The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The Quiet Towers

Can you hear the whisper of the towers of old?
Where silence is demanded as the rhythm unfolds,
Where cliffs in Ireland, Scotland, and Tibet,
Find Vultures and eagles to feed off the dead,
Like wind running over the rock does sings,
The burials for everyone even kings,

To the most beautiful thought in ancient death,
Not a fear of loss,
Or a preservation of death,
No the sky burials and mounds of the eagles,
Show man had looked into nature and gave back equal,
That if roots can’t liberate the soul from the dirt,
Then in eternity I find recycling through mouth of birds,
That let vultures feed inside,
That lets eagles earn and dine,
The bones put back to tombs and mounds,
With the skeletons of eagles consecrating the grounds,

Or bones bleached down to packaged holds,
Our mother using thousands of mouths to consume my fold,
That the flesh be given back to earth untold,
For then the excrement falls on fields,
And then your cells are used in kilns,
And though we hate the idea of consuming,
Another person it’s a different form of human,
For even the ash we scatter to mountains,
Breaks back into the ground around us,
And as the plants break through with food,
We the primate grab and consume,
Minute particles of other beings doom,
A chemical ingestion to continue things that move,
And a real knowledge of where we are from,
As the true rulers of the world are decomposers,
They feed off what would kill all others,
Entropy singing in the voice of the wind,
Gave rise to thoughts of afterlife fin,
For in a game where you watch the bodies break down,
A realization of mummification is escapism unbound,
For which modern religions would say I simply clown,
Yet never question composition of what in dirt makes it brown,
And when you realize that the decomposers have ruled,
Since before dinosaurs and before plants fully ensued,
Then realize the deity if ever there was,
Is the queen of the cycle,
The roaring of the buzz,
That eat and break down all that was,
Then get where early sects of Christ,
Have trees of mushrooms an obvious vice,
As when sacrificing the Wind that is of El becomes Yahweh in state,
Scattering the spores onto the substrate,
Then his only son comes to root,
Goes into the underworld and comes back up non-consumed,
Then a better understanding that the water bearing story,
Got removed from context and made very boring,
And that shamans in Siberia would have found common foot soon,
If the Cathar’s and Gnostics weren’t burned to the moon,
And then the cults of serpent and of the wheel,
Have a unifying voice of intoxication clear,
And when in the early bit of bible,
They say god is not of air to birds or sea to fish,
God is the voice in the plant kingdom it is so obvious,
For why else have a burning bush,
Or the holy of holies kept so hush,
Because these gods are lords of dreams,
Only real when our mind breaks seem,
And leading our armies in our sleep,
A pull from the other unconscious world we keep,
Matches Krishna to Nuada and Yahweh in-between,

All who gave leaders visions inside scenes,
And ruled armies in the celestial realm,
That kept changing as the hidden one kept being unbound,
And being turned into a male dominator who punishes freedoms sound,
Who was sheltered in the minds of sage,
Who got removed from power as kings made rage,
Built on horrors they did to their neighbors,
A game the common folk were always sacrificed in,
Their only reprieve the defense of their land,
Which empires ripped out of their hand,
And the spirits of locality were stripped and with laws band,
That truly gave beauty to the towers of old,
Where the youth find mind and old grow bold,
That a relationship to the land in which they lived,
Was more important than new concepts like individual Sin,
A name created from a local divinity who was condemned,
And laugh by the time of Roman Popes,
Who use the term deus and hold up their hand,
But had forgotten that from Thracian Saba-dios all symbols and hands,
Then until the enlightenment they waved sticks blessing fields,
So god is nature from their view quite clear,
As the celestial heavens was the outer sphere,
Funny that now they would make fun of the pagans,
Though every rite and ritual started there in,
And a tip of the hat goes more in mind to King David,
The first revolutionary since Mosses invocated,
The warrior spirit wind,
That as to throw out the oppressors of force,
Gave root to a single male dominating choice,
That gave them a reality that wasn’t being owned,
And allowed the Messianic heroes to be bold,
Unfortunately after Roman overview was large,
They lost track that the same histories held their charge,
And then fanatics attack the cults,
Where the Eucharist was born and ecstasy a result,
For that stupid choice of not teaching others,
But leading them by saying they are stupid to one another,
Are the true villains who stole inspiration,
And at the false perfection sought a catholic put people to concentration,
While an atheist starved his people and killed the shamans in cold blood,
And the materialists gave up on treating land as one,
So no idea of the modern frame gives satisfaction to conscious plane,
And true inspiration they call insane,
So from what but the decomposers can we advance the brain?

