empty hand
Unearthly Demagogue

The October Selected Poet is Unearthly Demagogue (UD)

Please feel free to email UD at: wingsofanangel2012@gmail.com



However alone you are; just you in the intoxicating presence of your own memory— 
You cannot honestly choose meditating; 
An inescapable cemetery of introspection 
That threatens to erase the best pleasures you had from yourself. 

You were, are and will forever be the beginning; 
The hidden sight of the cosmos 
if indeed a human beginning is a beginning at all… 
We still have to argue that over a cup of your blood. 

You need not any scriptures; 
As the darkest guru, all this world’s wisdom is condensed like a snowball inside your eyes. 
At the beginning of time you ate yogis for dinner 
By the end of time you puked them back to existence 
Sorry angels and trilingual demonic messengers 
Chose you as the spokesman.

Thus, in the hidden stratosphere of your borrowed virtual identity 
You outlived the universe that was created without your 
P e r m I s s I o n 
Your unconsciousness is looking for a new assistant now; 
Any volunteers from the crowd?


On the banks of river Styx, at midnight,
I turn around like a drunkard,
On this very dark-dark night.
I am lonely, exhausted, but my heart is happy,
Violins I hear in my ears, you cruel night!

Masks, masks,
Covering, caressing, touching, loving,
Hiding my face.

To your tenderly caressing voice, I long with madness,
In the caverns of my burning soul,
In the poverty of my existence, 
All alone on lonesome nights of martyrdom,
Lying like a corpse in my ivory deathbed.

Who will soothe my afflictions but you?
Who will reframe my suffering but you?
Who will enjoy the ills and joys of my psychological colonialism but you? 
Who will decipher my mystifying artworks but you? 
Yes; only you, you are the answer to all my definite questions! 

I will cross the hazy border,
Into the land of the dead, as though a battlefield has risen from the ashes. 
Or else I will cry inside your grave,
For who will seek me in the ruins of your heart?
The heart is the key to the secret wisdom of humanity; 
Besieged, eternal, unfathomable;
And so far away from reality! 

Masks, masks,
Covering, caressing, touching, loving,
Hiding my face.

Disappointed stars sparkle in my sad eyes,
Whispering between my deaf ears,
Killing my days anew.
I will wait and shut up,
I will look and reflect,
On magnificent psychedelic landscapes,
On the rich in the city, running to and fro like field rats,
And the harvesting farmers in the village, making ends meet,
On the blooming flowers in the spring and on withered plants in the fall,
On my upcoming death and your timeless awakening,
And I shall cry silently on the improbability of infinite circumstances. 

Between the ruins of Buddhist temples, between the shadows of mosques, between the silence of the sheep, and the prayers of the people,
Between graves and blessings, churches and long echoes,
I will keep searching for the relics of thy heart among the ruins.
What else can I do? 
You, my love, I cannot find anywhere! 

There is none other but You, Exalted shall your Existence be, hail the Glory of Your Being!
Another night passes by and another day passes by;
Words, ants, mountains, mists;
And I listen;
To the nearby muezzin,
Translating my inner voice in microtonal despair: 
Where are you?

Masks, masks,
Covering, caressing, touching, loving,
Hiding my face.

Will I ever touch your heart?
I’d love to fall asleep wrapped in your giant, pounding heart,
Shaped as a human being! 
The heart is the bridge between the dams,
Between the abyss and between young lovers.
The heart is one, like the devil;
A cryptic nightmarish secret…
An obscure password.

May I forever forget,
My flesh and blood,
And lose my humanity to you—my sacred mademoiselle! 
The night’s arrived, slicing its wings,
Fleeing butterflies hide out of sight—not now!

Free your polemic poltergeist from yourself— 
Asmodeus in female form, the one and only Lilith debauching the poet,
Smothering tubes, passions and seeds.

Exotic notes rise from my Lighthouse—
In minor and major, in one million strange color tones.
She’s here; have no fear!
Mother of psychic vampires, the first Eve, the queen of manmade fetishism!
Let there be light forever from now on in this deadly love nest aka erupting bedroom!

On the banks of river Styx, at midnight,
I turn around like a drunkard,
On this very dark-dark night.
I am lonely, exhausted, but my heart is happy,
Violins I hear in my ears, you cruel night!

Unearthly Demagogue is a veteran artist and poet-philosopher specializing in an original style of avant-garde dark and horror art. Continuing the best experimental tradition of past avant-garde masters and outsider arts luminaries, far from the limelight or any source of light for that matter, this distinctive artist invites you to experience his signature art style which he’s most known for around the world: Funeral Doom Laughter Horror Art, focusing on spiritual horror and reflecting on humanity’s darkest sides, thus illuminating our imaginary complexes. This unfathomable universe is one-of-a-kind in its scope of artistic expression—it explores the human consciousness with razor-sharp existential commentary and remarkably unorthodox humor, all the while diving ever deeper into the profound projections of our fears, contradictions, mystifications and horrors. The artist’s genuine expressive style, radically individual worldviews and life philosophies are matched by a genuine personality and infinitely open horizons which this artist explores.

You can visit Unearthly Demagogue’s DeviantArt gallery HERE