inksketch painting, How feeble thy man hast come forth unto us To thine blessed land Provoking his crucifixion... Thus to endure the reality of everlasting damnation... So as said... Thy feeble savious... Is to return... Thou only suffer evermore Suffer! How feeble thy man hast come forth unto Golgotha

Vibrant neon art depicting a server room with an askew ‘Under Maintenance: Please wait’ sign, a golem in a tehcnicians outfit is working on the servers while a rabbi in full traditional garb behind him is working on the golem.

Acheron, the river of weeping woe that souls must cross to enter the underworld, a flowing, sorrowful character, drenched and powerful, Charon the ferryman waits at the bank

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.

Vibrant neon art depicting a server room with an askew ‘Under Maintenance: Please wait’ sign, a bearded greek orthodox priest is flinging holy water from a bowl on the servers.

Styx, a river that forms a boundary between the world of the living and the realm of the dead, Foundational and grounding in nature, Oath-keeper and earthen solidity

Title Heresiarch,oil on canvas by El Greco

Pyriphlegethon, fire flaming blood river that burns souls, a stream of fire, which coils round the earth and flows into the depths of Tartarus

masterpiece, HD32K, wallpaper, hyperdetailed, Kane, the messiah, red and black, peace through power

Cocytus, the river of lamentation, echoing with the mournful cries and wails of souls, evoking the airy and ephemeral nature of sorrow and despair, vast and windblown

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.xl_kk

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.xl_kk

A decrepit and collopsing ringworld orbits a dying blue star. The star is in the beginnings of stellar collapse and is expanding outwards. The ringworld appears to be organometallic and used hyperdimensional geometries. Stylised and brightly coloured image with strong contrasts. Semi-realistic, with byzantine art influences producing a futuristic but archaic image. vantablack

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ---- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness ---- The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence ., xl_kk

AH_Titian, Venice! when thy marble walls Are level with the waters, there shall be A cry of nations o er thy sunken halls, A loud lament along the sweeping sea! If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee, What should thy sons do? anything but weep? And yet they only murmur in their sleep. In contrast with their fathers, as the slime, The dull green ooze of the receding deep, Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam, That drives the sailor shipless to his home, Are they to those that were; and thus they creep, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets. O agony! that centuries should reap No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears; And every monument the stranger meets, Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets; The echo of thy tyrant s voice along The soft waves, once all musical to song, That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng Of gondolas, and to the busy hum Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Were but the overbeating of the heart, And flow of too much happiness, which needs The aid of age to turn its course apart From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood. But these are better than the gloomy errors, The weeds of nations in their last decay, When vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors, And mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay.

The opening of the fifth seal.

AH_Titian, Venice! when thy marble walls Are level with the waters, there shall be A cry of nations o er thy sunken halls, A loud lament along the sweeping sea! If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee, What should thy sons do? anything but weep? And yet they only murmur in their sleep. In contrast with their fathers, as the slime, The dull green ooze of the receding deep, Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam, That drives the sailor shipless to his home, Are they to those that were; and thus they creep, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets. O agony! that centuries should reap No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears; And every monument the stranger meets, Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets; The echo of thy tyrant s voice along The soft waves, once all musical to song, That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng Of gondolas, and to the busy hum Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Were but the overbeating of the heart, And flow of too much happiness, which needs The aid of age to turn its course apart From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood. But these are better than the gloomy errors, The weeds of nations in their last decay, When vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors, And mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay.

AH_Titian, Venice! when thy marble walls Are level with the waters, there shall be A cry of nations o er thy sunken halls, A loud lament along the sweeping sea! If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee, What should thy sons do? anything but weep? And yet they only murmur in their sleep. In contrast with their fathers, as the slime, The dull green ooze of the receding deep, Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam, That drives the sailor shipless to his home, Are they to those that were; and thus they creep, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets. O agony! that centuries should reap No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears; And every monument the stranger meets, Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets; The echo of thy tyrant s voice along The soft waves, once all musical to song, That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng Of gondolas, and to the busy hum Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Were but the overbeating of the heart, And flow of too much happiness, which needs The aid of age to turn its course apart From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood. But these are better than the gloomy errors, The weeds of nations in their last decay, When vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors, And mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay.

