The Fanatics:

The faithful,
      the True Believers,
             the Chosen Few,
                  people who are so bent on hatred
                         they’d make a Faustian deal with God Himself,
                             (which only goes to show that God is what we make of Him,
                                  more a slave than a master,
                                     more a slave than anything else in the world,
                                           a projection of our inner nature,
                                                                                         and, at once,
                                                                                                     and out of control.)



 God is Darkness.
   The likeness of such Darkness is that of intergalactic voids,
        the nearest state to true vacuum that we know of,
            the closest thing to complete and utter desolation,
                the almost no-atom land,
                    the despair in-between the few sparks of hope that we could ever have,
                        the end maybe, the end, but never the beginning. Never.
                            The final summation of our collective sense of


Death by Deferment:

To continuously defer,
      from month to month,
             from year to year,
                      from decade to decade,
                                    to an indeterminable,
                                                  moment in time,
          all your dreams,        
                all your ambitions,
                       all fulfillment,
                        everything that could possibly give
                             to your otherwise meaningless
                                                     until you end up
                                                          an empty husk of a being,
                                                                       perhaps inhuman at best,
                                                                  perhaps typically human,
                                                                incapable of projecting
                                                 any sort of creative will,
                                                         too cut-off,
                                                     too alienated
                                             from himself
                                       to exert
                             any kind of creative


March 1998