Nothing in truth can be gained by their message,
While the ancestors graves send a better message,
That when put into the ground,
If important a ship or mound,
Gave completion to the physical portion,
Like tombs of old kings before distortion,
And heroes can be born by giving them legacy,
Something unfound in modern theocracy,
Something we play with though we lie,
Or else Bush Jr. would need concept to win,
And not just saying a good Christian he is,
No fault to the man for doing what works,
But the numbing of broad thought devours us,
And so we live a period from before,
When blind strife struck Baldr with mistletoe,
We let Loki’s rule over with primal needs they moan,
Funny that in myth you find truth,
For everyone loves broad minded sight,
Because he does not judge or force to say what is right,
Just casually holds out a helping hand,
To see that in Hel he is even regarded,
Solved by the rejecter which leads Odin to punishment,
Then wisdom travelled but was only found between lands,
Something I think we match where we stand,
A hope that we can give love back to land,
Flesh back to animals who we only strip out where they stand,
And let our mother recycle us is our true final demand,
For she will do it anyway if you want it or not,
And the heaven in your mind is just another level of thought…



Sean Stutzman

The Great Gift Neglected

Little friends buzz and hum,
In houses of denizen they come,
To orchestrate the hive of mind,
To build the thoughts of comb inside,
For look to the dancing ladies,
In Minoan lands of island trees,
To see when the ape turned to insects,
Against the grain of small group tactics,
To learn of larger mastery,
The mothers of our society,

The number of 7 matches clear,
Of abdomens I yell with a little sneer,
Who from old did bring little baskets or bags,
Though future men said they were demons and hags,
That go back to Gobekli Tepe with Gods carrying sacks,
Why our little friends mirror this with pollen on their backs,
A trade that matches the drugs being moved,
As once you collect the seed you start creating food,
And then we see the hive becomes rules for city planning,
Where do you think naturally the ancients were learning?


Then the gate guardians and the idea of foreign curse,
Matches the horns on towers and the evil eyes reverse,
Which makes sense when Cananite wine storage is clear,
Not just full of grape fueled nectar for the elite,
That had honey wines and itself added to make them sweet,
No more like a communal father seem these kings,
The keepers of family groups coded by sigil rings,
With gallons on hand even as 1170 comes crashing down,
And an answer to why drinking customs showed civility all around,

Then get this lady in her source,
The mother gods and of discourse,
Was worshipped by Xoanans often of wood,
That were held in places where groves once stood,
That from caves and cliffs she is heralded,
And Rhea raises Zeus on honey undebated,
Then ask where or what could be in the trees?
That would make women so special?
That would give them the nectar?
That would put women as queens?
That would make bulls into their feed?
That would live in horns?
That would give birth to the gift so tough?


