Blackies (Countess & Count)
You my Kitty Blacky. Me your Doggie Blacky. We Blackies dig melodic/symphonic Black Metal, tryna impress our dear POP readers & listeners into supporting our orchestral black humor travesties. Oops!
So Black Countess, Queen of Winter, you who steel my heart, shall we? Yes, I do and kiss the bride! And the following is just my love stream of black consciousness and conscience … you love my BS, I mean Black Stratosphere, don’t you?
What has Black Metal music been to me for 35 years and still torturing me? It’s been both the raw and refined high-voltage energy of passion, melancholy, romanticism, and brutality, of the soldier spirit of the dying refusing fiercely to succumb to death, reminding me in the symphonic agonies of the most extreme form of music that I’m still alive and trying really hard to usurp the death’s throne!
My Kitty Blacky, without me purring semi-happily, I know you’ll religiously listen to all of your Doggie Blacky’s Black Metal battle hymns, not skipping one, you can’t, my blackened metal heart tells me you love them all, or me for having it, such a good heart, for bringing it at least into the light, into you. It can’t be bleached, its blackness can’t be washed away, like my clothes, or can it? Is it a black phat yes again? Yippee! But you’re not rolling your deep abyss eyes, are you, just because I’m not tryna be Black Metal solemn or semi-epically phunny? I am howling at the moon and the stars we Blackies are.
Black Count, who steels your heart, King of Tropics is almost done, yes, kissed by the bride! Oh, and you don’t mind me wearing your helmet while I’m bleeding, do you? If I were a girl, you’d fall for me anyway as well because you’re so perfectly feminine and you’d want anything less. O la la, tu amor es mi armadura = your love is my armor = your love is my hard weapon = your love can make it soft, though, tra la la, your sheath, let me feel it, let me show you your victory sign, you can burst it like a bubble, be mine, aha ha ha!
You’re my vital bone to keep me barking. I developed a natural instinct to protect things I see as valuable, particularly food. And you’re my nutritious food, Deeleecious, so that I can survive in this cruel world. I wonder how your ears will twitch when I kiss your lips with the creepo symphonies in the background, or your mouth as you will want more … an adorable animal instinct. The very heart of my aggressive behavior is simply a fighting desire to keep the many beautiful things Doggie values safe from harm. And you are those things, Beautiful, you’re safe with me, Kitty. Our stolen hearts are safe in love, treasured in each other’s sigh, we are made of steel, Black Metal. We’re Blackies, Countess & Count, and this is our black dream come true countdown!
You’re my white heart, pumping while veiling my failing heart throbs, you’re the shadowed light to my bright darkness crimsoning the sky. You’re the stranger harmony to my unusual degree of dissonance for such weird choral styles or clash resulting from the eerie combination of my disharmonious, unsuitable elements of love. You’re the glowing embers of blissful touch in the scarlet snow that keep me warm, such a cozy shelter, where there’s no Black Death, no bubonic plague pandemonium, no fears, no nightmares, no hate. Your picturesque art is contrasted with my rough appearance, but the naked truth is, our reality is only Life and Love!
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