Ah, What An Unusual Corpse Standard? A Fearsome Specimen, Bogach Miku (Hatsune Miku But In Wrought Rot).

Ah, what an unusual corpse standard? A fearsome specimen, Bogach Miku (Hatsune Miku but in Wrought Rot).

It is within the interests of many an ardent brute and stalwart bludgeoner to make themselves out to be more ferocious and formidable than they truly indeed are, with displays of authority, ambition and agony often being weaponized for such purposes. Within this line of macabre decoration arose the tradition of a “corpse standard,” in other words the threat of an assured grim fate fastened aloft and paraded onward into confrontation. The base of this very notion of terribly ancient and has manifested in many regional and cultural mutations over the countless many years, possibly suggesting that these deathly displays may have been a particularly early achievement along man’s crafting of war as it is presently observed. From the charred standards of the faithful to Arava, the gutted standards of those fidgety Ardac, the decapitated standards of those haughty folk in Drynyra, the flayed standards of those fallow men about the banks of Lake Jyon, the putrid standards of the careless sea-swept rowers of Gmarata, the linked standards atop the mighty mounted warrior bands among the Stuna and of course the gallow standards of the wretched Connlaibach.

All this to say, don’t lose to a warrior with an empty noose.

Too much rest for the wicked.

For more that ten days at this point I have been struggling to awaken from slumber and this has become increasingly bothersome and intrusive upon my usual schedule of disgusting disappointments. Worse still, while trapped within the unadministered faculties of my own vapid neural lipid blob space I have been thrown into a number of disturbing mental scenarios and decidedly undesirable “dreams” (nightmares) for the sake of no carcass in particular.

I am not, yet once I indubitably am a guest at some sort of well-to-do yet undoubtedly second-rate hotel establishment with walls of cheap taught paper and unoriginal prints claiming to decorate the vacant halls. My place in this languid location rather than my own sullen abode is soon readily made known to me once I “recall” the presence of the worms. The worms made their first appearance within a traditional wall-mounted telephone, wherein worms seemed to wave to and fro in all of its many holes and cracks. The wires connecting electric appliances also appears to be significantly thicker, suggesting a constant system of worms. From this I concluded either that worms had been found out for their unknown richness in electric conductivity and had thus been put in place rather than metal wiring or that worms had become attracted to technology and electrically charged regions. The latter would seem more viable in light of later information as I saw lighting fixtures and wall-mounted television screens being inhabited by swarms of teaming worms.

While the dialectic usage of “worm” may depict a very particular vision in one’s mind, that being a limbless invertebrate like an earthworm, in the sense that “worm” was utilized here suggests that it was being used to describe many creatures from maggots to millipedes, their true commonality being shown in their shared unusual behavior. The whole of our modern digital world seemed to be infested with the essence of the worm, wherein the more elevated symbols of our contemporary advancements were being used instead as barracks for an oncoming wormpocalypse. Or, the wormpocalypse as it was to already be seen.

Down the sickly pale hall and two lefts to the right, what lay before me appeared to be the remains of (my mind meat’s vague approximation of) an American folk musician. All about his grotesque form writhed a myriad of worms doing away with his flesh, his body posed in such a way to suggest that he had merely been lazing away calmly rather than being violently overwhelmed by the incursion of worms hungry to feast. In this sight I now recognized the reality of the worm of the worlds, how the many vessels of man were being rendered disassembled by endless tides of the worm who had taken up residence in all of their technology. And still I considered if it had been man who had installed the worms, knowing not of the eventual folly of this choice.

Contrary to unpopular disbelief, I still inhabit the waking hours when the gaze of the burning sky is brought unto the crust and the green warmth of the world is felt dearly. I look into the pots of my many nurtured plants, I look into the dank plastic pit suitable for refuse, I look into the sweetest and most tender of all good seasons’ fruits. Worms. Worms have made themselves into all of these things I say, this I have observed. I often regard dreams and nightmares as reflections of our own surface level contemporary anxieties contacting and concocting among our bathic sensibilities which rest deep within our psyche. I think these things verily, so then what of the worms? Have I been rendered a scion of the worm of the worlds?

What would your art say to you?

The lost denizens of Hell’s upper layers as presented in Ultrakill. I have always been a fan of these data-driven terminal entries or scientific catalogues, a feature which a few of you may seen of my previous work. These weaker beings were likely unable to survive the onslaught of the machines or the trials of that wretched “palace” so assume that their kind are few and far between.

Featuring also this enemy design based off of the terrace of Pride to be featured in the Ultrakill fan project Purgatorio. What is there not to like about killer nutcrackers?

Hgyabbhard is a very serious academic who has no time for backcountry knuckle-draggers, a sense of superiority which is totally justified and definitely not borne of some sort of deeply set notion of illegitimacy.