The enjoyment of church burning is not to destroy the symbol of Christianity but to watch the flame spreading its amazing insight. The flame will open a door of consciousness to whom the flame has been kindled, where they can see through their past and into their future.
However, Varg didn't know an impending disaster was chasing him down. In the meantime, those people in Helvet were having a party and had no idea what would happen to the community, either. The orgy went from Helvet to the dilapidated house they rented for rehearsal. They started a bonfire and continued to play loud music. Well, it was too loud to hear the words of the flame. Oh, the fireplace at Christmas, if they hadn't given up all Christian traditions for semi-atheism.
Back in the day, people in the BM community loved small talk. Beside the fire sat Varg and Fenriz, laughing and talking to each other.
"Well, this party is 99% boring. I was thinking about movies. Have you watched The Shining?" Varg asked Fenriz.
Fenriz paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows, and then replied to Varg. "Yeah, but I didn't like it very much. I think "The Thing" is better."
"You mean the one by John Carpenter? Well, honestly, I hate them both." Varg replied.
"Then why do you ask?"
"Just want to hear your opinion. I mean, if I can travel through time, I may choose to live in the past."
"Why? If I could go back, well, I can't, and I don't want to. What's the difference?"
"The past is always the best."
"Well, it depends."
"Do you want beer?"
"Yeah, why not?" Fenriz and Varg went inside the house and headed to the freezer.
"Sorry, I didn't see you here." Fenriz apologized.
Pelle smiled and made an "I'm OK" gesture.
"Well, at least he's not cutting himself with that rusty knife." Varg joked.
After a couple of beers, Varg and Fenriz started waving their hands around like some idiots. They were pretty drunk that night.
In his dream, Varg heard the fire speaking in a low voice.
False prophet, may you worship the sunrise.
He saw himself gutted by a cloaked hermit, his body covered with flowers, such a stunning and mysterious creature... of God? No.
Inside the house, everyone was going blind. Pelle stared at the empty ceiling, drowning himself in chaotic thoughts slowly. No, it shouldn't be like this. He rose from the ground, seized a knife, and walked toward the fire.
He dug his brains out, and every drop of his blood burned in an invisible fire. He watched himself corrupt into heresy. In the woods, he grinned like a child. It was an illusion, and now the fire is inside his chest.
"Pelle, my dear boy, why are you so melancholy?"
"I saw my tomb in my dream. I want to die so I can smell the rot on my skin. This is my metamorphosis."
Øystein sat by the door and watched Pelle as he went into the woods.
"Maybe he could find his peace there, what a beautiful boy,...... My boy." He said to himself.
"Yeah, this isn't a dream, this is the fucking reality." Then he followed Pelle into the woods, not moving, only watching.
My dearest friend, are you leaving me? Yes, every possible alternative for us is falling apart, in which delirium is confirmed to be your ultimate fate.
"What you gonna do?" Øystein whispered to a tree.
He got closer and closer until Pelle turned around, laughing and yelling at him.
"I know it was you, why are you following me? Øystein Aarseth?"
Not good. He called me by my full name.
"What do you want?"
"No...no, I just want to know if you are OK. Nothing else."
Pelle snorted and slowly slit his wrists.
"This is what you want? Huh? You want to die with me, and I do not care. Maybe you should kill me, or I will kill you."
Pelle chuckled again as if he had said nothing hurtful. It is his morbid humor that triggers Øystein's appetite. Now he only wants more, even if it may not end as well as he expected.
Pelle laughed like some creepy movie character and continued to cut his veins with a sharper knife. The blood flowed down his arm, but that didn't seem to bother him.
He just wants the blood to leave his circulatory system and into Oystein's, in which his remains will stay in Oystein's body forever. If our brain cells can be blended, I will enter your dream layer upon layer and eventually help you discover your true self.
"Pelle, plz, slow down. You're bleeding."
"You enjoyed watching, don't you? Just admit it." Then he grabbed a surgical knife and scraped away the flesh clinging to the skin. Dark red blood mingled with the skin tissue and the flesh peeled from his body. More blood is flowing down his arm. His pale skin is now more bloodless. Pelle is prettier than usual when he's hurting himself. His golden hair is like cats', soft and silky. Though he hates cats, perhaps that's because he is one. Øystein decided not to go back. He wanted to stop thinking about what was happening between them, but he couldn't.
He wanted to stay in the basement where they lived together for a long time. Maybe he could find his head on the top of the shelf, pumping out blood and flesh, gnawed by rats and maggots, from which Pelle would devour it like a fucking vampire.
Pelle, you look so delicious. I'm gonna take a bite and lick the blood down your vessel. This pain inside us will soon be gone if you hand yourself over to me. The deeper you cut, the sweeter your body will taste like. My belly starts to combust. My organs begin to absorb food from my skin. To digest everything you have given to me, I evolved into another form of life that you will never want to see. You will see my resurrection as a cursed Christian, who carries all the dead bodies of the entire humanity. But I don't care about anyone of them, I've made my decision to play in your show. Your horror and sweet show.
Haha, I want to use you as my experiment. See, I'm a rotten corpse. My blood contains a certain virus, which means if you drink my blood, you will be infected. Eventually, you will be just like me, undead. Then we could be together, forever. I know you do not care for me. You just love me as an image of your self-reflection. That's why we can not be two different individuals. We're meant to be bonded with our flesh and bones.
Pelle was frozen in the wind, like a soulless creature. Øystein approached him and tapped him on the left shoulder, which seemed to belong to a skeleton.
No, Pelle, you're not dead. You've been immersing yourself in fantasies for too long. Go back to the real world, the artificial universe.
"Go back to Sweden!"
"Then go."
"Ok, I'll go tomorrow."
Instead of being angry with Pelle, Øystein laughed and stared at him erratically.
Pelle, you will never leave me, even when you are six feet under. I will dig you up and put you inside the coffin I made for us to rest in peace.
"Øystein, listen to me. I'm about to do it. In my version of the story, I will die."
"I...can not. I wish you weren't this way. I wanted to understand you. But you didn't want me to. So I gave up. "
He stuck in words. His lips trembled with his hands. He holds Pelle's face like a little child, pulling Pelle towards his face. He kissed him slightly. Pelle was unaware of his sudden action. A drill is piercing his head. The blood froze in his veins. His body was covered with eyes. He started to cut deeper into his limbs and ribs. Before he could do it, Øystein grabbed the knife and pulled it toward himself. Now his hands were bleeding, too. Their skin tissues were stirring with each other biologically. Two mutilated bodies intertwine in a narrow and hermetic space that has no way to escape.
Life is the transcendental path toward the future where we bury our rationalities and see through the brave new world.
There was no church for us to burn. We burnt it a hundred years ago.
We went to East Europe to find your answers. There was no castle for us to stay.
We climbed up to the tower, but there was nothing up there but a crucifix.
"Are you satisfied?"
"No," Pelle answered as he walked back to the house.
*A poem that Øystein wrote to Pelle
I walked into the paradox where you lived.
Frozen at the cemetery of your childhood.
In which I buried my branches,
Lived a solid, dreadful island.
I wandered at your morbid garden,
became a hovering shadow in your heaven.
No trespassing, you said.
May you sleep into death.
So close to your land,
My dearest friend,
with your vampiric mind,
Through your rotten eyes,
Serenely into pieces was my life.
It's your philosophy that invaded my territory.
