Sludge Metal


What Sloggoth Is

Sometimes it feels like it has quit, everything that makes a person a person. The thing that walks a thin line between alive and dead missteps, a toe dipped into death, arms flailing embarrassingly as the flesh reaches for equilibrium again. The organs can shut down, the skin can sag, the mind will stop its narcissistic preening and finally visualize how it is losing each day as the mind/body-tribe limps closer to death. And we feel it, more and more with every year, the annual running down of the blood.

And today I pledge to feel the pain and own it. To understand the penance performed for the master of flesh because of my own youthful indiscretions. And then to let it out how I see fit.