day 346

lend me your courage, thy ancient courage,
and to the depths of hell I shall venture, to slay the three-headed canine.
lend me your yarn, thy bloody yarn
and to the maze of shame I shall venture, to slay the bastard bullhead.
lend me your pen, thy ancient pen
and to the depths of white libraries I shall venture, to write the epic myths.

We are only capable of writing. That is the curse/blessing of being God-images.
We are only capable of piercing. Pens, needles, nails and stakes. Choose your objects of violence.

lend me your needle, thy modern needle,
and the gowns for yours banquets I shall knit, to impress the economic vampires.
lend me your nails, thy modern nails,
and pierce our Saviour anew, again, again, again, bloody again.
lend me your stakes, thy modern stakes,
and the dead bodies of every martyr I shall exhibit, in museums and camps.

And then I shall pierce myself, die with my own bloody hands,
than let this world stone me, for being nothing like them. eventually.

I lie, with my own ancient lies.