We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Jihad (EP, 2017)

by Slutet

/
1.
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth; everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death --- kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family, with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life... the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just a harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are 'til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an absurd existence; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers' net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep, deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just this harrowing angst of responsibility.
2.
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage - withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of society. goddess of weirdness and ambiguity whom casts her leather noose and strikes with her thunders and weathers; through that weird, disturbing static; existential white noise; we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and we share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell  of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake.

about

after the vinyl compilation was out (early 2015) we felt probably a bit directionless, and, having parted ways with a befriended and talented guitar player, we felt maybe a bit morally weakened to continue. first, for a year almost, we toiled on without the 6-strings and rehearsed quite lengthy material for a proposed upcoming LP. however, that material never surfaced. then we got a new guitar player and created and recorded this mess after rehearsing not enough probably. lyrically, it is some kind of existentialist bullshit on both these tracks.

musically, i dont fucking know what this is. it has got some psychedelic improvs, some very unorthodox and quite genious vocal work, some electronic undertones, some noisey ambience, a message of existentialism; all this wrapped up in some sloppy but very authentic and intense black metal-ish music.

first we released this digitally in early april 2017.
cassette through Manifest of Hate Creations, october 2017.
vinyl autumn/winter 2017 throug Goatowarex.

included in 2019's "Begynnelsen" compilation.

credits

released April 2, 2017

Abu Bakr al-Uppsalawi - Drums & Words
Dingir - Vocals
The New Kid - 6 Strings
Speed Demon - 4 strings

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

The End Commune Uppsala, Sweden

THE END COMMUNE.

FOUNDED 2012
COLLAPSED 2022

ALL 2023 RELEASES ARE EITHER POSTHUMOUS OR COMPILATIONS

* * * * *

WORD & MUSIC PLATFORM.

TOTAL AMATEUR PASSION.

AUTHENTIC WORDS & SOUNDS FROM UPPSALAS UNDERGROUND.

NO COMPROMISE. NO POLITICS. NO COLOURS. NO AFFILIATION. TOTAL INDEPENDENCE.

WITH GOD AND VICTORIOUS WEAPONS.

SEE BLOGSPOT LINK FOR THE END COMMUNE WORDS.

REST IN PEACE.
... more

contact / help

Contact The End Commune

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

If you like Jihad (EP, 2017), you may also like: