~Part I~
Absence...
Some things occurred to me this night. Nothing is for or about you. "You are not worth immortalizing." Previous immortalizations were passing instances of fanciful anger and snow-blind confusion. It is not I... I have not changed. My hand still writes, my eyes still strain and I still understand you. Only I now understand you are not as I once thought or hoped. The first exultant whore had a glutton's wealth of lovely attributes in comparison to your wallowing appearance of being strong and intelligent. The philosopher does not exist in this letter. The scholar will attain nothing because you are nothing, a forced, reconstituted nothing, which at one time had just potential for beauty and for a soul. I digress... had I truly understood you in the beginning, this would not have drudged on for this length.

Contorted Porcelain-faced Bitch...
How was it that I referred to it? Oh, 'the other' or 'the third', as if there was ever even a first. Striking during failure and disappointment. Hair caught roaming among barbed wire, leaning through to step on unfriendly domestic ground. I can calculate more points to three but abiding a punisher's rules prevents victory. Would it be victory? Even if slain, would it not be victory won? "Burn, burn, burn, all my blessed children of Sodom, for I created you to suffer savage hatred." I think even if the first were eternally obtained, the third would remain ablaze. I am not rambling enough for my own entertainment, but a decision has been made...for no fear can match this confinement.

~Part II~
Childless One...
... and if I am as beautiful as your words portray, then journey through their hell. Journey through the crooked caverns and youth devouring thorns. Journey as the flesh flays & the joyful expressions are lifted from your face. Wish me in hell. Is this hell to you? "Blessed o' ye Childless One, bleed forth so that we may drink of your ambrosial pain." Lack the desire to breed yet desire the act, the act of advancing and staining silk and cotton. As if I were beautiful, no more than a frightening image to intimidate the Uninitiated, the Sheltered and the Lacking. You... as my encouragement to proceed with trials and tribulations. Cliches and contradictions and the overbearing desire to lash you to your pearly gates.

The Body as Sulfur Stench...
Succulent, the copper taste. The shadows of eternal dusk. The pits covered anew and the visitations. Bodies everywhere... how many decayed corpses do I walk upon and how many innocents have been stolen from us? Would they themselves have learned to kill? Dismemberment, a grimace-vision along with the disinterred, a cage, a Freudian reasoning for confinement, for sexual ambiguity, Easter colored by a lunar needle and surgical steel grin. When she peers over the edge, looking, looking, expecting fly-fed death to lie stinking and festering below. "It is not uncommon. It happens all the time." Maggots anchor themselves, thriving opaque glares, emptiness, pain save me, the Child of the Childless One.

~Part III~
Matriarch...
Covered blanketed face, Holy Mother, cowering bedside hide. I stood with uncalloused palm on the sweat of her skin, my breath chilling in the air, everything a shade of earthen brown, termite wooden walls and uprooted flooring, an iron post bed, brick paint chipped, one frosted window with florescent light outside. I did not know it was her... beneath gray wool and blue mortified eyes. Recurrence of the spectre beforehand, previous to placement. "I will gut her. You will witness my miracle." I thought the expanding red spots on the lily-white bed clothes to be cherry stains... or I wanted them to be such. That would have saved me from the hooked tip of the hunting knife, forcing through the sternum from the back. Oh shrouded Death, nary even a salivating smirk to be seen, brandishing a convenient modern scythe. And yet we were dead before the lungs were even punctured, before the ribs cracked and the vertebrae twisted and split.

~Part IV~
Her Iniquity Uncovered...
I bare witness to my own sickening dreams. I bare my blemish and bare your iniquity. Uncover thy nakedness. "Their blood shall be upon them." For the gaping wounds we have suffered at the blood-drenched hands of christ. Rip the paper wings from their gleeful angels and freeze their ideals as shards of ice. Oblivious to defeat, weakness is cherished. Do not come to me with weeping... with tears. My altars are of blood, my gates of flesh. Come to me with sanctity of truth, be it lust or love. No words exist for being this... no gestures of arthritic hands or curved spines, no expressions of pious, aged brows or down-turned heads. We are 20th century lepers cast out into a swarming mass of prejudiced fools... but be aware how familiar I am with my enemies.

The Eastern Trinity Unexplained...
How lovely it must be for your kind, to remain ever blind. Through the same course of my years, through the sacred moralistic path of jade, I will return to the third factor, the Eastern triangle on which I tread. And the third becomes the pinnacle of light, the singular source of wanton need. An uncaring god sends me a riddle. "Choose, my son." My guess was lost by con(science). Now you expect worship? If I save praise you will take away the wrong and leave me stark raving rabid insane... with nothing. Nothing, but my disease ridden thoughts that tell me I must hate you, always testing to see my failures ravage me... but here, here, here is where your lie ends, for I can not, will not, hate that which I have not first loved.

: To be continued :

: Please notice that I have not included all the lyrics to the album. This is only half of them. Buy the cd to get the rest of the philosophy! :