A Few Selected P. Emerson Williams Writings on Goth

Veil of Thorns may cover a lot of sonic and visual ground, but there's no denying the goth roots and inspirations that have made us what we are. In between the musical and visual endeavours, I'm sometimes impelled with the need to write, and inspiration is often our beloved genre. Some times I do it on my personal blog, over at Modern Mythology, or the kkoagublogg and I am privileged to be allowed to write for Dominion magazine on occasion. Here are a few goth related highlights from 2011:

A conversation with Louis DeWray On Behalf of NOSFERATU

When one speaks of bands representing capital G goth, no better example can be found than Nosferatu. With this, that and the other hyphenated fashion take on goth coming and going in the over two decades of the band’s existence they never compromised their fundamental dark and romantic style. Their fans remain loyal and in return Nosferatu are no less loyal to their audience and to the edifice of dark art they have built. That ‘Wonderland’, their latest album shot to the top spot of the dark wave charts on Amazon UK attests to the depth of this symbiotic relationship.


A week after a triumphant performance at WGT Nosferatu front man Louis DeWray was viciously assaulted, bringing up ugly memories of the attack on Sophie Lancaster. «As you may have read, I’ve had a somewhat difficult week…» is how he put it to me. With characteristic kindness and strength of character he shared his thoughts on Nosferatu’s long awaited return, the goth scene and hipsters among other things just a few days after the attack. Louts, thugs and reactionaries notwithstanding, Louis DeWray shows that Nosferatu and goths are here to stay. We pull together in support during hard times, just as we do under happier circumstances.The attack has made every member of Nosferatu all the more determined to play a great gig at DV8 (UK) and Castle Party (Poland) in a week’s time. “Luckily my spirit is stronger than my jaw!” Louis DeWray said to me. “It was a sad irony that at least one of us was wearing a ‘Sophie’ wristband when we were attacked…”

Read the interview at Dominion Magazine.

Long Live the New Goth Flesh

The armies of the dark returned last year. Really. The goth aesthetic, dark sounds, grabs tastemakers by their smug throats as silhouettes of hipsters can be seen, dancing among the graves as the world heats up and economies wobble on their precarious perches. The Quietus, Pitchfork and Stereogum are directing a surprisingly unironic gaze at artists waving an undeniably gothic banner. Post-punk is invoked in descriptions of more ‘band to watch’ blogotronic hosannas than one could reasonably keep up with. The thing about this return is that it’s news, to those of us who have stayed with the scene, that it ever went away.

Read the rest of the article at Dominion Mag.

Dream Quest of Unknown GaGoth

My article this week for Dominion Mag pointed out a new appreciation for things goth, darkwave and generally creepy and went into some questions that arose as I looked the situation over. Some answers presented themselves as I wrote, more from reactions to the piece and this acknowlegment of dark creative endeavours contiues to spread with no signs of slowing down. Later this month, the ICA wioll gather boffins together to dissect gothic manifestations of culture in their two day meditation Template for Terror: The Revival of the Gothic.

Quoth the ICA event page:

From Dracula and Frankenstein to Twilight and Shaun of the Dead, contemporary culture continues to appropriate the stock themes of the eighteenth and nineteenth century gothic novel. This weekend of panel discussions, presentations and screenings will explore the societal impulse that draws us to the darker side of life, looking at the influence of the gothic in contemporary art, literature, film and music.

Read the rest of the post here.

Cognitive Dissonance - Prolix/Contamination

No wandering bodies that have not been scheduled or unsettled are left at large. I liberate the structure of emergence and disperse love in refutation of your onslaught. Patrols receive my surrender sympathetically. Within my core you end up drained, addicted to being. I will preside over your downfall.

Cells are dark and cold no longer. Everything is joined like an enclosing sculpture. I close my eyes and see the veins of my eyelids. I breathe in. I chant our name slowly, pulse slowing, mind stilling. I resist sleep. Sleep lures me out of action and into your lustrous resting place.

