Its midsummer in sweden. Its green and lush and mostly raining, but now and again the sun shines, the soft winds are fresh and brings the smell of grass and flowers, and the sound of birds and insects through the trees surround you... I mean, can it get any better?

Summer Solstice

Aleistair Crowley was a british occultist, once described as the great beast and the most wicked man in the world... He is as interesting as he is discusting. Ever since hearing how The fields of nephilim made use of some lines of poetry spoken by mr. Crowley (yes, there was an Ozzy-reference right there) in the amazing tune, "At the Gates of Silent Memory" I wanted to try it on my own. So now I did, with a few lines from the poem La Gitana...

Stuck in a crowleyan dream

Ungkarlsvisa från 90-talet

Music, a collection of sounds arranged together to evoke something from the listener or to express something from its collector – it is only that, and all that. The pulsating tabla rhythm and the droning hurdy gurdy, the looming thumps of a dubstepbeat and the processed samples of the caressing twirls of the ney-flute… they all express what their collectors wish them to (or what the listener experience), the flickering streetlights of abandoned streets, the souls yearning for the divine or the pleasures of sin, solemn mediation and the buzz of one cup of coffee to many… 
Music for me, personally, is a way to express whats inside of me, what I long for and experience – sincere and true to myself. What you hear is me.


Stuck in a crowleyan dream

TheEmm

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