Graven in torment, in sin, in the lightning-wreathed mountain hellscapes of the Inner Soul, in the wine-dark void of Utmost Space, in blood-ink, in night-terror, in all the tomes which are bound in squidskin and the hides of bats, graven on eyes which long to forget what they’ve seen, in the whine of small machines and the cries of rent and mutilated things, in the symphony of shattering planets and the dark fire of annihilated suns, thus are the forms of JonnyX and the Groadies:...