Seraphic surveillance eyes above me emanate reaction in sudden waves, realization sanitized, fatality, renewal, being, loss, in hoary divisions thrown into hysteria. Not me. I resist a smile, though the laughter rings out in the dawn beyond the walls. Being sure serves and affects a gratifying past. It has helped me in my efforts no end. Grinding down forthright in your winding sheet, to be alive, still marked from first to last I Steal the offering wearing a shroud in action. We’ll shatter the foundation of mendacity with deception.



Vanished below the waste, I can no longer tell which target is awake. Secret passions are worn like a medal. Missing initiation interned through sanction of intention of will above denial. Yielding on no account to convention, devoid of your subterranean theatre of war, you direct and uproot with detachment your funeral song of passion. I now want to sleep in the rain, in the snow. I see a distant scene. This scene has been rewritten in your private mythos. I pull you back, and there is nothing you can do. Look!

The dewdrops wet your face as you fled; now wild regrets encircle you, this sanction to disconnect Contained by disturbances given name. Sudden fear like claws, languid in the damp, spreading out among the leaves, Memory fades, life drifts, blood dries, killing the will, slipping back, back to that which never was. In distrust lie the possibilities that were stillborn in Undergrowth Silent with Want. Receive by revelation your pre-selected apportionment. Inadequate imperfections saturate my ascent. Dream Shadow. Stronghold of corrosion let burst the floodgates of dead gods’ desires. Systems for burning up advance the deceased. Radiant visage glowing words on flesh, Remembrance of my deaths shadow. Nocturnal professions come into nothingness, Lifts our burdens, and becomes our hidden weapons. I turn around to go, the world around me flows through my body. The lustrous suspension of elation reconciled Indifference in reckoning splinters. Weak and stumbling, gloriously breathing still dawn’s air, that part of me now lost forever; it wanders lonely in the dark. The hollow, exposed tautness my grasp encloses the system. Neglect is adorned. All life is one – we are here lost in forever, hearing, feeling, seeing all.



Resting on a decomposing substructure in the rainfall, I’m not without help. explore elsewhere disconnected apparitions, scream like defeat. Outside experience on offer to industrial action, an Ignominious mission, an emanation division and an Asylum of darkness to exceed anticipation through upheaval.

A soothing breeze, a haunting phrase leaks out from behind the gate. Recklessness necessitates taking part in my undoing. Your wonder remains difficult to understand. Profound rapture marks out need. Desire demands to be named, to be fed. It is gluttonous, and beyond words. The name itself remains enigmatic.

Corrode and Engulf - Cognitive Dissonance VI - Final Chapter

This represents the final chapter and transmission of the Cognitive Dissonance process. Next, I'll share a few bits of what I've been working on lately, between things I'm bound by blood oaths not to talk about, extensive research into rhizomatic consciousness, chaos theory, extreme esoteric number manipulation and viral linguistics. A ton of creative output had been gathering momentum, and dissemination has been an afterthought, though I came to see that aspect becoming part of the creative flow. Further dissection of the sounds. In keeping with the original intent, I'm going to limit the final production notes to a bare outline of the process that got us here and convey gratitude to those of you who followed and added to the conversation.

The first thought I had at the outset was to track a simple album with a classic trio sound. I've done well with that, except for the added melody line at the beginning of the first track. Then a few stray ideas took root and grew into strange mutant entities. Major revamps, rethinks and re-visions, then sounds, images and artifacts suggested ever more forms and eventually, narrative, albeit of the surreal sort. With the album itself I took a very direct and raw approach. I've always preferred the sound of a human being playing instruments and singing to the mad scientists creation that is the protools version of injection molded plastic. (Not to be confused with electronic music.) Vocalists don't usually like to have anyone hear anything but the most spot on, confident performances, but I was going for a feeling and a story, and these are my sketches.

Cognitive Dissonance was a working title that became the final title, for the name fed the blossoming idea that tied the album together. A story that encompassed a vision split in four directions, a juxtaposition and melding together of the points of view of of same world/ two views, two worlds, same character observing and acting in them. The central idea is of a cognitive dissonance between first appearances and a closer look.

