A Chore for the Lost

An exhausted fall into disgrace
Famished for peace, for a mere moment
Of respite in dying eternities
On the verge of being deprived of all humanity
Nonsense is the outcome of every possible sense
It is the start of transcendence, the dissolution that spreads without limits and the critical violation

What pleasure of inconceivable purity there is in being an object of abhorrence
For the sole being to whom destiny links my life!
The rupture is too profound to stand up

Nothing remains but a terrified consolation
In a laughable renunciation that is not the one of a single man
Thou art not dead to the devoration of sin!

Every human being not going to the extreme limit is the servant or the enemy of man and the accomplice of a nameless obscenity

Let us be a blight on the orchard
On all orchards of this world

Even the least of these words will be judged during the times of reckoning, bearing
A latent damnation a feverish seduction exasperated in death

Every letter is a code to extreme horror, utter contempt and divine conflict
It is lethal to speak the language of resistance

Every gasp exhales a particle of the remission of Golgotha
As if the blazing Logos demanded the exercise of a fragile power just above annihilation
The one of a harmony in ruins
It is a task for a man who cannot bear any longer to be
A chore for the lost in the denial of free will
Perinde ac cadaver!

Le vent de la vérité a répondu comme une gifle à la joue tendue de la piété

God of terror, very low dost thou bring us, very low hast thou brought us