Sheol

How can you follow blindly and complacently when there is so much to object to?

There are no words or objects of the earth to place borders around the physicality of this atrocity. I dance a death-dance of faces twisted in grotesque horror, agony, AIDS-killed orgasm.

Our rivers truly run with the spout of toxic hatred. The trees have turned black and stink of tar. This is a wasteland of inner intestine rejects and hypothyroid chemotherapy teacups of cruelty. Dr. Mengele's love-children, bastardizing impure races with impurer ones.

Teach your children to spit machine gun holocausts, nooses, waterboards as relaxing room and board, to float in the antediluvian soup of sin in the first blushing wash of crude oil

Loved with the screaming eyes of a hooded man as his testicles are Benihana-ed on the open Q'uran

Kissed on the rape battlefield

Flayed slowly as skin of whales whose calls we do not hear

Impaled as a young boy on a fuck-chain of lascivious priests

This sounds like hell, but it is not. Only the quietest place of bones. This is what we call peace. Peace is a solitude that never comes. Peace is a litany of opposite ritual. We are all a chosen people. We are chosen to die and rot here. Bow before the dirt-pile of iconography.

You are contrary, you will forever be contrary. You were expelled. You forever ruined your chance.

The Great Spirit will not descend on them in pity, for they are the forsaken. Inshallah. We return.

Always sundown in Sheol, no time to be holy yet, but no solace of darkness.

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