You may think that your life is a crude play in some demented playwright’s hands, but I think you are far too conceited for that to be true…We all may be a cast of characters in a demonized version of the truth, but we hide truths vastly greater than the sum of all parts…Our own microcosms spin egocentrically around ourselves cast as the sun…The diplomacy you may think you show towards others is the revealing mask to your inner demons…They betray you and bankrupt your soul’s energy, and not for any special causes as you would dream to perceive…Instead, they puncture your particular little universe to spread the foul-smelling putresence you wish not to be, but that sits there rotting on your plate…It is not foulness that acts within me to speak these words, but a desire to tell …
out of Context;
‘so where does devolution come into play?…When the artificial self decides it wants to be organic again?…What mockery is this to the gods we are…Swaying fatally back and forth over the extremes…Making solid decisions is best left to those with the controls firmly in place, and to those with the awareness necessary among these beasts making out like people ought to be…I question the assault on our senses, and ask forgiveness from no soul who tries to find their own version of this reality…’
the youth in me
moves outward
to portray frustration
inside others for
my actions turn
to mush together
becoming that
thing that ideas
circulate among
images that would
otherwise point
towards blank
and empty spaces
creating disarray.
You’ll have to face your syndrome, and take your medicine. As you grow thick and fat, befuddled as the ages lapse, and you must know that to dust you’re spat. Welcome to the dry womb.
An essay on Satanism from the perspective of an artist, with questions into mindless puppetry, and method of religion.
