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Friday, January 25, 2008

Declaration of War 

Classified, from Hell:
Spotter ISO crackerjack legal team. Target: Discrimination. Mark: Solvent. Please respond ASAP: 503-616-66VI. No Joke. Dead serious, re $$$.

I am in Hell, the one you create for me and mine from your exalted dais. Recklessly, you find me guilty of confidence, but your demeanor is your own condemnation.

Fools all who raise hackles in response to misperceived challenge — a perfect sign of dark-hearted conceit. I am a mirror. Show yourself to me, and your guardians see. Have you seen one yet? Perhaps called Hydra in another time; still think cover is an option? [Don't dare claim 'Jesus' as your passport, you ignorant jihadists. The rebbe Yeschwa does not hear the name your complicity fouls.]

Will you not leash your superior demeanor when you look on me? If I do not fit your ego-set parameters for tolerance, see the prison on earth that your guardians construct expressly for your edification, with your unwitting collaboration apparently. Are you delayed? Please reset Tolerance, or suffer the consequences: Demo to ensue directly (see portalDeath looming). I present my guide as my portfolio; consider my application, and recall the bounty set in this manifestation of reality.

My house-guests ignore La Pirana Reina's bill rather than recognize that this being, once invisible to the 'endowed' and titled, might expand their own perceptions of penitence. Thus are you crippled by pride for preliminary work, thinking your words will yield some other's surrender — foolishly celebrating a mere collaborative effort to reach mutual understanding of our game board and its rules.

See a knight in repose; an entity's opportunity in Paradise squandered. Now see yourself, fine b'penis'd ram, in my hell suit on your reentry. Yet you console yourselves with lame exhortations: "Don't worry, be positive," and "We are one." Complacent patronizing dictums, injurious without a defender's sight. Your teachings are no more than another carnival barker's treacherous entreaties, repugnant without remediation.

Art is your offering, your first fruits, to your creator. Well-received as your acknowledgments of your plight, but, without action, simple-minded preparations for your next bed. I challenge only your response settings: Take your bloody 'oneness' and apply it to me. Ooops, sorry: you fail (daughter after daughter, see yourselves in their skins).

Every time one of your kind sees this Man-on-the-Ground as an object of contempt, you lose: Welcome back to Hell, fuckers. Pat yourself on the back in smoky members-only clubs, and keep on stoking your attendant Hydra's setting for flames.

Acknowledge my territory and let us together find an even playing field, one free of tyrannous disrespect. Respond — you preachers of non-violence, you practitioners of trauma, you false prophets, fairy tails all — in 4D, if you please.

Tomb Effigy of Jean d'Alluye, mid-13th century, Loire Valley, France;
limestone; 83 1/2 x 34 1/4 in. (212.1 x 87 cm), The Cloisters Collection, Metropolitan Museum of Art.