Monster tan Definition of doing, how small, how much and what. Moving. Always under surveillance, under looking-glass,cyclist passing by with a cheer and a hat, peeping non-sleeper enjoying little light through narrow slits, time when everything sounds loud. You breathe like a horn was blown and buffed to call something. Options for solitude and thoughts of all kinds, scales of absurd and trauma to your left shoulder and over, tissue damage visible cut over a cut.
Women who are dirty. Women who between their legs are dirty, they are ashamed and shamed, should be washed. Skin is dirty, armpits smell, hair is clumpy unwashed. Weed of deep-sea traveled to the feet still smelling of that salt and water, of that depth of unknown and scare, swoosh hoist her to look at her in the light. In the of day miss dUMbBum scared eyes in the light diagnosis of day set her.
Call it divine, call it repetition of the name, repetition of the sound, call it repetition of the act, the same movement, the same fear and hate in the call, do not expect the same, expect the worst, do not expect the sane, expect lunacy, expect your narrowest nightmare corridor with mass of people in it with you unable to breathe, with them and their smell, unwashed. Call it hypothetical trust, blind hypothetical trust, insane hypothetical belief, expect the unseen, the unknown purity command, fury, need to make the idea of purity happen in black. See the flag, see the scarfs, see the eyes. Nothing will turn their heads around from this mission. Nothing. Crisis is in not negotiable in smallest space, in smallest breaths inhaled in passing out with the rest.
ThreatExpect the crisis, threatExpect the hurt, threatExpect the ill, it will come, it will be a terrorist, call it a terrorist, call it an organization Terrrrrrrrroriiiiiist. Terrrrrrrrrrrroriiiiist! It will be an explosion, a blast. Call it what you will, call it fear, terror, tyranny, call it many of who were hurt, many of those who are dead. Call it your blind heart, call it answer of the kind heart.
It is not a comical POW. It is not a comical savage. It is the hidden savage of Christ, the one you deny, the one you do not want to acknowledge, because it is in you, in your religion. Smell of divine captivated, taken, imprisoned. Moral imperative making monsters, sounds of this world, being a monster in an acceptable way, the same way as chanting righteousness, justice, superiority. Us and them, haven and threat, Paradise of safety and Hell of the uncovered. Those who did what they had to do. Those who accomplish God’s plan to save what there is for us to be saved, next to nothing. Standing next to nothing, next to a plan of salvation drawn on to ground.