ITT: We are huge Creed fans

Odradek

OMG guys, Scott Stapp, is like, the dreamiest!!~!

criminalscum

I also enjoy Creed's music.

Imipolex G

this is something I cannot even fake

Obā-san

Odradek said:

OMG guys, Scott Stapp, is like, the dreamiest!!~!

but wouldn't Creed fans be posturing moron men as opposed to drooling fangirl ladies?

Obā-san

i mean i do not really see creed appealing to the female set

women have higher standards than that

Imipolex G

not necessarily, I have known at least two women who were Creed fans.

Zersk

Ezio's pretty cool. :3 But Altair is cool as well! I haven't played 3 yet though so I dunno what Connor's like.

Previous Calica

with arms wide opeeeeeeeeeeen~

yeah okay I don't know any creed lyrics beyond this

Obā-san

God of terror, very low dost thou bring us, very low hast thou brought us

A sensation of everlasting rot and those frantic wails, no, it is not a fall into

the abyss, the defiance of descent, a coronation beyond liberty and slavery;

the cry of woe and deliverance exudes a flame, evasive as sound and ether:

an instant of collusion with death, without hope nor prospect, yet it is a

world below and above and in all eternity, a gift of fever, the wind of death

that sustains the life in me, yes, the lightness of hovering in permanent

anguish; i dared to borrow those words, to articulate them and to savour

their turpitude, as i beheld the shrine of mad laughter.

The limit is crossed with a weary horror: hope seemed a respect which

fatigue grants to the necessity of the world

As if Death was dashed onto the death within, a violent thrust stealing the

light of the eyes, a ray of darkness, a negation, the bread of bitterness that

ignites neither devotion nor fervour; resplendent nothingness! make all

things appear with clarity, ruined in the flame of repudiation, in the flame

of God! Interwoven joy and confusion, a stabbing confusion, asphyxiation

from within, yet i gained this certitude: malediction, degradation, sown in

me like seeds, now I belonged to my flesh; I belonged to death, in harbouring

a desire for the hideous, I was beckoning to death. Insatiable combustion,

expand, this body is thy vessel of grace!

The idea of God is pale next to that of perdition, but of this i could have no

inkling in advance

Obā-san

From a supplication without response, the essence of man, his ground

giving way, comes illumination by a sun of great evil that sets aflame the

inner core and enthrones suffocation and the intolerable without respite as

the joyful reward for a million aborted truths, this silence that among all

man has charged with sacred horror, it becomes sovereign, in repugnant

nativity, and detaches itself from the bonds which paralyse a vertiginous

movement towards the void.

Breathless ecstatic experience,

it opens the horizon a bit more,

this wound of God;

it is the assassination of the abyss of possibilities, the depths of being left to holy vultures.

Such monstrous impurity, and this incessant piety, no less revolting, cried

out to heaven and they bore an affinity to God, inasmuch as only utter darkness can be likened to light

Obā-san

The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance

with the angels of innocence amidst thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of

a divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear

hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales

besides the cry this shattering truth wrests from all fellow men, there is

more to it than suffering and sounds of suffering, it is a process that only

the extinction of a divine soul could terminate. The eye can outstare neither

the sun, nor death... if i sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of

temptation.

The idea of Salvation comes, i believe, from one whom suffering breaks

apart. He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed

on the path towards the rupture.

Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without

degradation, without sin,- is it no burden to bear the repellent scars of

abandon, of election?- it leaves but a state of supplication and deserted

expanses, an absorption into despair. The existence of things cannot enclose

the death which it brings to me; the existence is itself projected into my

death, and it is my death which encloses it. Am I deranged? Over and above

quietism! Nurtured by the multitude of man's misfortune, a thousand halos

like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitfalls of brimstone

and the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter...

I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. I invoked it and blessed it.

I progressed ever further into vileness and degradation. Am i resurging,

intact, out of infamy?

Obā-san

An exhausted fall into disgrace, famished for peace, for a mere moment

of respite in dying eternities, on the verge of being deprived of all

humanity: non-sense is the outcome of every possible sense, it is the start of

transcendence, the dissolution that spreads without limits and the critical

violation; what pleasure of inconceivable purity there is in being an object

of abhorrence for the sole being to whom destiny links my life! The rupture

is too profound to stand up, nothing remains but a terrified consolation in

a laughable renunciation that is not the one of a single man, thou art not

dead to the devoration of sin!

Every human being not going to the extreme limit is the servant or the

enemy of man and the accomplice of a nameless obscenity.

Let us be a blight on the orchard, on all orchards of this world, even the

least of these words will be judged during the times of reckoning, bearing

a latent damnation, a feverish seduction exasperated in death, every letter

is a code to extreme horror, utter contempt and divine conflict; it is a lethal

to speak the language of resistance, every gasp exhales a particle of the

remission of Golgotha, as if the blazing Logos demanded the exercise of the

fragile power just above the annihilation, the one of a harmony in ruins; it is a

task for a man who cannot bear any longer to be, a chore for the lost in the

denial of free will: perinde ac cadaver!

Le vent de la Vérité a répondu comme une gifle à la joue tendue de la piété

God of terror, very low dost thou bring us, very low hast thou brought us...

Odradek

Can you take me higher?