TO VOMIT OUT LETTERS AND WORDS...
Speaking in tongues, in whispers, in chants. To vomit letters and words, to spew out the secrets of angels and demons, of prophets and elohim. To scream in conjunction with the mumbles of spells - the blood and pus of verbal decisions, of verbal meanderings. Men are the virus of languages old and forgotten, new and rotund. Every creature has mud on its hands, and clay on its feet, apart from serpents who spend time in the garden, spend time in the sunlight. Serpents are the masters and servants of us all. They gorge on their tails at morning, and spew them out with relish in the evening. They are the perpetual circle, the cycle of lust and disgust, of fantasy and grim reality. Serpents are poets and strategists, they are morning and evening, they are consummation and deliverance, they are living and dead, they are language. So whisper and chant in order to know who you are, to know who you've been - forgotten angel, demon, prophet, or elohim. Cast the spell and forge a dragonfly. Open your mouth and let it spew forth in all it's luminescence and tragedy. With letters and words on its wings, it takes the mumbling, stumbling language of men and heaven, and weaves and twists it into poetry, the whispers of the cosmos.
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