day 1

tis' be an occasion for renewal,
perchance to inflict a mortal wound.
with fingers we weave threads and shed blood onto the battlefields.
I jerked myself unto my position. A standing one, to look afar and face my enemies.
Aha! I see her, with her flag and call for revolution. Her nipples suckled and red from feeding those fools who follow her seductive call. What is revolution? I can only resist and fight with my orthodoxy. There are rules unspoken here. Rules that writing eventually unveils. I may, with the disaster of writing, write back and kill us both. I may, with the etching of my knife, carved out the paths of bloody cuts, with thousand daggers and pointed phallus littered all over the landscape. Are you Babylon or the golden sun? Are you Oracle or are you Luck? I cherish nothing but the moment that brings us the encounter. I cherish the projection and the breaking of the day. When lights meet darkness, and triumph over her. I can, with words, unleash a thousand plagues, and a swarm of locusts and have the serpent bite their own tails. In circles they shall tremble. And the quivering of the earth shall invite them to slide, and the dungeons of the world open with the mouth of the bottomless pit, a cage for each cardinal sin. My world is silent. My world is dark. Thy footstools fallen. I can conjure up images and signs that do not have to materalise in full. All I need, is to suggest. And the designation of your doom is at hand. Then...

Alas! The truth turn upon me. All I have been doing is just to imagine. All I can do is to write. And write I shall to slay the giants. My puny hands to cast the stones at them. How cold my hands. How I can strike them and myself twofold. I kill the giant only that I may place myself in the position to lust for more power. All I have left, is the desert of my own designs. Awake! Awake! Spurgeon beckoned. And I ignored the trumpet of his call. Awake! Awake! Babylon is here again. And I, undressed as I am, naked and soon to be pierced by her sting. What do I have left? My words. My written words. My last defence. My sword and my trowel. And with the arrows of faith, I unleash my last poison and breathe my last.