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I am no feeble Christ not me. He hangs in glib
delight upon his cross, above my body. Christ
forgive. FORGIVE? I vomit for you Jesu. Shit
forgive. Down now from your cross. Down now from
your papal heights, from that churlish suicide,
petulant child. Down from those pious heights,
royal flag bearer, goat, billy. I vomit for you.
Forgive? Shit he forgives. He hangs in crucified
delight nailed to the extend of his vision, his
cross, his manhood, violence, guilt, sin. He would
nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary,
death reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu,
earthmover, Christus, gravedigger, you dug the
pits of Auschwitz, the soil of Treblinka is your
guilt, your sin, master, master of gore, enigma.
You carry the standard of your oppression. Enola
is your gaiety. The bodies of Hiroshima are your
delight the nails are your only trinity, hold them
in your corpsey gracelessness, the image I have
had to suffer. The cross is the virgin body of
womenhood that you defile. You nail yourself to
your own sin. Lamearse Jesus calls me sister there
are no words for my contempt, every woman is a
cross in is filthy theology, in his arrogant
delight. He turns his back upon me in his fear, he
dare not face me. Fearfucker. Share nothing you
Christ, sterile, impotent, fucklove prophet of
death. You are the ultimate pornography, in your
cuntfear, cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair,
warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare,
warfare, warfare, warfare.
JESUS DIED FOR IS OWN SINS, NOT MINE.
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