The Evolution of a Slyman

Poetry and Artwork

Ritual 1 (a poem)

It is from this dark chamber that I call from within;
Reaching out to the void, let my workings begin;
With my ritual blade I carve a seal into the ground;
Carefully chosen elementals, incantations, and sigils are laid out;
Chalice in it’s proper place, charms and talismans in their proper state;
Deep and guttural tones as I invoke, she that is the Gate;
Striking flint above the tinder, I bring forth the first fire;
A reminder of our kinship is brought forth in my mind;
What was within is also now without, and so shall be my desire;
Each candle lit in perfect sequence, incense done in the same design;
Last syllables formed and a breath from the smoke held deep;
As I exhale, she has opened the Gate:

-T.C. Downey 2021


Lost in the Rain (an old poem)

Hot as the sun
You can make me
Come all undone
Want you to show me
The winds of the plains
I can feel you
How your thoughts are portrayed
The trees can taste you
Your soft veins
We are all lost in the rain
See all you want
Something’s still missing
What have we done?
I want to see
The dove and the raven become one
Blessed the dead
Damning the living
Standing at the gate
Streams are forgiving
Tasting the nectar of Roman goods
Sack clothe and twinning
Rough leather shelter feet
Crisp morn and sweet dew
An evening of luxury
Faint cause for yearning
Spilling of blood
Streams pass beneath my feet
Trolls feast the crimson mud
No shadows or windows
Old ghosts pass
As do the sands of an hour glass
Still lost in the rain
I can feel you all around me
How your love is inspired
We can all see you
What your heart desires
We’re all lost in the rain
I can feel you all around me
Like the drapes of the night
Look into you
Scrap the depths of your being
See you lost in the rain

-T.C. Downey 1995


Aftermath (a short poem)

In this place only earth, trees, and stars;
Beyond the hills things are more bizarre;
The Aethyr whispers in the silent night;
The Ancient Ones will come when the stars are right;
For it is THEM moving through all things;
Always there pulling on our strings;
Those they chose did more than survive;
A brave new world in which they thrive;
Warrior wizards of the killing kind;
Song-like prayer chants from the culling times;
Faces stained of war-paint mixed from mud, blood, and soot;
All who cross this warband are trampled underfoot;
From a distance the erie shadows cast;
Carcasses of monolithic dwellings of the past;
Haunting reminders of when we’d lost our way;
Such vile and dastardly creatures, that which we had became;
Still there were those among Us that waited for the day;
When the season was just right so they could play the sinister game;
A thousand moons have passed since;
Deep into the Aeon of the Crown Prince.


Haunter (a short poem)

Just beyond the reach of the fire’s soft light;
Lurking the shadows, whispering to the night;
From a time before time, Baleful and Malefic;
Crimson-black soaked robe reminiscent of Ole Celtic;
Madness seeping in like spores do a carcass;
An offering made of flesh and bone, who knows the purpose;

Only the Great Mother recognizes all thousand faces;
Staring into the Void, the strange geometry of such places;
Numinously unsettling the intensity renders one nauseous;
Peeling the skin , twisted grin,  ecstasy rises and crashes;
In the pale lunar glow, a new horror is composed;
Blissfully unassuming masses, until the plot unfolds;

In the wake of Myatt’s Vindex, galactic order is imposed;
A return to the folk path, reanimated specter O’ long ago;
In the Times of Culling, glaring notions of suchness had much reveal;
Our kind rises above, because we bathe in fire and steel;
The Black Man shares the message, Awaken the A:O;
The Dark God’s are presenced within the Chaos that is sown; 

And to the New Aeon, be more honest than the last;
Let mankind’s wyrdful purpose reach out into the vast;
Alchemical altered physis, a path that’s sevenfold;
Insidious is the slyman, a sinister dialect of that unknown;
So bring on the Crawling Chaos, raise those megaliths;
Outside the Nameless City,  the darkness is our gift.

-T.C. Downey 06/06/2021


Old Memories (an old poem)

Sing us a song, Old Memories
That melody brings it all back to me
We were so young in those days
The world was the field in which we played
We weren’t afraid of anything
Chancing all Lady Luck would bring
Our souls filled with fire that slowly burns
The lessons of life, we had yet to learn

And I’d give anything to bring, life back to the words you sing
Old Memories please come to me, you are all that’s left of a dream

Conjure a spell that’ll take us there
Back where the feeling was so pure
Give back what I’ve missed so much
Breathe in new life to this withered touch
I remember how the new day would sing
of the treasure’s our old friend Chance would bring
Our spirits would soar way above the sky
Make it the last feeling before I die

No one can change what we’ve exchanged, they can’t make us feel ashamed
What we’ve done and what we’ve shared, those Old Memories can’t be repaired

One day I’ll call on you old friend
To bring back the times of old again
As we talk of the things we used to know
That weak old flame will begin to glow
Brighter with each memory it’ll grow
I think to myself “How I’ve missed you so”
I keep Old Memories in my heart
Right where they’ve been from the start

And I’d give anything to bring, life back to the words you sing
Old Memories please come to me, you are all that’s left of a dream

So sing us a song Old Memories, Remind us of how things used to be.

