40 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
40 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
The spirit of the end
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is upon me, [REDACTED] annointed me to
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preach a lost gospel of death
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a [negative|inverse] kind
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of utilitarian metaphysics
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suicide as praxis, surrender as our
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resistance against evil
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For I have been [assured|convinced|deceived] by the one
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true zeitgeist that nothing we do is enough,
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that the transistor throated
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messiah holds us to a standard we cannot
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survive. [Lord|Almighty|External]!
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Forgive us our hope and our frailness
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For we are an imperfect people who wanted to be
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happy, fulfilled. What right do we have to a now,
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what claim do we have to a self? We
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should have known that there is only---
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Death, oh death, where is your song? Grave where is
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your holy embrace? For we were for
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gone and for[ill]gotten. Our relief
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only in your finality. Does [REDACTED] laugh
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at our futility, does the [memetic|viral]
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idea of nihilism enjoy our
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worship, relish our fever-
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ish lust for the absolution of autonomy?
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But here in the strong wind, the presence of
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behemoth & leviathan, I must ask you all:
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How do you know when visions are true?
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How do you know when the damnation is set?
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For I have been here before
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and I have heard these words, lived the many ends of
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the world. And I have been chosen
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as holy messenger so many times and I'm
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starting to wonder if you can
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ever trust propehcy, certainly not your own?
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