Reap

I always know that the time is ripe for raping the seeds that I’ve sown for so many years when I see the night skies turned crimson last Samhain…

The forest is cleared of fogs and the talismans are shimmering with the old light, emanating deep from the evergreen heart of the night, calling me forth to reap what I’ve sown. 

Sometimes it feels as if each deep dark nooks and crannies of the forest is a summon to reap.

Prayers

Here’s what an a self-proclaimed insightful magus of the mundane realm told me once in a foggy bar stool evening: There is no need for any prayers, mantras, murmurs of parley and cajoling with denizens of horse shit realms that exists only in the beholder’s own weak, fearful, inconsistent mind. 

The only prayer useful to be pondered, the magus claimed, is the one from a few decades ago, when one is sober enough to perceive the ultimate truth: “I press her thigh and death smile”

Repeat after me: “I press her thigh and death smile” - “I press her thigh and death smile” - “I press the trigger and death smile”

Odd Faith

Is there anything that is not odd about faith that one could pass judgment unto others? Why is cutting up one’s own skin in homage to a perceived righteous leader, so much more disgraceful than anal probing altar boys every fucking weekend? 

Is murder better when it is about killing Muslims for Budha, Budhists for Yahweh, Christians for Satan, Satan for Allah? Or is murder just murder, with no need for reason or faith or any creatures to lay the responsibility on? 

Maybe the truth is a lot simpler than all that crap. Maybe faith, piety, or dedication to imaginary beings, are just for pussies.