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| Murder is another name for love. Red-eye madness with the breath of honeysuckle whispers through the stained-glass cathedrals of unknown religions. I am a cock and a hen. A thousand lies are contained in every word. Excrement is the sum of every beauty. Violence dances a gracefull ballet. Chaos is the heartbeat of every gentle monster. Voltaire is the imaginary plug in my ass. Coursing with vitality, I am thoroughly exhausted. I am your grandmas' underwear. You speak to me in a language that nobody understands. In the din of clamouring smoke lies a chest of glimmering paradox. A gay priest boards a plane in New York City. Ignorant of the fact that the world has exploded, he thinks he's awoken tied to a barstool in a dark room in Algiers. You don't know it, but he thinks he hears the sound of rice growing in Japan. The alpha crow shouts, pecking guts from the ass of a rat. He steps and shouts and guts are pecked. If there is anything that i can know, anything that has left an impression, a lasting impression of truthfullness in a world which does not exist; the closest fabrication of an absolute from which to anchor in a storm of opposites, in a boquet of rapturous lies bleeding through the blossoms of contradictions... it is this: I wittnessed, I became, I am... A crow pecking the guts out of a dead rats' ass. In that moment I am god. Warm honest loving safety curls around me and I vomit remnants of the finest particles of something which can only be known as ecstacy. These are the notes of something which can only be known as torture and bliss. When everything is dissolved into mind, and mind is washed awayinto the sewers of heaven, angels and demons rejoice. You are the most beautiful mythological creature that doesn't exist... |