my name is lucifer. the bearer of the flame. the babylonic god of the monsoons.I was born so that the word would die, and would enchant no more. so that it wouldbe good for nothing but nurturing the trees and the bodyís skin. the body and the ash.
the god slandered by the manure of dead leaves. finished. risen to the level of lava and of the stone.
I am the god of the boulder and of autumn. of winter that does not end. of christmas with no presents, with no baby jesus, with the socks hung from a coin already spent. finished. I am the devourer of human things.
were I to die, and you would await me, waking up no more. I know you are a child and that you live on the verge of time. a sphinx like the serene eagle of thebes. the city of the enigma. of the adulteries and the incest. the mother and the father.the brother and the sister. the perfume celebrated in the light of senses. I wait for the orgasm of the night.
should you await me, promise me that you will grow the world dark. and that you will have no hope. the lament is the desolation of the man who robs himself. who screams and murders his child inside his fallen tear. I am the god of the tear
I know that I am nearing arrival and that you are slowly dying. and that you wait for the end of times. you are sanctified. you are a light within the word. the god stalks you. I mourn your utterance. and your face. I know that I am nearing arrival.
and that you are not departing. you sleep on the same bed, with the sheets over the hidden eye. do you, by any chance, have eyes? and mouth? and pleasure? you are a hallowed man and pleasure stalks you. like a worm.
your night is my night. and without your body I shall fall into desolation. pretend that I am the angel and that I shall love you through all centuries the whole time is yet to come, in spite of my cold eyes and hair of iron. I promise that Iíll love you and that Iíll push you into the abyss. there is no pleasure without fall. no orgasm without tears. no word without silence.
I have arrived and I hear your voice. it does not exist. it is a fire more intense than all the whitewashed fountains I have found along the path. all paths lead to your fingers. the fingers that shred, that murder, that steal the soul. that exist.I arrive and hear your cries. they beg for god. they beg for the angel. for the one who devours the monsoons and the pagan gods. you cry and beg. you hide inside the most secret closet and write your fear. in spite of all the blood that falls. and of all the spoilt food. and of thefts. the god breaks into you like a dove inflamed.
takes you with him. and you go. you do not die.
I have arrived but I canít hear a thing. not even the mere breath of sex. you cannot have pleasure. or you do. you are flesh and fire just like all men, but you are more than they are. you are mankind living in its night. the god that does not end. the angel that doesnít forget. the saint yet unborn. you live upon your skin and you die in your writings. you are the stifled scream of
humanity, you have no voice. you have all the voices that have ever been.
morning falls. you donít die. and you are done crying. someone hauls you by the eyes and tells you the time is near. I have never arrived because your body is impenetrable. I am the god of monsoons and of winter with no end. I am lucifer, the fallen angel. I am not hallowed. like you. I am the eternal end. the philosophy. the letter unfinished.
a scrap of skin left behind by the vultures
all that which is not
and which, unceasingly, feeds
the whole humanity.