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Oh Father, 

I damn your semen, your holy conviction

Your cowardly presence

Your own crucifixion

all for the sake of my burden

This burden that you made me love,

Now me The ass

I accept your duty, and you

birth damned you to worse

like the love of woman selfish to their immanence

and the love to a woman lost to her value

And then when you carefully picked the semen,

you knew  It was not time, and you trusted

the legacy of him who walked with grace

I am here now,

timidly waiting to receive the accolade,

while I trust only his words that speak in the language

of laoocons deceptions

And waiting for truth to come out my hands,

I go pick flowers, for slender women

while the others wait for themselves to appear

And devouring the black death

I try to remember the holes burning deep in my palms

and find the skin that you once gave me

Oh Father,

why have you bestowed upon me

this writhing light

My mind has gone long enough,
spinning these thoughts within me
as that I could not refrain from writing them down
in these moments of deep sorrow.
It has now even come to my attention
that my personal beauty is even to much for me the bear. I scorned all things and yet I feel obliged to bring the world of love into the world.
I have been struck into a hole, by no one else by the lord,
who called Apollo’s scorn upon me, and silenced Dionysos just for long enough that my breath could be taken away from me, and my heart blinded -void of all thing it has felt.
A certain sensitivity arises when I feel once again abandoned by the lord, the ugliness of the world becomes unbearable, and yet in times of clarity and confidence, I was able to fight the battle, with sufficient success.
I do understand now, or I think to do, as my mind has been an unstable tool for the past few months, that sorrow and the resulting violence, is a substantial part of the beauty within the world, and so shall be considered within every created artwork that would ever find it’s way into existence.(Artwork here also includes the behavioral patterns of human beings). In all of those empty hours of sorrow, where my own indecisiveness pressed unbearable indifference upon my handsome face and even more so, loving soul, I pondered for hours the working ways of what is the most beautiful to mankind. 
I have come to understand that the unbearable beauty of grace, is the most direct representation of the presence of the holy. Whilst the beautiful yearning exhibited in violence, is the most accurate representation of our limbo state of absence-presence of the holy/alas more accurately representing the suffering within the absence.
Whilst grace as Apollos most beloved of all Daphne, is stale yet ever young and embracing, violence as Dionysus himself is ever changing,ever pushing, ever trembling.
In any work of art(once again, a similar symbolism is to be applied to any sort of life “form”) the tension between these two gods creates a newfound way to grasp the kingdom of the Lord upon earth.


hello henrich’s arm

Hello Arm.I am armed with arms.

Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, 1700, Godfried Schalcken

I went out to 23rd street
just rambling on my way
I ran into Dionysus, said “what a shitty day”
He took out a bottle
said “Prince drink the pain away”
so we rambled on together
down the dirty streets
My mother once told me
be careful who you breed
I never looked behind my back
God knows I should have then
But I got a pack of cigarettes 
And I took out a smoke
"I gotta feel the pain again
It’s pain that I evoke”
Then I looked around and fucking could not believe my eyes
Apollo was chasing me, with a fucking rope
So Dionysos and me, we took off north
but that fucker ran behind me,with his fucking rope
And I took out my knife and turned to see his face
I stabbed him in the chest, I stabbed with so much grace
I said take this you fucker, don’t drag me in your hole
I don’t owe you any money, Lord knows I have none
I left him there bleeding, bleeding on the floor
I went to 53rd street to fuck a lovely whore
The intercourse was hideous, I went home to pray
Pray for Apollo, pray that I find my way
Never wanted to kill that fucker
Don’t wanna become like my friend Jack
Once you kill your father, you’re never coming back
So I took out a smoke tried to burn a scar on my arm
Just when I heard voice, said fucker don’t do no harm
I took a sip of whiskey , I ran out to the street
the rain was pissing down, God had to take a leak
Well he took it right upon me
and my fucking god damned face
I fucking cried for misery
I fucking cried for grace
I found him on the floor
His bay leaves full of blood
his face so fucking battered
broken glass up his gut
I shouldered his burden
I felt the fucking cross
Carrying him home
I felt so fucking gross
And I said ” Hey brother, you need to rest your head,
I’ll take care of business and you stay here instead”
I’ll pay for all the flowers
I’ll pay for all the whores
I’ll pay for all the cigarettes
I’ll build you some new doors
And he just sat in silence
So I knew that I was right
The beauty of the word
The beauty of the light
I took out a smoke
and laid there on the ground
just two wounded soldiers
in a wounded town