Craft of Madness

we are an ontology of masks. forming in our bedroom closets. and underneath our beds. unexplainable noises remind us of the ends we left in yesterdeaths.

we'll share a feast of reckoning on the sabbath of our apathy. we apply and apply again, the light enters, and i forget my name. buried like a cross beneath the foundation. everyday mirrors and the normative divine. the sublime and the subliminal. the light enters and we paint our names across the concrete landscape.

the hyperbolic prophesies of the damned (and by the damned i mean excluded) are written in ballistics which run the river red with the kool aid of yet another jim jones.

speech and noise are fused to one space. good and evil are fused to one space. black fire on white fire. down to the last detail abhorred. we'll cleanse our baby blankets and laugh like children at an empty stage.