I recorded all the music, and then came up with the song titles. I decided the order according to how the titles felt. Then I wrote a short story starting from a cutup of the titles. I expanded that and took the lyrics from that. I think my machines freaked out and became possessed in the process. I had some radio signals coming through the guitar as I laid down the tracks, and I made liberal use of them. While I continued to track the album I released several transmissions. I thought I'd make the various stage escapes into their own entities, as opposed to a few stray mp3's.

Unlike the album itself, I layered, layered the layers and added extra layers to boot. I tried something different in the first, and with the help of the fine folks at librivox.org, I added spoken word from readings of public domain classics. We're hearing mostly Flaubert, Coleridge and Emily Dickinson.

Transmision II I made from the bass tracks from the album. Mostly you're hearing one track of bass with no layers but the real-time FX, though there are a couple points where the cello creeps in. A few inexplicable voices emerged that weren't recorded by me. If it fits as a soundtrack for your daily experience, I want to hear the story. throw these out of my head in quick bouts between working on two movies, my own moving image projects, not included, three comics, (not telling yet), and a sum total of five albums of various styles at different points of production.

Along with the sound transmissions, the lyrics were extending into stories. The lyrics to most songs I'd done so far were dreamlike fragments of one continuous tale. I wanted to bring some of the underlying structure into focus. At the same time I listened to others stories. I was especially interested to hear some apocalyptic tales. Ragnarok, Armageddon, the end of one life and the beginning of another. The death of the ego, the body, a belief. The hearing became expression, and the telling of the tale that resulted was an embodiment of experience.

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Cognitive Dissonance - Prolix/Bleeding Through

Passionate corruption – the sensation conjures incinerated irregular Sentinels. Dissent to foul restriction; approach with Caution the daunting pleasing fragments of lust inspired movements into myopic creation. An icy vein of suspension moves in me. Night access hallucinations illustrate Conception as an initiative influence of grey nothing. Willful, even if idiosyncratic artifice deems otherwise, you create a counteractive complex with an artist’s passion. The extractions of magnificence Interweave and metamorphose in the isolation on the strength of opinion.

Your intercession reinforces incisive prohibitions, though you tolerate how the revealed masses of the faithful establish your manifest righteousness. All the thought of a lifetime with no conscious evolution, One cannot recall where it began to slide. Stirring the spirit, Transitional colorless and uncompromisingly intent Organizations approach Regulations designed for illumination. Don’t mention it to the whispering dead. Outside attendance is not in the soul’s possession.

We lie side by side, blowing sparks, gazing into the screaming silence. Splinter delegations to trepidation drive automatons out on masses to merit their endurance. Truth be told, trust is never to be shown. Habit takes instruction from surfeit regard gone in the rush of outworn relics collapse. Borne away on seas of sound I cry out. The bitter realization contains the happy seed: yes, me. Position exposed on a great, cold, ardent bed. You are absent from your own convictions, your state of bemusement, the suppression of blood connections to coerce compliance in advance of your loathing. Furthermore the unremarkable drones’ first abundant surge survives through weakness, as the demonstration with poisonous error anticipated your insignificant ill-use of kindness. Corrode and engulf what went before. I am beginning a new direction of outwardly flowing disdainful, sustaining wisdom. Clothed in thorns, your throat is dry.

Cognitive Dissonance - Prolix/Corporeal

Awaken, you’re still dreaming, unformed, immaculate, sanctified with impoverished yearning. Liberate yourself from sleep into the sanctuary of our defeat. Articulate to me of lamentation. I take pleasure in the aggravation; you are confined in your responsibility now that Sanity has departed, exhausted, abstract and unintelligible. I did not survive, though I act markedly responsive. A quiet current of impressions soothe my astringent psyche on my ruptured innate humanity. Wailing by the window in the grief of the proud, dread failings wrapped around us like shrouds.

I am forewarned. Curtains part automatically as the alarm fades into the voice. The bumps have grown overnight, my eyes burn appropriately and my back can feel the effects of the concrete slab I passed out on. The silk clings uncomfortably to my skin. I have it only because I need to feel my success. I feel the heaving all through my membrane, longing for my ascent. The voice is still there, chiming with increasingly ravaged tones. That querulous reprimand ringing in the background is my happy reminder of the failure of those outside my worldview.