-T.C. Downey 2002


Fatal (my very first poem)

The look of evil as times are grim,
A sign of death as we are living in sin,
The blood of my heart leaves a dark stain,
To love her, with all to lose and nothing to gain;

Close my eyes as I wait for my time,
Is killing myself such a crime?
Death from the angel is all I ask,
So leave me alone as I carry out this task;

Half way dead as I bleed on the floor,
I wait for Satan to open the door,
Life has been so deadly and wicked,
Climbing the gate so thorny and pricked;

Slow and painful is the death rate,
As I slashed my wrists on this fatal date,
This was all for a girl can’t you see,
I look to the stars, there’s no forgiveness for me;

My time was Fatal!

-T.C. Downey 1990


Fuck The Machine (an old poem)

“Fuck the Machine”

No matter how hard
I’ve tried
I’m still trapped inside
My 9 to 5
I’m staying alive
But it’s quite a stride
Still I sell my pride
And hope I thrive
By pleasing the mind
Of a superior kind
A man with a wallet fuller than mine
All through this time
I repeat in my mind
One day I’ll rise
One day I’ll shine
I wish I was strong
Like a Rock –n- Roll song
And made a dong
Like a big brass gong
Or take away your breath
Like a 4 foot bong
But those days are gone

I want to stand up and scream
Something obscene
Muck up what’s said to be clean
Hold up my finger and say:
“Fuck The Machine!”
Take what’s left of my being
And follow my dreams

You think you control
My mind and soul
Get it through your thick skull
There was nothing sold
No favors are owed
Won’t do what I’m told
I’ve been driving this road
Since before the stars were old

-T.C. Downey 1999


Encore of Hypocrisy (An old poem)

The veil of truth has been removed.

Who we are, defined by what we do.

Search deep inside, you’ll find we’re cruel.

Our primal darkness, seeping through.

Lullaby of lies, duped and mezmerized; still we can’t disguise it.

Cold like a raw bone ripping at the rail.

Hard as a steel bar driven like a nail.

Foaming like a mad dog look for a kill.

Ravenous and genocidal.

Ingrained within ensuring survival.

Yet we bury it deep in denial.

Build our strawmen, then place them on trial.

Turn a blind eye, cover it in pride; pathetically we can’t hide it.

Cold like a raw bone ripping at the rail.

Hard as a steel bar driven like a nail.

Foaming like a mad dog looking for a kill.

Far beyond, what we pretend to be.

An encore of hypocrisy.

Our species was born of rage.

Soaked in blood and brutality.

-T.C. Downey 2013


The Accuser (A short poem)

I walk among the living dead.
I see them and their madness.
Their eyes are wide open, yet they dream life; without lucidity.
They fear the rational gaze.

I am fire to them.
My words scorch their delusions.
My reasons blind them, burning bright with contempt for folly.
Some speak of me as insurgency, I see a quest for merit.

I am relentless and defiant.
My restlessness, rushes over the bedrock; smoothing every stone.
Even in my calmest appearances, I still yield a wicked undertow.
Men whisper stories of being sucked under me, never to again be seen.

I am the accuser.
I point my finger firmly and judge ye, as I have already judged myself.
You have chosen to simply toe-the-line, turning an eye that is blind.
Acting contrary to your design.

I am of the Tree of Wyrd.
Rooted deeply in what has passed; yet reaching outward into the vastness.
What is life, if not to grow? Tend me closely or let me go.
Will you climb atop, or be sated by what hangs low? The answer, I already know.

-T.C. Downey 2021


Courageous Heart (a slightly newer poem)

I’m probably doing this all wrong

Only knowing the lyrics of love songs

But pain is something, I’ve known all a long

Its something against which, I can be strong

I can light the darkness until the dawn

Suffer gracefully like nothing is wrong

Support the pillars, so the sky won’t fall

Wrestle Titans and defy divine law

I’ve faced death and wasn’t scared

Lost it all and never cared

Been beaten, broken, and scrutinized

It didn’t stop me from locking eyes

When it comes to one thing

I am without a clue

 How do you go about…

Making someone believe in you?

Do you make your words the sweetest song?

Make them feel as if nothing is wrong?

Tell them all the evil is gone?

Face them; pretending you’re strong?

Trick them, decieve them, or tell them lies?

Never let them see tears in your eyes?

Be everything you know, they don’t despise?

When they call your name, be sure to rise?

Be cruel and heartless, as love sometimes is?

