An Imperial Sun Rises

by Kommodus

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Four Rivers 06:32
*Exploring the multi-faceted nature of Mishima. A man of many masks* Harnessing a mind like a fractured mirror A mosaic vision seeing things so much clearer Dissected, a reflection split into four Influence intersected, power extending Will and sincerity derived from body, from a flesh and tissue home From a warrior lineage, an ancestry from where the four rivers flow Spiritually divided into quarters of practice Rising up like a radiating disk, shining outward Reaching out like the honed limbs of man To practice the uncompromising and ancient code Cleansing a national osmosis of weakness, waves crashing against a saccharine shore From an ancient meridian, from a cerulean confederacy of four Unmatched, unrivalled in discipline or action, a defender of the imperial faith Leading by example, the tip of the shield, wielding an iron which-will never break Let the four rivers flow
* Finding meaning in the absurdity of being the last generations on a dying planet* Generations buried in soil, lives and passions consumed by worms The sun sears and tides rise higher, fissures form The end in sight, there will be no providence, no deliverance No love, no hate, no redemption, life erased The parasite of man spreads and destroys A species that cannot ascend The cycle concluding, images shine in the face of a cold dead sea Echoes that mean nothing, a universe devoid of meaning All that matters is the shedding of skin, the carving out of stone To find a beauty in blood, to propel onwards like a storm in the night Man will be cut down like ears of corn in harvest And drown in the chaos of the earths final purge A global holocaust, the serpent has come to eat its own tail No bird will fly, no fish will swim, and no boat for man will sail In our twilight all that remains is a reflection of a romantic iron past Engulfed in the mist of the final day, we can only rise, howl, and laugh I can now see that the world cannot breathe Under the weight of man and his seed The last branch of heroes await their final hour As final phase entropy leaves the weak to cower
*The temple of the golden pavilion* Eclipsed by an insurmountable beauty of gold Reflecting one’s own born fettered weakness Exact revenge on the erected epitome of contrast Summon the flames of purification Watch the fires rise Watch the temple burn Conquer humiliation Relinquish the beauty for which you yearn I shall bring you under my sway So that never again will you be able to get in my way Amongst the gilded ashes the ugly subject succeeds Destroy the beauty mocking those who live and breathe A spurned unrequited love, of man and monument Immolate holy perfection, the temple of the golden pavilion Acolyte ignite Summon the fires of the night Acolyte ignite Patron of humanity’s blight Acolyte ignite Reap the structure of golden light
*In absolute awe of Mishima’s expression, conviction and reviving of samurai lineage. A polarising contrarian that can’t be easily encapsulated, equally infuriating and infatuating. But regardless, a focus and discipline to be admired and attempted in whatever path one chooses* Reverence A new generation, a former shadow of themselves Instinct and spirit subdued to appease foreign dominion A military and empire disbanded, a culture reduced to a whisper A country left on its knees in the face of near annihilation From the rubble of defeat, a warrior of sun and steel rises An archetype, a leader, an imperial star Total commitment, total belief, total discipline He inspires a return, to the heights of ancient majesty Marrying words and action, training relentlessly Preparing a youth, a militia, for a war that’s yet to be The enemy’s siege on the sun, to bring a premature night Crush the binary, turn life into a poem, ascend as is your rite The time has come to worship the will to power A small night storm blows, saying, 'falling is the essence of a flower' Preceding those who hesitate, remember thine fallen His life will be remembered, we will spread his calling He has at last set foot On the floating bridge of heaven


Demonstration IV – the conclusion of a tetralogy. Goatowarex.

The Importance of Mishima:

When I think of Yukio Mishima, I think of one word: discipline. Here’s a man who never missed a deadline for his writing, or art. A man who identified the physical weakness within himself and sought to crush it.
In his short lifetime he left a body of work, a legacy that contained 35 novels, 25 plays, 200 short stories, and 8 volumes of essays. An amazing bibliography that assured him a place as Japan’s most celebrated author. An athlete who forged himself a new body from sun and steel. A pariah who disregarded the zeitgeist of his era – the erosion of Japanese tradition and the cultural pressures to transform the country into what he perceived as an emasculated leftist shadow of its former self. He contested his surroundings and matched his words with action, transforming his world to reflect his art. Training religiously, forming a militia, and ultimately immortalising himself through his work and through his death. Total commitment, total belief. Mishima had the drive and vision to make a poem out of his life. And in our contemporary era I think there is much to learn from him. To attempt to attain and exercise that same monastic drive in our own chosen paths. To have the sheer will and faith in ourselves to ignore all the ephemeral influences, distractions, and rabbit holes that are shoved down our throats, that obscure our focus, and derail our progress. To recognise and understand what it is we want and attain it, to attack it mercilessly until we are synonymous with it. How can we change the world if we can’t first change ourselves with discipline, determination and steadfast focus?
News, politics, social rhetoric and trends it’s all agenda and half-truths. Instead, we need the glorious sun, that defined our earliest incarnation of gods and goddesses. We need the steel to make us stronger and conquer. We need Mishima.


released June 1, 2019

All music written and performed by Lepidus Plague (with the exception of drums performed by Magnus T.R.J, trumpet performed by Count Hoggeth Palmeri, additional vocals on tracks three and six by Kastighater Inekstremis, additional vocals on track six by Cuchulainn, and the track ‘Flower's Red' credited to Sabbat.

Kommodus is: The Infernal Emperor – Lepidus Plague


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