THE GRAND BAZAAR !
13 jan 2019 par vincent
Crossing immortality when the venality of life infects the fragments of my esoteric soul. Millenniums seem insurmountable without it, my reason will not survive this. However the atrocity of my bitterness, short of the glory of this tiny woman full of vitality, whose smiles weren’t intended for me, lit the altar candle of my Faith as Messenger of the Lord. Without it, the Ennemy can whisper me denial.
At the gates of the Kingdom, demonological legions gallop in exodus and turn our blood to ice with the provocative look of victorious nothingness. Demons are arrogant preachers for us Archangels of our Father, they use self-confidence techniques to inoculate doubt to each of their prey, and thus hell can only triumph on Genesis. We respond to them with a stoic look of fire through our immortal eyes, then we proudly spread our wings out and embrace the Omega through the dizzying confrontation, though necessary to the spiritual balance of the universe. Violence runs through me with an irresistible nihilistic flavor for the laws of existence, for a long time I’ve considered myself an orphan of the Holy Spirit and forsaken by Heaven. I serve God without conviction, but I prefer to be invisible in the Garden than feast in the Luciferian alphabet. Torn between rebellion and resignation, I take in the annihilation of a revolt already silenced and despised: my emotions! How vast is the carnivorous satisfaction when my sword brings down a line of demons, when I can spit on the embers of their remains deploying my wings and setting my eyes alight with eternity, victory in the palace. Seraphim orchestrate choirs from our rhythmical steeples and the Baptist who chants the Missal defying the horsemen of the Fallen Angel with the force of Evangelical Forgiveness, to me the threshold of the Kingdom is similar to the devastating hills of suicides, condemned to limbo where many of them torment the sulfurous and violent chaos of sins life inflicted them. And it haunts me relentlessly, the girl hunting down my theological reasoning.
This young woman torments my prayers when we pledge Allegiance to God during evangelical masses of the Kingdom, I mutilate my canticles to be above suspicion in my duty, being in Our Father’s debt. The girl eats my being with her deceptive innocence of strategies, and thus my bows betray contempt for imposing Dogmas for our eternal silence. Sometimes I wander in rock festivals, where rejection and despair generate purifying existential frenzy. The abandonment of Heaven – preached by aristocrats and elitists Archbishops from the Vatican – exorcises the bloody wounds of tormented souls, through an aggressive and vindictive expressionism, the ones God forgot shout their rage to purge their souls. The Bible is a Criminal Code for the rejection of the destituted, in the end, the forgotten ones of the Psalms are repelled by any form of hope, but so close to the truth promised by Abraham and from the Kingdom that fades unable to invite them to the banquet of the Eternal. Back on the Front, at Heaven’s Gates, I advance towards Luciferian cavalries and shout ostentatious choruses with vaticanists Gospels interpreted in Rock concerts, staring at the Enemy, wings spread out and my eyes lit up with fire, with a stoic and freezing face. The more I felt death was going to espouse me from the blazing swords of satanic soldiers, the more I channeled my suicidal spiritual Mantra on the deceptive indolence of the one who bled my heart, suffocated by the evolutionary corruption of centuries, married to the decadence of Ages.
The relentlessness of exhilarating violence is revealed by my evangelical being, even the luminescence of the halo of my Archangel rank begins to transmute into an heretic flame, but an heresy favorable towards God’s comfort. Steeples resonate during the Dantesque barbarism, they cadence my devastating fury and with each struck enemy, I chant the name of the one responsible for the mourning of my compassionate theological reason. I flirted with the same destructive and nihilistic Mantra of my opponents, they did not know how to psychically counter me, let in strategic hesitation in their belligerent deeds. But when at threshold of nothingness ready to embrace self-denial on inner peace, then those who threaten my logic cannot survive. I perpetrate Apocalyptic killings one after the other; then I rise above my Heavenly Brothers, wings spread out and my fiery gaze visible up to the gates of hell, at the risk of exposing myself to Lucifer’s vindictive wrath; I chant Psalms and Canticles of the Annunciation and of the Resurrection of the Redeemer and Savior Son with rage in my intonation. My eyes and the flames of my Halo illuminate the entire battlefield which the threshold of the Garden of Eden became, I felt Lucifer’s sulfur sputum and congratulated myself. I stared at him with stoic defiance and a provocative suicidal smile. I paid homage to the one who broke my heart by dedicating her this devastating esoteric hatred as well as the Devil’s vengeance towards our Kingdom. I chanted the name of this girl like a war cry, some Angels began accompanying me, even God was puzzled that the love of a mortal could exult united and rhythmical revulsion, in favor of the Gospels.
