By Thais
Published: October 16, 2007

I hate your Compassion as there were children in Sodom and Gomorrah destroyed by you and the gravity of the sins committed by them are measured by Your Compassion.

Sodoms and Gomorrahs of the past, you have always been and will forever be in prayers to glorify the Compassion of Lords. The immeasurable distance from your demolished walls and the butchered reflection of the candles crying tears unto ashes to our hearts is measured by Your Compassion, Lord! The prayer of chosen Lots is for the ears of the common sense of Tradition, it is a scar left by the scourge of Compassion which stretches from Heart to Mind. And the distance separating Heart and Mind is immutable, is measured at birth by the Compassion of Your Will, O Compassionate Lord!

I hate the measures measured by You: the compassionate prisons of preservation of the kind, where Death is measured in the least amount.

I want to be deaf as both the pleas and cries of Sodoms and Gomorrahs and praising prayers of Lots are the same. They are the same for you, Lord.

I hate Your Godly Indifference and Your Indifference to all prayers.

O Creator Lord,

I hate Your Virtue of Creation. Darting over nothingness, you created but nothingness. Nothingness that took a name_ Deception.

Idols of Deception, you are the eyelids opening our eyes to exquisite, colorful and illusory worlds. Nothingness - a mockery for the blind, which we call father, son, mother, stranger and relative, life and motherland…. Empty names from Emptiness.

Cut off my tongue so that I do not shatter the happiness of the blind into misery.

I hate Your Spirit of Creation and it is its uterus-brain only that can conceive of such a horror which we call Human Life.

Strike my eyes out so that I do not see Nothingness wearing the garb of Meaningfulness whose tailor is Tragedy wearing a smiling mask. So that I do not see the millions of cartons which we call skulls - the labyrinth of drifting winds and refuge of earth.

Strike my eyes out so that I do not see the milliards of corpses, not to die with every single one of them in agony and in cruel torment. May I never ever witness new births with wailing cries, and deaths with blood-curdling shrieks…

I hate the torments you have created. There exists only bodily pain. The human soul never aches once the veneer of Deception is torn and Your Face is seen, O Lord.

Cut off my tongue so that I do not push the ironic essence and mechanism of Idols and Prayers along the path connecting Heart and Brain.

O Lord, Considerate of Humankind,

I hate the Godly Equality created by You. We are all equal before you, before the Realization of Your Intent and Will. We are as equal as the Sun and the Earth, water and earth, man and beast, all the stones making up the tower of prayers addressed to You.

Cut off my arms not to build towers for You, enthralled by this deception of Equality.

O Righteous Lord, I hate your justice that transforms itself into skyscrapers and shacks, the walls of which are held together by a mortar of human misery and powerlessness. Justice - a commandment weighed by an ephemeral scale, the sole value and meaning of the Commandment being not harming Humankind.

I hate your Mind, which conferred this love of equality onto this blind, mute and deaf rabble of people. That is the illusory conductor of those endless requiems when there are “likes” and “not likes.” A glowing illusion for us to imagine ourselves to be Gods, hence to judge: to chew on Happiness, the pain-relieving drug not to go insane from living. The chimera of our likeness to Your Image leads us along the path designed by you beforehand - from birth to death just for the sake of preserving our species and perpetuating Your Whim.

P.S. Tear my uterus asunder, it is going to give birth to Nothing.

Bury me without prayers, laughing at God.
I have been dead a long time, from the moment when the Fairy-Tale died and I saw you naked, O Lord.

Today is the funeral of Lord. The prayers are for Him and Pray just for Him.