Sunday, March 13, 2011


For those of you who are not reasonably well versed in gnostic ideas or hermetic philosophy in general, or who haven't read their Milton in the context of it's time, please, what follows is only an idea. Nothing more. No hate mail, no pickets, no nasty rumors that I am somehow a closet satanist or what ever.
I am basically talking to myself anyway so fuck it. I'll write what I want. When I want and for whatever reason I want. This is an idea that has been floating half formed in my head since I was basically three quarters finished with "Boy". By writing it out it may help clarify the thing so I can get a better handle on it.
You don't have to read it.
Besides, I am harmless anyway, I draw funny books "n stuff.


My dear and all wise creator, before you I kneel in all humility
My beloved master and molder, with bowed head and weeping eyes
before your presence I abase myself in love and the pain in which you made me.
I beg of you and plead of you to grant me the continued grace to preform my duties
in all their fullness and hardship.
It is you and you alone to whom I bow my head
It is you and you alone my pride is made whole
It is you and you alone to whom I pray.

I ask you from my heart that burns with duty and horror
that I may be given the grace to be set free and at at long last
Bring to your errant creatures the lash formed of my hate.
That they to whom you bid me bring light be torn asunder by it.
May they wail rivers of tears into boiling empty oceans
May the burning fill the heavens with ashes and the sun turn red.
May they run naked and blistered, into the darkness to find my mercy.
May they twist their children into monsters that devour them.
May the beasts of the forest and fields walk upright and scream murder.
May they be abandoned and and scatter the world like burning leaves.
May your silence deafen them and their mouths be filled with stones.
My dearest beloved creator I beg of you the strength to scar the soul of creation.

In your name I ask this.
By your will I serve.
With your hand I ravage.
If it so please you,
My only master, let me lose.

Don't worry.
I am only thinking out loud, so to speak.
Art does not apologize. And I won't either.
Besides, how much worse can it get. "Saw 6"?


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