LIFE IS HORROR

I heard a man say, without moving his lips, or opening his eyes, "Dread the passage of Jesus, for he will not return." And all was still about us. I heard no rustling of leaves, I heard then not anything. For the sky blew great black clouds that billowed grinning against a green sky, and the timber-creak of angels I knew in my bones. It is that moment I will never be allowed to let go. A little girl in a white dress sat on the lawn, her locks shorn. Across her head was tattooed again and again, time jesum transeuntum et non riverentum, time jesum transeuntum et non riverentum, time jesum transeuntum et non riverentum.... Until my mouth grew dry looking out to the horizon. And there I saw four men on four horses, and their heads were made of gold. And all was chaos about us. But there was no sound, no sound, no sound. Nothing to drown out the noise of the silence in which we lay, our appendages bound. Our minds redrawn. And all the churches had fallen to dust and scattered in the wind. For where the malevolence of faith takes hold, misery never ends; it never ends. The first man to die is the last man to Heaven. Take my hand, let's leave this dimension.