When saladfingers first came out, I was doing a lot of speed and staying up for days smoking weed, and I was convinced it was made by someone who knew me, and was taking the piss out of me.
I still think it’s a possibility
I’m literally salad fingers, except more creepy
When saladfingers first came out, I was doing a lot of speed and staying up for days smoking weed, and I was convinced it was made by someone who knew me, and was taking the piss out of me.
Peste Noire, ‘Depressive’ Black Metal? Not simply that. I would rather say ‘Excremental’ Black Metal. Yes I expel phlegm and tears of distress. But I also expel as much piss, sperm and melodious farts begotten through JOY. No one hears the joy, the euphoria that also stimulates my riffs? Nobody smells where it comes from? The sadness, the wretchedness in PN, that’s what emanates from on HIGH, from the rational spirit, from my cerebral mind: the tears and complaints from meditations on human destiny. But ecstasy, she comes from the DEPTHS, from the bestial regions: the cock and the arse! My music made you high with its arsey stench, don’t deny it. Faeces, sources of knowledge and pleasure, were they not named in the Middle Ages the ‘joyous matters’? Don’t listen to my head, this traitor cries and moans, I must bury it: head down, the arse will be our heavenly firmament. Your life, spend it secluded in black forests, black enough to conceal the emptiness of existence from you. Embrace the arseholes as the mouth of God, for only there dwells God.’ (Diary of PN, I. 4)
bitchfinder general 