845. WHEN

WHEN
A priest-bound empire of necrophiles
worshiping a grotesque pantheon of
animal-headed Gods. At least they've
gotten rid of the animal-headed Gods;
though they now instead teeter on the
pinpoint of entertainment faeries. And
though we generalize the interview and
the interface with 'God' (now itself the
surviving One) we know that no answers
are to be forthcoming. A strange and
silent universe we inhabit.
-
So, really, the dummies are in control.
The beautiful girls in thongs and underwear
shirts are now our Virgin Marys and we
sluice-pipe fuck them when we can. And
in the can if we can. It's our pornographic,
prophylactic world which has gone crazy,
not us! Oh, Irony abounds! Now God is a
capeador, a rumor-mongering bastard;
these days anyway.
-
It serves us right; the world's gone foul.
We stand on edge, and try to howl.
It's all we can do to remain centered,
as the Sun - it has been found -
really does revolve around us!