Welcome Home to the End of the World.

Yeah, I’m updating on a Sunday morning. I’m such a bamf.

There weren’t many to follow.
At the first, anyway.
There were the rapists and the sadists and even a whore or two.
Following, following, following.
Sheep in a more literal sense,
most travel was done on foot in those days.
They followed and followed and followed,
until he died.
And when he was dead they followed his followers,
and then they died so they followed the other followers.
So it went for thousands of years,
on and on and on.
So it still goes,
but there are a few.
There are a few who realize that there is no leader.
There are a few who recognize that the followers
are engaged in an endless chain,
broken only sporadically,
by certain folk.
Some of them decided to retain their lifestyle of following.
Some of them believe that the following is the answer.
Others decide to stay away from the chain.
Others think that the search is pointless.
Others don’t want to follow.

But it’s not really relevant,
not relevant in the least.
What’s important,
is that Some respect Others.
And Others respect Some.

But what’s most important of all,

Is that the followers find the choice.

Verse 13: Comfort in the Dark

And now for a taste of things to come.

No one to laugh and no one to cry,
at my simple jokes and ample tunes.
Christ himself could glisten on his bloody crucifix,
and not shed a single tear,
or smile in beautiful grimace.
There’s not much to separate myself and him.
Where he ends and I begin is lost in human boundaries.
I would cackle and I would grin,
spilling my guts at his feet in bowls of hideous laughter.
My cries would ring cross the world,
blessing simple ears on the far shores.
I’d sob and I’d heckle at passerby.
Cry to them I would,
“Have you any thought?
Have you any pain?
Do you feel at all?”
I’d bleed myself red for naught but their attention.
But their attention I cannot get.
I’d pull at them,
drag at them,
claw them into the Earth,
with none but myself for company.
They would struggle and they would flail.
But soon it would be dark.
And it would be me
and it would be them.
And I would have their rapt attention.
They would have no choice but to listen
to the dying wails of an empty man.
They would have no choice but to see
the knives and the red of an empty man.
They would have no choice but to feel
the gory salvation of an empty man.
And then there would be nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
It would be me
and it would be them.
And we would take cynical comfort in the darkness.
We would take comfort in the knowledge
that there is no more light.
Comfort in the dark.
It would be me
and it would be them.
In the black nothing.
In the cold silence.
In the dark abyss.
And it would be me
and it would be them.
And we would rot
as empty men.

And that, dear readers? That is why we seek shelter in the dark.

Verse 2:In Which Hallucinogens Are Problematic

As the virgin Mary, you’d think getting immaculately boned by the big man himself would not only leave me with a soon-to-be savior fetus, but also with some holy wisdom. But really, where the hell in God’s arsenal of arcane knowledge is there anything about bad Acid?

But before I tell you that story, I should preface by acknowledging my growing drug addictions during and around the time of Jesus’ birth. After you get past the fact that your son’s going to die, you can really come to appreciate the fact that his death means you can smoke as much grass as you want and still be saved. Hell, every thursday night, me and the girls would get together and smoke a few bowls. They’d always be worried, you know, about getting caught or arrested, but I’d always tell ‘em, I’d say, “Don’t you ladies worry, once this little jack-in-the-vag pops out, we’ll be set.”

I’ll be honest, though. Soon reefer wasn’t quelling the eternal munchies. I needed more, I needed some hard shit. I went from coke to heroin to CCC faster than you could say, “Aren’t you worried about the baby?” (To which I would always reply, “He can’t feel it, I promise, just keep going.”).

Eventually I would find myself at a party. I pretty literally mean “found myself” because I have no idea how I got there. The days had begun to blur together at that point. I’d wake up at random intervals to find myself in another bed, usually with a few people with me. There were rarely any clothes being worn.

I walked into the main hub of the party, being felt up by most around me due to my lack of proper dress-ware. I noticed some people sitting off in the corner talking to the rats outside. They looked like they were really enjoying it, too.

“What do the rats say?” I asked the nearest one.

“What rats? That’s a fucking DRAGON!” he replied in earnest.

I noticed his eyes were bleeding slightly, and I noticed him clutching a tiny container.

“Whatcha got there?”

“This new shit I just picked up in Jordan. You can take the hits in your fucking EYES.”

I needed no further persuasion. I took the vial and popped a few drops in my eyes. Soon enough, I was chatting up the dragons like they were my old friends. How could I have ever mistaken them for rats? I’ll never know. Also, my tits had become purple. This fascinated me to no end. I told the dragons about this new development.

“Look, look!” I said.

“Can I see them up close?!” the dragon pack leader asked me.

“Of course!” I responded. That was my mistake. As soon as I put the dragon on my chest, he bit off both of my nipples. Not that I cared too much. Minutes later I was unconcious.

But that is why, dear readers, you should never take acid. Actually, fuck that – just make sure it’s good and you get it from a reliable seller. Drug abstinence is for pussies anyway.