GULAG “BLACK LODGE DISCIPLINE CENTER” presents a hideous inaugural power electronics delivery and the first audio project internal to and authorized by the Tempel ov Blood. A harsh sonic delivery, GULAG is spearheaded by a Commissar of the TOB and features liberal samples of actual correctional punishments, abuse and forced worship recorded within the TOB’s Black Lodge Discipline Center.
“When she thought she could not possibly take anymore of the beating, the person doing the whipping exchanged the thick leather strap for a long metal cane that looked to be made from some sort of antenna. The consistency was thin and extremely whippy and as he began driving it into the ruined flesh of her backside with an ultra-fast “swish, swish” her bruised skin began to break and tiny red rivulets of blood began dripping down the back of her pale white legs.
“There is only one person who can give you relief!” shouted a stern voice broadcast from some speaker high above her. “There is only one person who can make the punishment stop!” The swish swish of the cane continued, her legs now covered with spiderwebs of dripping blood. Bluebird cried and began whispering to herself like a mantra, barely audible under her breath, “Commandant, commandant, commandant.” Swish, swish, swish. Scream, scream, scream.
“Only one person can make this stop, only one person, but if it is her will then you should allow it to continue, will you allow it to continue?” The metal cane continued to rip into her backside and her screams began anew. “Answer us, will you allow it to continue?” Beneath the strange luminous light from above one could see small specks of blood flying into the air from the ferocity of the lashing as the metal instrument unmercifully punished her exposed flesh. “Answer us, answer us!”
Through the confusion and the horror Bluebird managed to let out a screamed answer, driven by pain and whatever strange drugs she had been dosed with earlier. “Let it continue, commandant, let it continue! Punish me, commandant, punish me!” The disembodied voice high in the ceiling changed from that of a male to the hearty laughter of a woman, echoing strangely. This must be the voice of the commandant herself thought Bluebird, her eyes lolling wildly, her tongue involuntarily protruding from her mouth in some heathen symbol of prostration. Oblivious to the metal cane which continued to beat her, she began crying in devotional ecstasy at having heard the voice, and then she too, like the voice from the speakers, began to laugh.” – IRON GATES, 2010