and apt numbers. 

The interior reminded me of the decor from The Shining yet had the soulless and destitute ambiance that we’ve come to associate with the less affluent realities of urban living.

Every apt had a mind of its own. Its own personality. A little box that hid nightmares inside. Like a funhouse. Behind every closed door in New York City is a psychodrama that is wholly unique.  


Lily is slowly walking through the hallway of this large apartment building. It is a decent sized building in a mostly, economically downtrodden neighborhood.

A little rough around the edges. Chipped paint here and there. Foggy windows. Maybe even a smudge of something unknown in the windows, and in cracks along the floor. Lights that are more a flourescent light green than white, painting the hallways an alien glow.

But it is home.

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