Friday, July 7, 2017


> good.
i thought you'd never ask. <

[guided by starlight
true, you know your insides
better than i do
but i will follow you
beyond the nebulous stars and their dust
beyond the galaxies
until beyond the veil we are thrust]

I peer through the stained glass prism,
The leaded glass a metallic constellation,
A silvery-gray atlas, a road map to all the points
Of faith and worship I've never visited,
But have had visited upon me.
And I ask the face of any god to
tell me which side I'm on.

They speak all the names in tongues,
They suffer through a tetragramaton,
and any other four-letter words;
And they cast the spell of a prayer
as they turn their jewels,
as they cinch their holy string of laws
around soft hands with useless fingers,
pointed outward at every angle;
as they clutch their holy beads of grief,
not yet seeing that we are all but lost.

So I join the farce,
And I call out a prayer,
I pose an inquiry.
I cast lots -
Roll the bones and ask just please
Tell me which side I'm on.

And we arrive together, some god and I
At the mouth,
Mouth of madness;
At the brink of some unspeakable pain,
Or this endless joy they all describe,
They all subscribe to : the heavens.
Heaven, a better place, a place where we are
Approaching constant listlessness.

It's a place
between love and hate,
an emotionless home, a warm stone hearth,
a land eternal without strife
Or hate; a place where love is so universal
We are left to feel nothing - where we are
encouraged to shed these mortal husks and
we let loose
Of our vanity, We can become something
Of eternal love.

and think of all our eternities:

Death is eternal,
life is eternal.

We don't which to let go of first.
what to worship,
what god to call upon when we are stricken
With this unbearable anxiety of living,
coupled with a crippling fear of death,

so which goes
eternal life
eternal death

and which do we grieve?

We all know we are competent,
fluent in the many languages of grief;
so I invite all my loyal sycophants,
In all my houses of worship,
All of my faithful adherents, who, bless you
Think that there's still a way to save us,
to grieve with me the loss of our god,
the death of all our gods,
and to revel in this nothingness,
as blood.

My blood,

An offer to you;

To take this life of sin,
and keep it.

To taste the slightest sin,
and o, what a taste.

Because what good are we?
What kind of family?
If we don't bleed
If we don't grieve
If we don't choose to live
If we don't eat
if we don't