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ---- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness ---- The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence ., xl_kk

Que èbria dorm la nit de juny! És com la flaire del blat madur desvetllada des de lluny al camp. – La rosa resplendeix a la tanca d’esbarzers. El bosc de la muntanya alena; -- de vegades des dels núvols es giren els vents i fan enlairar el deler voluptuós de la passió des de la vall. Allà, a la terra adormida, hi ha una única finestra il·luminada, de seguida he reconegut la teva casa, des d’allà flameja la voluptuosa resplendor... I des dels refulgents matolls, els rossinyols em pregunten on ets, i per què en aquests dies d’ebrietat, el deler no besa l’amor.

Acheron, the river of weeping woe that souls must cross to enter the underworld, a flowing, sorrowful character, drenched and powerful, Charon the ferryman waits at the bank

inksketch painting, Fighting Gold Deep in my rumbling blood There is something like the grains Of stardust in the sky My soul shines — a light that never will fade From under any wreckage Fly higher than the gods A force of nature, I'm phenomenal Fighting Gold

color wash, ink wash, illustration, lanscape portrait of a disused cotton mill, northern england, bleak, dickensian,

Que èbria dorm la nit de juny! És com la flaire del blat madur desvetllada des de lluny al camp. – La rosa resplendeix a la tanca d’esbarzers. El bosc de la muntanya alena; -- de vegades des dels núvols es giren els vents i fan enlairar el deler voluptuós de la passió des de la vall. Allà, a la terra adormida, hi ha una única finestra il·luminada, de seguida he reconegut la teva casa, des d’allà flameja la voluptuosa resplendor... I des dels refulgents matolls, els rossinyols em pregunten on ets, i per què en aquests dies d’ebrietat, el deler no besa l’amor.

Acheron, the river of weeping woe that souls must cross to enter the underworld, a flowing, sorrowful character, drenched and powerful, Charon the ferryman waits at the bank

Acheron, the river of weeping woe that souls must cross to enter the underworld, a flowing, sorrowful character, drenched and powerful, Charon the ferryman waits at the bank

Tesseract

Ветры злые, чертоги лесные, Недра скал и гладь морей. Лики древних, души усопших В мареве огней

Ветры злые, чертоги лесные, Недра скал и гладь морей. Лики древних, души усопших В мареве огней

vantablack, a single point of light in an endless void. Expanding, exploding, encroaching on the failing void. The first moments of moments, the beginning of existence. Alpha. Impossible hues spray fractally bringing existence into nothing.

Halt, my faithful, impetuous steed, At the porch of a stranger And do not touch the raw earth With your silver horseshoe. I, like a shadow, will break into the house, I will reveal them in bed, I will lull them with eternal sleep, With a death of calmness. And then bring me To a high cliff And from the cliff Throw me from yourself into the deep Genil. The Genil makes a noise and awaits the prey But the passionate maiden does not guess And she kisses the young moor And to the young moor she sings: “Forsake words, my friend, What’s the use of vows, of promises? From your hot lips I love To drink a single kiss. Oh, why can’t I take my whole life, Sweet one, And squeeze the torrent into a kiss, Into the flame of a kiss!” It came true! Three cedars above a grave Cast a shadow upon three moons, Three multicolored Turbans are dejectedly shaken by the wind. All around the plain sadly sleeps, Only on the fresh turf of the new grave The Andalusian steed, the steed knocks With its silver horseshoe.

Que èbria dorm la nit de juny! És com la flaire del blat madur desvetllada des de lluny al camp. – La rosa resplendeix a la tanca d’esbarzers. El bosc de la muntanya alena; -- de vegades des dels núvols es giren els vents i fan enlairar el deler voluptuós de la passió des de la vall. Allà, a la terra adormida, hi ha una única finestra il·luminada, de seguida he reconegut la teva casa, des d’allà flameja la voluptuosa resplendor... I des dels refulgents matolls, els rossinyols em pregunten on ets, i per què en aquests dies d’ebrietat, el deler no besa l’amor.

The opening of the fifth seal,the Vision of Saint John, oil on canvas by El Greco. Unfinished, divine love above and profane love below.