For Gullveig gets made into metallurgic greed,
Though from dwarves the great gifts of metal are received,
The holders of the world they are set in place things,
That never ever move once set in reality,
So funny they say she is tied to drink,
Veig making sense from their economy,
For this lady gave them wealth that is not contested by any,
But from a natural source of life not stone came her plenty,
That the queens of Indo European tradition moved into the warlord’s observation,
A powerful priestess-hood that challenged male dominated nations,
Then this bounty of wealth should match the seed,
That in honey comes B.C. surplus and from the hive a queen,
A truth proven that every bounty of knowledge and wealth in Norse thought,
Comes from a Mead goddess’ pouring knowledge into your mouth,
Something they adopted but slayed the dancing queens,
As witches of change to hunting ways of being,
For only the kingdom of the dead in their minds,
Was home to the information that collected from tides,
Not from their own lands could it be received,
Meaning that the Jotun gift was adventure and need to trade,
As obviously they were seeking the runes as Odin would say,




Then in Mediterranean ideas we find Hercules pillars,
At atlas’s home the ladies of fate sat under stars,
With a great tree that sits with them tending it,
Ringed defenses around trees explain what they need to protect,
When myths did mix a dragon from Zios’ cult starts to guard,
And then what but honey could these ladies of grove impart,
That the Hesperides sit with apples so sweet,
With flowers that open on the ends of leaves,
That in groves with water and flowers about,
Give a tie line to whole entire thought,
That inside wooden tree trunks comes what we did want,
What in symbolism of old is shoved in all fonts?
That gave our ancestors the first head start,
Of boons of products to go between each other by cart,
First boom of extra not just from the rain,
That matches incense and drugs the other half of the game,


Then realize the lady who brings food to table,
Is the one little queen inside the shelter,
For no plant would grow,
No flower could rise,
No tree could survive,
No the keys of plant kingdom and carbon like two pillars arise,


Now that we are the age of angiospermic delight,
Without the lady who gives life to all things bright,
Who in a wooden idol had life inside?
And would give reason to Hecate and Artemis’ shrine,
That society and all the plants in full,
Have significance with all the cults of the bull,
And lost with Thera the common call,
That claimed old Dionysus of Mead Lycurgus was worshipped by all,
Yet went crazy when grapes came to usurp his ball,
That Hera poured life for all of the gods,
Ambrosia her nectar given to immortal odds,
Then was taken over by the pourers as they traded gender roles,
Funny girls held that too until pederasty is bold,

Then what does the queen control and hold that no other does?
That she obtains by the little workers holding pollen on fuzz,
Why then honey and nectar are shared through workers and drones,
And to the next generation the idea of surplus honey for more combs,
Then to the earth our progressive teacher we owe cultures feet,
That gave Minoan dominance seat,
And laid Mycenaean nations at their feet,
When looking back gave root to our beliefs,
And was riches to create the power seats,

For the lady of weave,
The net,
The Loom,
The Distaff,
The wheel,
The moon,
Once wore bees in her hair and a hive as face,
Then realize without her we have perverted the bees from proper place,
Something that warnings of old will bring us real problems and disgrace,
And the second great symbioses of man will degrade,
As the bees drop one by one as we raise up our male war bound state,


I call for Asclepius’ revival,
The remembrance of the insects of why we sacrificed the bull,
The gift of hives to make us and their breeding better,
As a lead in point for carbon life to work together,
Our male dominance even creating the only monster,
A chimera of our impatience just without fur,
The killer bees a punishment for forcing efficiency,
While forgetting in our models we are just worker bees,
And that a respect to these little friends gives us wealth and strength,
That if petroleum was gone would be the pain to continue societal length,
And if we make this idea take hold,
Look at the help we give to the whole world,
The plants get aid,
The ape gets paid,
The bees get made,
The bulls get laid,
The fungus gets play,
The balance is maintained,
And our great mother of the world from inside her log remains saved,
And carbon life has a road to go to help success get paved,
And the hive in all is proud of how it’s maintained,
And the drones are not the final death throw explained,



For when a hive drones and leaves,
If models for society,
Gives sourcing for the peoples of the sea,
A terrible overview warning,
That if we neglect that balance to male lords,
Then no more queen to make more life just wars to seek after,
And death not growth Loki’s children come in laughter,





And then the Norns chuckling can be heard,
Not as something formed in words,
But warnings that from every culture gave birth,
That we created the world of their nightmare earth,
One more obsessed with change and death,
Then growth of the life that occupies it…


Sean Stutzman