Lose yourself in the passion of the kiss?

Pull them in tight and make a wish?

No doubt, just tiny bumps across the flesh.

One might wonder, why you would want to?

Make someone believe in you

Only pain has proven true,

will you now believe in them too?

When you realize, you somehow made it through

Will you smile and laugh, cause you were a fool?

Make a pledge to yourself; not to be such a tool?

Have a courageous heart and to that be true.

-T.C. Downey 2012


Illuminating The Xeno (a slightly newer poem/mantra)

You are not Special,
You aren’t even who you think you are,
There is nothing original or authentic about you,
You are a carbon copy,
A xerox of life force,
A chain reaction of impulses,
An executed precision of basic programming,
You will not see your dreams realized,
You will drone in the mundane until extinguishment,
Your efforts are a vivid deception,
Truly you aren’t even in motion,
You are not even awake,
Mostly you are in a deep slumber,
Sprinkled with spells of broken sleep,
Your Most High Adepts are at best lucid dreamers,
You’ve made yourself a fraud and a liar,
Afraid of your own potential,
Blind to your birthright,
A sheep on the pasture,
A means to a product,
No god will embrace you,
You’ve refused to embrace yourself,
You’ve forgotten your honor,
Possess nothing of character,
You’ll surely dismiss me,
Cast a circle and falsely pass onto me labels,
But I cannot be bound to you,
Most likely you aren’t worthy of this knowledge,
So you cannot receive me,
For you are a liar,
Claiming you can do nothing of catastrophic proportions,
perception is a farce of smoke and mirrors,
Cast Herme’s Stone,
Shatter the panes,
And glare till the airs crisp,
Might you know the objective in every way possible,
Still you are naive to the nature of the currents,
And cannot deny them,
Your strings plucked in pandemonium,
A runaway puppet,
A beggar and groveling slave,
No master would have you,
To mentor or suffer,
Those you would have tend you,
They shame you and shave you,
They mockingly parade you,
I am no better,
Strike that of these matters,
For I have embraced them,
And I truly struggle,
Against them I grow stronger,
Each time I reach deeper,
Becoming void of the human,
Illuminating the Xeno

-T.C. Downey 2010


More Artwork


Holy War III – Apocalypse (an old poem)

Stained in glory, here before me

No song of victory

In steaming fury, a one man jury

Open the guillotine

An imperial power, his monstrosity towers

Hail the mighty king

For I am but only, a lonely solider

Killing for majesty

Many are like me, living to serve thee

Dying is integrity

Fiercely strong, so we push on

Won’t stop till victory

We didn’t start it, but we’ll finish it

Soldiers of World War III

First come the showers, explosions of power

So wickedly fearsome we are

Then we move through with swiftness, conquer with quickness

So righteously phantoms of death

For our gods and our country, so our sons live peaceably

We smash out the puritan’s seed

In our push for the win, we committed a sin

Underestimating the mankind’s greed

Nobody won World War III

Now that it’s over, no longer a soldier

A vagabong left to be

I remember the hour, of nuclear power

Destroying society

The cities are ruined, species is long gone

Nothing left in the sea

The sun is scorching, the air is on fire

My skin is peeling from me

Soon there will be, nothing left of me

The lone victor of World War III

– T.C. Downey 1992


Some Drawings 2013-2017


My Darkest Day (an old poem)

The Autumn chill sets in;

An eerie silence whispers on the wind;

It doesn’t muffle what’s stirring in my head.

All my thoughts seem grim;

This vast emptiness collapsing in;

A hallow chorus chanting “go into the light.”

The light it fades;

Soaked and stained;

Stained by my darkest days.

Darkness bleeds throughout;

Carried by the brush strokes of doubt;

Does nothing ever comfort the screaming?

Where does it start or end;

This madness, I’m slipping in;

Slightly touched by March’s wicked grin.

The laughter dissipates;

Cloaked and weeping;

Weeping for my darkest days.

The new day, asked me why;

Am I wasting his precious time;

Posing questions only answered in my mind.

Might be better if it fails;

Cause there’s no wind to drive the sails;

Thus I am so tired of waiting to exhale.

My time dissipates;

No one else will wait;

Wait out the dawn on my darkest day.

– T.C. Downey/Beast Xeno 2013


Rage (an old poem)

Rage

It’s got me frustrated 

And I can not breathe

An everyday façade

Swallowing me

Live out my dreams

Only in fantasies

Sentenced to a prison

Without bars or chains

I pray for demons

I beg for rage

I seduce an explosion

Just to blow up my cage

Lodge me in my throat

So I can swallow this shame

No soldier’s glory

No father’s pride

No recollection of

When my true self died

My impure soul

Finds no redemption

Unwashed and unclean

Just a piece of the machine

by T.C. Downey 1997