The opening of the fifth seal,the Vision of Saint John, oil on canvas by El Greco. Unfinished, divine love above and profane love below.

Thalassophobia

inksketch painting, How feeble thy man hast come forth unto us To thine blessed land Provoking his crucifixion... Thus to endure the reality of everlasting damnation... So as said... Thy feeble savious... Is to return... Thou only suffer evermore Suffer! How feeble thy man hast come forth unto Golgotha

Proserpine, A lady pictured in a gloomy corridor of her palace, with a poisoned apple in her hand, as she passes, a gleam strikes on the wall behind her admitting for a moment the sight of the outside world, she is glancing furtively towards the light, immersed in thought, an incense-burner sits on a table beside her, Ivy branch in background representing a clinging memory, photo focused on her face, closeup, artistically portrayed and styled photo, contropasto

The web site you seek Lies beyond our perception But others await These three are certain: Death, taxes, and site not found. You, victim of one. Ephemeral site. I am the Blue Screen of Death No one hears your screams. Errors have occured. We won't tell you where or why. Lazy programmers. Login incorrect. Only perfect spellers may Enter this system.

Tesseract

We could never have won this; We were fighting blind Now we've all but conquered fate So hate us, and see if we mind Washing off the dust Like the first rains of the rainy season And encircling rage and reason, we postponed our grieving But the rains, they never seem to come

Poisonous eyes Lay your poisonous eyes on me And taint me if you dare Ya' taint me if you're so smart Scotch and soda in my blood Where, can, I, get Some more I'm taking you home I'm taking you home I'm making a point I'm taking you Please allow me to play with my shiny stainless blade And stroke your marble skin And feel the steel slide between your thighs Hush You are not leaving this couch Shut up Or I'll smash every tooth in your mouth Let me do a little dance Let me show you some romance Let me be a gentleman Let me put on some jazz Let me fetch some candles Let me turn up the heat Let me light up a Partagrás Let me tie your ankles Let me treat you like a queen

Poisonous eyes Lay your poisonous eyes on me And taint me if you dare Ya' taint me if you're so smart Scotch and soda in my blood Where, can, I, get Some more I'm taking you home I'm taking you home I'm making a point I'm taking you Please allow me to play with my shiny stainless blade And stroke your marble skin And feel the steel slide between your thighs Hush You are not leaving this couch Shut up Or I'll smash every tooth in your mouth Let me do a little dance Let me show you some romance Let me be a gentleman Let me put on some jazz Let me fetch some candles Let me turn up the heat Let me light up a Partagrás Let me tie your ankles Let me treat you like a queen

Tesseract

fine details, vivid colours, chiaraoscuro, Titian, Old Master, Venetian, Late Renaissance, bright, powerful, Christ

score_9, score_8_up, saltbaememe, salt, dark round sunglasses, SaltBae,plain white T-shirt, tan skin, close-cropped beard, muscular, smirk, food, steak, pre-raphaelite, classical depiction, painting, SaltBae as christ anointing the meat

Proserpine, A lady pictured in a gloomy corridor of her palace, with a poisoned apple in her hand, as she passes, a gleam strikes on the wall behind her admitting for a moment the sight of the outside world, she is glancing furtively towards the light, immersed in thought, an incense-burner stands beside her as the attribute of a goddess, Ivy branch in background representing a clinging memory, photo focused on her face, closeup, artistically portrayed and styled photo, contropasto

We could never have won this; We were fighting blind Now we've all but conquered fate So hate us, and see if we mind Washing off the dust Like the first rains of the rainy season And encircling rage and reason, we postponed our grieving But the rains, they never seem to come

Poisonous eyes Lay your poisonous eyes on me And taint me if you dare Ya' taint me if you're so smart Scotch and soda in my blood Where, can, I, get Some more I'm taking you home I'm taking you home I'm making a point I'm taking you Please allow me to play with my shiny stainless blade And stroke your marble skin And feel the steel slide between your thighs Hush You are not leaving this couch Shut up Or I'll smash every tooth in your mouth Let me do a little dance Let me show you some romance Let me be a gentleman Let me put on some jazz Let me fetch some candles Let me turn up the heat Let me light up a Partagrás Let me tie your ankles Let me treat you like a queen