Heresy is the key to saving the legacy of the Holy Scriptures from the pen of the evil one. In a kamikaze perspective, I go down in the depths of hell, amidst the fiery plains I display an ostentatious and destabilizing assertiveness before the demons that were eclipsed by the kiss of my sword to their sulfur bodies. The gushing embers of my Apocalyptic gaze, mourning the stolen gentleness of this girl, and the flames of my Halo turned a symbol of Divine resistance to all my Messenger Brothers, echoed throughout Genesis. I continue demonic deaths, one after the other, in their motherland of Fire, tormented while Seraphim exulted their purifying violins, making the Enemy tremble. Saint Michael’s Army galloped behind me to exorcise Debauch en masse, the Baptist urges infidel Tempters out of the Kingdom vehemently screaming Marian Rosaries a cross in his hand and supported by some Seraphim singing exorcist Canticles. The purity of their voices maddening the demons’ minds, they committed suicide rather than bow to our victory, besides, Lucifer spares none of its defeated troops. Gradually the Kingdom turned back into its old self.
During my observations in night clubs where all childishly wriggle about on the DJ’s frenzy, some hunt down the fantasy with features scented of the freshness of innocence. I absorb the seductive nectar and intoxicate myself with this casual sensuality disturbing my prayers. I then hear the cunning murmurs of demonological Tempters, they preach evangelist confusion within my consciousness charmed by the sweet delights symbolized by these attractive libertines. They obey conformist social codes established by dominant ones, made sacred by pseudo-institutional educational teachers. The beauty which leads me to debauch, through the suggestive erotic symphony of these pretty girls who prostitute their virtues in a lucrative and eloquent quest of popularity through the DJ’s cadence, it is the same for macho aspirants. They conceal their dominating desires of bestial fornication conjugated with vulgar virility. Modesty is debauched and these girls, from who my frenzy to taste intimate female flavours comes, gnaw my Faith and my imposed duty of confidentiality, it vertiginously gives me a rush. The decadent performance of thoughtless idiots believing in the harmony of their routines, pseudo-secured by vain and derisory government people, is useful to my satanic tormentors, I do not understand why we touch the lips of hell and the fatalistic declination of the Kingdom to save Eve’s Progeny, already captive of its own vices. Just scrutinizing their seductive thoughts among themselves, between the so-called preys who develop a strategy for the profitability of their flirtatious charisma and predators who salivate over their potential barbaric frolics, they conceal their burned vice with aristocratic velvet. I see that as the continuity of passive and rigorous prostitution, profit entices mortal dreams while we die praying for their spiritual Salvation.
The one I love walks in front of my suffering being, to see her and think she does not know she was the heretic emblem which saved the Kingdom. God orchestrates the Alpha and Omega with the hands of Destiny, we listen to tormented souls crying and Life still flows in the veins of arrogant philosophers. All this because she has the emotional fragility that makes my reason falter before eternity. My esoteric Mantra became unstable, a devastating form of negationist dementia invaded my theological balance and my reason crossed the spiritual gates of Luciferian legions. My beloved was projected, like an inflamed Star, so that my feelings pushed me to play in the Wagnerian orchestra of Celestial corrupted for the Evil One, thanks to ambitious illusionist promises. Some of my Brothers who felt my painful questioning cry began to charge the Enemies, the night club was seething with excitement of all kinds of excesses. Ancient mystic poets would have found there a fruitful inspiration, the Literature of excellence would resurge from the abysmal womb of intellectual limbo, reserved to studious infantile elites, whose motivation is only fuelled by the attraction of sinful immunity. The resurrection of a literature reduced to ashes, which many of my brothers mourn, hidden by the cruel chronological deviousness of Evolution, time inevitably kills us. It is unimaginable to think for others, that despite immortality, we suffer the whims of Men.
Oh Father, why does this mortal combine with negationist hypocrisy so much spiritual and emotional turmoil? Within my soul prisoner of my invisible tears, my heart reluctantly hides my Peace canticles. Meditative in ancient cemeteries and cathedrals, provocative kamikaze on the inflamed Lands of the Fallen Angel and adductive witness of the decadence of pornographic dancefloor hunters… May you enlighten my conscience, I pray thee oh Father, to give a reason not to waver in the cunning and agile nets of demonological Renegades. Should I believe in us, despite the cold blade she sticks me with irreverence, in the maze of my heart broken by her?