from the Intermission
“He shall tear it open by the wings, not dividing it completely, and then the priest shall burn it on the wood that is burning on the altar. It is a burnt offering, a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the LORD.” –Leviticus 1:17
I am vine tied to the withertree. Bone chimes dangle and oilsap is pouring over my body. My hands sin and are removed. They offer me a strange fire. I refuse and they reach around me grab my bloodless flesh. Pushing their way past my membrane, down my back, into my ass the hands are in my ass and all I can feel is scratching scathing hate surround my oil covered body. I say hello to god.
This garden is withering. I am on the edge of the sublime and the sun is melting my skullskin. The sun is afraid of its maternal power. The galaxy is the mother of the sun, galaxies are mothers of the universe. The sun is filthy for trying to fuck its mother galaxy. Flowers here become sun junkies strung out on fission and heat death. The halo of death is around you, Christos, with your golden bursts of self-righteous suicide.
It is a heatless death a chairless death a bottomless death a sugar-free death a fat-free death a death without meaning. My sapoil body is on fire and the brown flames move up my nostrils. It barks at me like cinnamon. Don’t put me out, I am not yet fried. My dermis isn’t crispy. If I could live long enough I’d dethrone you from the sky, Christos. I am now the thing that must be lost. I am setting traps for myself. I am the weathered wood holding back the wind. My hands are scratching at the walls of my body. They are carving their words on my ribs.
I don’t not like it.
Ivy lands on my hands and begins to suck the blood from my body with her tubetongue. I sweat red. My chest is her powder. Ivy takes cold knives from leafy hands and cuts me open. I am dry inside. Watching her defile my body is like watching the Trinity test in slow motion.
Scream or moan, it’s all the same to me.
Christos watching there, impotent fucklove prophet of death. A cancer of listening devices. A signpost to nowhere. A body full of hell.
Weed priests carry nothing to him, nothing but the smoke of a drone dab song on the waves of etherium.
I am so small so so so small
I hold all the light’s weight and sink into space dark matter pushing me punishing me
Riding waves of thought through the membrane mirror I emerge
Incantations of the chaos god
Spirals like vines in dreamland
And pull me into the vantablack hole our weight makes bile green lips shining in the backdrops of stars. I float with chords chest puff strummed in honor of our end.
Reclaim from my body what heat is owed you
& I shall see god I shall see god I shall see god
I shall see god in the valley of flowers blooming at night!
You are my nightmare, your golden corpse staring saintly at me. Your lips begin to move and tell me unworthy things about being an offering. A defective male. Useless like the Lamb, like Angus Dei. There isn’t enough blood left to satisfy the sky, to convince it to leave me alone.
Burnt man collapse into the promise the desert held. Smoke rising from crackle fat, shaving my skin. I am smoldered.