Formless at the beginning, then gathering shape as they pass from the other world into this, the dark shadows congeal into blackened forms of ancient hate, and gather in the hoarfrost of the primeval forest to worship at the foot of the Tree of Wights, droning their nameless and wordless chants until the tree, itself, release the spirits of the damned, stored in its cold waves of wood, freeing them for this one night of their accursed, screaming eternity, to vent their aeons of torture upon a still sleeping world of humans.
CHRISTMAS BEYOND THE WALL…
Latest StuffMONDAY NIGHT BOWERY BALLROOM W/AIMEE MANN CANCELED…
TL/Rx TRIBUTE TO HUGH MASEKELA LIVE ON WNYC’S SOUNDCHECK 10/23
THE LIES OF HANDSOME MEN
FRIDAY IN THE PARK WITH WILD FLAG AND MISSION OF BURMA (AND ME)
*UPDATED* REJECTED DONOVAN COVER