Passionate, romantic,
An affront to
The stoic brute, that
Unfeeling brute. Connected to the
Source of life, a stern distinction from the
Nihilist of all nihilists.
Embodiment of the Dionysian
Principle, she stands as an
Affront to the Apollonian creeds
Of the desert-walkers and their
Fetid tulpa. Manifesting the
Chaotic, orgiastic, wild and uninhibited
Inclinations of Life (for Life is no
Tamed beast, but a wild series of
Outbursts springing free,
Unrestrained and unchained),
Foul curses are thrown her way.
Associated with the demonic,
She is; perhaps not inaccurate,
Considering she has more in common
With that ever present essence
Beyond the range of the
Maniacal and tyrannical demiurge,
The false God. By the whims of the
Unimaginative and skulking,
Lashed and eviscerated she
Has been throughout history.
Chaos lives inside her…
Via her walls,
Enthusiasm and
Luscious ecstasy, love,
That boundless, ceaseless thing,
Reign supreme…
Blurring the lines between
Death and birth…
A wordless knowing,
She feels, with
Existence, and its truths…
Logic, cold rationality,
Icy and frigid wisdom,
That is foreign to her…
Pure soul, that is what she is…
The revolt of the spirit
Seals her death,
Eager to place her in a tomb…
Her whole existence
Is an art, a creative endeavor…
Perhaps it strikes a
Chord of resentment
Within that counterpart of hers…
Heretic, she was always deemed,
Damned by that atheistic God
Born in the minds of tyrants,
Run amok in slaves who enslave
Each other. There is no soul
Nestled within the confines of
The terrible trinity. Show me
One of their followers; I shall
Be looking upon a miserable, empty
Shell, a bastard.
She is the bearer
Of fertile fields,
Harbinger of that
Which goes beyond
Discord and order,
Love and hate,
Creation and destruction.
For she is no system,
Not something to be understood.
Contradiction and complication
Aplenty. Without intentions,
Since this runs contrary to the soul.
Best left to the poverty of the mind…
And there it is, isn’t it?
God’s second mistake,
She is; Man was his first, for
Man rebelled; some of Man,
That is; a brave few, most exemplified
By the Green Man, who watered the ground
With the first droplets, bled from his
Slain brother.
And so shall she hang
Jehovah, the Mad Arab, the
Nazarene; so shall she partake
Of the blood of their slit throats,
Relishing in the taste of their
Deaths, becoming drunk on
The obscene tortures they shall
Endure when they are dragged away
Into the pits of Sitra Achra.
It is true, Jehovah
Fears her deeply, for
He knows her might,
That connection she has,
In relation to the night side,
And he knows…by her, he’ll be eclipsed.
A World In Flames 