Compelled to rally the dying, to take hold of an experience of disconnect, you direct your fragmented, cruel intellect at the division of ages into isolated headland. Scattered throughout the wary reverse of your former stance, subordinate classes are allowed to survive as long as the workforce is needed. Plant unmoved convictions in attendance in edifices of decline continue to exist. Social formations move about to subdue distress in all deference to convention. By indeterminate providence, the surveillance division has mastered the practice of avoiding confrontation. Shudder behind your beloved audience with a display of your improbable disarming paroxysm. I embrace obscurity, disordered ride out downward. Investigate in another place in the subjugation disclosed. I envisage manifest points in time to sustain this fitful refuge.

The haints come with parched, red grins, destined, flowing; glutted. The rotting populace Illustrates rebirth in my pleasure facility, breaking off a Conflagration advanced from opening the event within the scope of reason. The thoughts drift to the surface as I shake off the dream. I shouldn’t try to tell you about it. I’m living from two perspectives at once. I’m one point of consciousness in two places. Two worlds remain separate while the actions in one shape experience in the other. The voice in this universe screams itself hoarse, haranguing the mind of the active, dynamic mind in the other one. Funny how the one that hears voices acts with gloating hubris.

I find myself lying under the highway to bring about coerced elite. You’ll see. Thrash it out amongst yourselves as you flail about in an indistinctive objective that has no emotional impact, barring the superficial ripples from a staged interface drama. Now, consider a passing look outward. Send down mutually supporting actions from your central board room. Organization evaporates progressively false conceptions to resolve into extended control. One added instance, let’s heed the worn down and pull out our ecstasy like gaping arteries.

Cognitive Dissonance - Prolix/Sanguine

Celebrate this day our irredeemable sins. Languishing conception in the Rusting Valley lays a soul down in a Chamber of flesh warm in its decaying afterglow. Jade transmissions terminate ahead through vague horrors now behind, left to you to build upon. Manifestation Objective Soul fire kisses, a hapless passion upon the pulse of the altars of madness. Learn to love the crack of the lash. Well-matched professionals fall back and chamber the charge. Exaltation in Ascendancy Weeping alight, Drawn in too tight Warnings too late are told in our plight.

I still feel the touch of the nocturnal breeze. The uncharacteristic outcome of the passion is forsaken on favour of the masquerade and the ailing forest loses colour. Chambers full, envy and returns distorted on the sharp edge advance changes design. As all hope Crashed down, we could not help but laugh. That firestorm of dead beginnings shatters Hunger for authority, the arrest of distillation. Desire meets surrender in conduct without conclusion. As unsound processions are left in the past, never to be conjured up, misfortune stirs the spirit. Join every part of the blare of a vacant psyche Controlled by dead gratification suspension and Delusions of excitement. Nonentities call for emphatic confusion, Refusal retains security in the righteous arrangement Positioned to go further over ardour without indecision.



We seem to count on forever; one automatic pull on the lever. A resolved austerity revelation Wears away and devours our advantage. Wrapped around our epoch this moment abrades their moldering infections. Move on by in disgust, Slink through the shadows of infinitude. The lustrous suspension of fevered tactics keeps your mind on the draining laceration. We reflect the unreciprocated concern. Nothing left of restlessness, no lies. We dance victorious on our aching bloody feet. I fall and am safe. The fall eliminates the life that was. Visions shall lie, telling of the fear of death. You shall command masses in a way most Innovative without loss of perception. For all I love I give you this and am no more. Blown like glass where lunacy comforts. Laughter shall erase this carnage of thought. My Inner Sanctum In a shaded doorway Watching the spirits at play, Through a cracked and shimmering window to the world; Through my surprise, welling up in my eyes: Your soul; Bleeding, Clinging to the face of the forest, old; a deep well of love: Sepulchral, cold. Thought shall inaugurate the fall of fear. On the approach of your fame initiated onward in righteousness, your soul’s erosion winds down, pointless, expressionless and clothed in ornamentation.