The Shrine of Mad Laughter

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

A sensation of everlasting rot and those frantic wails
No, it is not a fall into the abyss, the defiance of descent

A coronation beyond liberty and slavery
The cry of woe and deliverance exudes a flame, evasive as sound and ether
An instant of collusion with death, without hope nor prospect
Yet it is a world below and above and in all eternity, a gift of fever
The wind of death that sustains the life in me
Yes, the lightness of hovering in permanent anguish
I dared to borrow those words, to articulate them and to savour their turpitude
As I beheld the shrine of mad laughter

The limit is crossed with a weary horror
Hope seemed a respect which fatigue grants to the necessity of the world

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As if Death was dashed onto the death within
A violent thrust stealing the light of the eyes
A ray of darkness, a negation
The bread of bitterness that ignites neither devotion nor fervour
Resplendent nothingness! Make all things appear with clarity
Ruined in the flame of repudiation, in the flame of God! Interwoven joy and confusion, a stabbing confusion

Asphyxiation from within, yet I gained this certitude
Malediction, degradation
Sown in me like seeds, now belonged to death
In harbouring a desire for the hideous
I was beckoning to death
Insatiable combustion
Expand, this body is the vessel of grace!

The idea of God is pale next to that of perdition, but of this I could have no inkling in advance

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