The Conflict is the Illusion

by Nihlotep

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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Listeners who download the full EP receive two bonus tracks not currently available to the general public. These hidden tracks include: "the whole world might have come and gone," an unreleased prototype of the band's newer acoustic sound from 2014, as well as an instrumental, all piano version of the record's third track, the epic "Septagraphic Emerald Minaret."

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Nihlotep's acoustic Ep, the Conflict is the Illusion, is a unique and poetic offering, a psychedelic journey into the divinity of human beings, the traps of culture, and the unfolding symmetry of the universe. As warm and personal as it is cold and celestial, the Conflict is the Illusion dynamically pairs the majesty of metal riffing with a the vulnerability of folk atmosphere. Nihlotep's unmatched narrative arrangement reincarnates on the acoustic plane. A sleeping god awakens as 15 minutes take the listener to the void and back.


released June 8, 2016

Solipsis: Guitars, Vocals, being Drew Clark
Telos: Guitars, Vocals, being Chris Whitlock
Sol Invictus: Lead Vocals, Guitars, Bass, being Evan Jenks

Recorded @ Nightal Labs in Oakland, CA during the fall, winter and spring of 2015-2016.
Mastered by Mammoth Sounds
Released June 8, 2016

Cover art by Evan Jenks




Nihlotep Berkeley, California

NIHL - empty, void
OTEP - god
NIHLOTEP - 1. (noun) the Divine Emptiness, the Great Mystery, the terror and the romance of the Unknown.
2. (noun) brilliant psychedelic heartfelt music from the place where knowing and choosing are one.

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Track Name: The Costly Delusions of Man
The Costly Delusions of Man
Lyrics: Sol Invictus (Evan Jenks)

“Know yourselves and then you will be known,
and you will understand that you are already children of the living One.
But if you do not know yourselves,
Then you live in poverty. And you,
You are the poverty."

In considering the costly delusions of man,
Beneath his wrath and greed,
Lies his most brutally expensive and unacceptably wasteful thought,
He imagines that there is not enough,
That the things of life are scarce.
He is afraid
But death comes anyway

All the competitive cruelty, his scheming and scrambling,
Stems from the trunk of greed,
Whose roots are famous,
But whose name is fear.

We, whose Ancestors defeated the Titans on every continent
Have reached a truly ironic and perverse place in history
For when we count up the spoils of human triumph
There is no lack, no shortage at all
And since the tigers have all fled
Why do our leaders persist in carrying weapons?

Hail, ruler, Demiurge, ye flail in the right hand, harvester,
We, the vicars and fashioners of the gods,
Who bend the shepherd’s crook from the straightest of the faithful rods,
Cross arms with us and whisper…

What if the flock were planted firm,
in the earth,
heads upturned,
eyes closed, begging for sufficient toil?
Surely legs will rot into roots with time.

Let us provoke our servant Job, write for him a code no man can follow.
Bury him up to bended knees and judge him, yet unworthy.
Teach him psalms with which to weep at the door of an empty house
For the silence of the puppets
We placed in his soul…

And what I can’t get past is, how can he be a jealous god, if he is really the only one?

Subset of paranoid gods
Subset of paranoid gods
Subset of paranoid gods
Subset of paranoid gods

Too many times, have I witnessed the mechanisms of priests and kings… … operating.
Those Authors and Finishers
Obsess and marginalize
Generation after generation

Sin, guilt, repentance, forgiveness, joy, sin
An addiction to
Process the pain of life,
Without learning, without moving on

Only the Gods can enslave the Gods.

It is unacceptable for Human Beings, the royalty of the animal kingdom, to live without their needs met on their own planet, in their own house.
It is equally unacceptable for them to do violence when they live in abundance.
Treat people as the Gods that they are. Demand the same.

Human Beings are Living Gods, not dead ideas on a piece of paper.
Ideas are meant to serve people, not the other way around.
When people give their power away to a story or a symbol
They are really serving the tellers of that story, the makers of that symbol.
We are the Gods.
I am tired of pretending.
I am tired of pretending that I do not know.
Track Name: What are These Dreams For
What middle way is left?
What direction do we take,
When both ways lead to an end we are not ready to face?

What are These Dreams for?
I'm not yet awake.
The alarm goes on and on...

That which I call my Will is but a mechanism of my Nature.
That which I call my Nature is but a mechanism of my Will.
There is no conflict.
There is no conflict.
Track Name: Septagraphic Emerald Minaret
Septagraphic Emerald Minaret

Desperate fingers scratch at the paper cage of history
Listening for a word they do not know
Men of science and spirit alike marveled
The oldest songs had no translation, no analogue among the tongues of men, no ghost at all
Silenced by frustration, deaf to the singers in the trees

And thus, to turn the heads of unsuspecting prey
We uttered our first abstraction, the original lie and our first word all at once

“In the beginning there was the word
And the word was with god and the word was god”

We are told that the oldest tomes in the book of life were penned by un-living chemical ancestors,
That life, did in fact, imitate art.
It is said that Odin discovered the Runes, that they already were.
Rune is the word for secret
And after all, what do we call an act of magic, but a spell.

Stumbling through the wilds,
Far past the utterance of forbidden questions,
Out in the terror and the romance,
The attachments grow quiet,
In that lonely eleventh of hours…

The Dragon, the Genie, the Mana, the Keikion,
The Grail, the Lotus, a bush that burns but is not consumed,
From the trumpet of Thoth-Hermes-Lucifer-Gabriel,
Sounded atop Septagraphic Emerald Minaret
The Gnosis: mind without the boundary of the self,
An infinite regression of symbolic abstraction carries him back from the brink,
Only to wash away all trace of home

“In the beginning there was the word
And the word was with god and the word was god”
To the flock, a soothing balm of validation
That what they imagine as the scripture is read
Is the experience of god

But for the shepherd,
The thesis of the book that rules men’s hearts
It turns queens into nuns…
Monks into warriors…
Just read it to them.
It is what god is.
Just read it to them.

Logos, great destroyer, more false than any prophet, held in higher esteem
Appealer you are, to the ego of man, to any and all of his aspirations
How ironic, that in turning your weapons upon you and proving it all a lie,
I did wrestle the Word from the god who usurped it,
And in cursing your name…

A voice called my name
I thought it was a dream
I thought I healed the wound you made
But it was the wound that healed me

Empty heart, empty mind
Finally free inside
Empty heart, empty mind
Finally free inside

This is my broken tusk
This is my missing eye
And when I say I must
This is the reason why

Sick as I was with the ways of the world, the tar oil of false speech still staining my lungs,
It would be easy, I thought, to sit upon high hills as Siddhartha did at first,
And leave the christs upon their crosses, nailed to their own delusions

But it was not so easy, as the Devas bid me look out upon the view, after all they argue,
What is enlightenment for but to see? What is seeing for but to help?

This is my broken tusk
This is my missing eye
And when I say I must
This is the reason why

I know what it is to be utterly hypnotized by the beauty of biblical language
From the lips of my very parents

I told my sister about jesus, the name of her undoing
Words deceive whole nations into believing their neighbors inhuman

But all language is art, and open to interpretation, and when we paint honestly and together,
we change how the story goes, and the great one moves.

To be who I am is to need your help
I am here to make a poetry with you that I cannot make on my own.