I remember the first time the fire consumed me.
You'll like this, Eric.
So there I was, a young pup. Innocent, perfect in the eyes of the Lard.
The machine hummed to life and grabbed my member and started trimming me.
(Circ machines cut away your perfection and consecrate your body for furthering the Goddess's goals)
It wasnt about the 6, it was the marring of the perfection of 7.
It ate away at my flesh, damning me perfectly.
It wasnt until years later that I understood the rite.
It wasnt until I understood the hunger it gave me, and the hunger it creates.
It wasnt until I fully felt that the fire had been burning since that moment. THAT PERFECT MOMENT. And I was not alone.
They took my perfection, and that alone would have been sin.
But they performed it in JUST such a way. It was not by human hands. It was not personal.
It was cold and merciless and beautiful.
It took my birthrite.. and it made of me a messenger.
It took my energy, and it CAST IT INTO THE CONSUMING.
The fire, it ate me, it lapped at my perfection.
They call it 'biomedical waste'. They need to call it something to justify it to the masses, to the mothers who give of themselves. To the men that it consecrates.
They cast my foreskin into the fire.
It was not a part of me as thought of as you would, Eric. But I felt it. It created an instant hunger.
It ensured that my flesh was no longer as your god wished it, but it was now a vessel of her delivery. I would never be satisfied until I slid my message into others and spread her word.
Even the very piss that emanates from my being, from so many millions.. it creates her land.
Whatsoever passes through my 'tool' my blessed tool.. is not borne of the water I drink, but it is something more.
I was saddened for many years, I asked why.
No answers were to come, only the hunger to be consumed by the flame. The rest of me had felt the precious.
I cried to any who would hear me! "TAKE ME TO THE BEAUTIFUL!"
No answers.
I had to feed it, Eric. Neither your nor my precious will answer that which does not give in return.
I read your rhetoric and those like you. I understand your pain is constant, and you cry out in all you say. Forever complaining!
You beget more pain with your decrying of those who have answers, for YOU ARE BITTER! YOU ARE INCOMPLETE! YOU HAVE NO GOAL BUT TO SCORN THOSE WHO SERVE THEIR GOD(DESS)
I cannot give you your answers, and you may yet search for years.
But know that those who complain about the fire are those who have not fed it.
What use is an ember when you can have a roaring blaze? You see not the light in the ways.
Lucifer? I know not of why you do not purge yourself of the evil you contain and speak of.
I know of that which is obvious, that we are drawn to the flame. We worship it, we find better ways to harness it, WE CREATE MEDIA TO WORSHIP ITS LIKENESS!
I long for the day when the exquisite darkness consumes me.
I hope it is slow and deliberate. But it is not my will that will be listened to.
Perhaps I will be punished for my desire.. perhaps I will be cast up from the great below to writhe around next to the eels of baby worshippers like you!
Your place is assured, yes.. you place the baby upon the pedestal, you constantly speak of it, you draw attention to it..
you are the town crier for the chosen. You are to observe the chosen as they do what you cannot.
Place it, neophyte.
You'll like this, Eric.
So there I was, a young pup. Innocent, perfect in the eyes of the Lard.
The machine hummed to life and grabbed my member and started trimming me.
(Circ machines cut away your perfection and consecrate your body for furthering the Goddess's goals)
It wasnt about the 6, it was the marring of the perfection of 7.
It ate away at my flesh, damning me perfectly.
It wasnt until years later that I understood the rite.
It wasnt until I understood the hunger it gave me, and the hunger it creates.
It wasnt until I fully felt that the fire had been burning since that moment. THAT PERFECT MOMENT. And I was not alone.
They took my perfection, and that alone would have been sin.
But they performed it in JUST such a way. It was not by human hands. It was not personal.
It was cold and merciless and beautiful.
It took my birthrite.. and it made of me a messenger.
It took my energy, and it CAST IT INTO THE CONSUMING.
The fire, it ate me, it lapped at my perfection.
They call it 'biomedical waste'. They need to call it something to justify it to the masses, to the mothers who give of themselves. To the men that it consecrates.
They cast my foreskin into the fire.
It was not a part of me as thought of as you would, Eric. But I felt it. It created an instant hunger.
It ensured that my flesh was no longer as your god wished it, but it was now a vessel of her delivery. I would never be satisfied until I slid my message into others and spread her word.
Even the very piss that emanates from my being, from so many millions.. it creates her land.
Whatsoever passes through my 'tool' my blessed tool.. is not borne of the water I drink, but it is something more.
I was saddened for many years, I asked why.
No answers were to come, only the hunger to be consumed by the flame. The rest of me had felt the precious.
I cried to any who would hear me! "TAKE ME TO THE BEAUTIFUL!"
No answers.
I had to feed it, Eric. Neither your nor my precious will answer that which does not give in return.
I read your rhetoric and those like you. I understand your pain is constant, and you cry out in all you say. Forever complaining!
You beget more pain with your decrying of those who have answers, for YOU ARE BITTER! YOU ARE INCOMPLETE! YOU HAVE NO GOAL BUT TO SCORN THOSE WHO SERVE THEIR GOD(DESS)
I cannot give you your answers, and you may yet search for years.
But know that those who complain about the fire are those who have not fed it.
What use is an ember when you can have a roaring blaze? You see not the light in the ways.
Lucifer? I know not of why you do not purge yourself of the evil you contain and speak of.
I know of that which is obvious, that we are drawn to the flame. We worship it, we find better ways to harness it, WE CREATE MEDIA TO WORSHIP ITS LIKENESS!
I long for the day when the exquisite darkness consumes me.
I hope it is slow and deliberate. But it is not my will that will be listened to.
Perhaps I will be punished for my desire.. perhaps I will be cast up from the great below to writhe around next to the eels of baby worshippers like you!
Your place is assured, yes.. you place the baby upon the pedestal, you constantly speak of it, you draw attention to it..
you are the town crier for the chosen. You are to observe the chosen as they do what you cannot.
Place it, neophyte.
