NOT BY HANDS SUCH AS THESE:
The Innumerable Manifestations Of Sin And Frailty:
Nothing more to stand for, no reason to compete, commit, control or capitulate; no need to continue, no desire to go on, but the torture is vibrant, vast, vivid and voracious in its sultry, never-ending tyranny. The conflict grows, swells into a bulbous putrid mass, groans deeply, heaves repeatedly, and then proceeds to void its bowels, in several explosive and impressive fits.
The lights depart once more, I am a victim of my own desire, entombed by apprehensions and over-expectations, fear and doubt. There is nothing I can tell him of myself, The Hateful Prince of Lies, Insults and Ridicule. He is the beast I am forced to live within, his scathing remarks show across my face: a contorted symphony of grief and shame and pain. I love the beast, for he is mine; but hate him for his knowledge: he knows me, considers me a friend, but devours everything I am.
You will never be human again, you will be changed, changed utterly, as the reflections and demensions of it all find their place in you. Humanity will destroy you; believe in something real.
A gift I give unto you, a passage of grief, of misery, of everlasting pain. A promise I send unto you, of grave intent, of mutually assured destruction. There will be war among the heavenlies, as the folly of the headstrong leads to their own demise.
But not by hands such as these: mortal jealous, corruptible human hands, washed in all the innumerable manifestations of sin and frailty. Pitiable in their useless, infernal rage, devoid of compassion, hope and empathy: deranged, maligned, distraught, the race of men is all but broken, standing only now as a twisted and deceptive form.
I feel ashamed, for the wars will be both great and long, as The Final Cataclysm befalls the world; The Seven Seals, the call of holy silver trumpets, and the ever-present markings worn upon the faces of The Legions of the Fallen.
Nothing more to stand for, no reason to compete, commit, control or capitulate; no need to continue, no desire to go on, but the torture is vibrant, vast, vivid and voracious in its sultry, never-ending tyranny. The conflict grows, swells into a bulbous putrid mass, groans deeply, heaves repeatedly, and then proceeds to void its bowels, in several explosive and impressive fits.
The lights depart once more, I am a victim of my own desire, entombed by apprehensions and over-expectations, fear and doubt. There is nothing I can tell him of myself, The Hateful Prince of Lies, Insults and Ridicule. He is the beast I am forced to live within, his scathing remarks show across my face: a contorted symphony of grief and shame and pain. I love the beast, for he is mine; but hate him for his knowledge: he knows me, considers me a friend, but devours everything I am.
You will never be human again, you will be changed, changed utterly, as the reflections and demensions of it all find their place in you. Humanity will destroy you; believe in something real.
A gift I give unto you, a passage of grief, of misery, of everlasting pain. A promise I send unto you, of grave intent, of mutually assured destruction. There will be war among the heavenlies, as the folly of the headstrong leads to their own demise.
But not by hands such as these: mortal jealous, corruptible human hands, washed in all the innumerable manifestations of sin and frailty. Pitiable in their useless, infernal rage, devoid of compassion, hope and empathy: deranged, maligned, distraught, the race of men is all but broken, standing only now as a twisted and deceptive form.
I feel ashamed, for the wars will be both great and long, as The Final Cataclysm befalls the world; The Seven Seals, the call of holy silver trumpets, and the ever-present markings worn upon the faces of The Legions of the Fallen.
posted by Valhenstrogg | Saturday, April 08, 2006
1 Comments:
Two parts swarming, malignant metaphorical mass, one part helpless autobiographical travesty, two parts trackless dissociative logic, one part raving, maniacal psychiatric bravado, and four parts unchecked stream of consciousness, methodically combined; to form an errant, unorthodox epiphany upon the nature of human mortaility and vice.
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