Friday, July 29, 2022

Black Metal Forever

In some of the more remote regions of northern Scandinavia researchers are investigating reports of shadows, cracks, ice-fissures, and photographic artifacts that appear to involve spontaneous formation of text, often self-symmetrical. “It is as if Darkness itself is writing a message from the under-surface of reality,” says Hejwulf Garriksson, director of the Garriksson Institute of Applied Paleolexicography.  “It is working!” adds Snurri Jurdlesdottir as she sprays gasoline on the faded clapboards of the Juttupfjord Episcopal Church, a one-room wooden structure dating to the late 19th century. “You tell National Geographic you never come back,” she adds, stuffing another wad of her home-mixed amalgam of reindeer antler-velvet and psychoactive lichen into my mouth. Her brother Magnus Jurdlesson takes a few moments to drag some rotting birch branches into the approximate shape of his side-project’s band name. “Loadhammer!” he bellows, shaking his fists at the pale fishbelly sky of the Arctic dawn — a sky leached of color and the false promises of modernity. “Black Metal forever!” screeches Snurri in a larynx-raking snarl, bathing my eager face in urine still potent with an esoteric pharmacopoeia of hallucinogens. I drink thirstily, taking art-director-pleasing selfies the whole while, firelight  from the now-blazing church reflecting from my sopping face.

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