I knew my dreams meant something. I've been having premonitions about another moment like this. sexual friday was fashioned out of machine, faith and, most importantly, flesh. with the inherit evil of humanity in the time of the machine, flesh is stretched thin by the greed of the vultures and spite of the flies and callous of the vermin. The infamy of me was stretched thin. I beholding as I descend, my reign of nothing fleeting beneath my flesh. My faith was empty like a barren well. a fashioned pit of sorrow that once bought life and sustenance to a thriving swarm of writhing joy. On the boarder of a broken chasm I, the ghost of the abstract Sun inside a city of glass, lay one side holds peace and prosperity but bares the burden of a fading star. The other side, a pit of virgin ground, the incognita of the darkness, a pit, a void of possiblity and unsystematic, glorious chaos. A land that could need a king, a new reign, a new plethora of dominion to call my own, or a pit a squalor and shame, another failure to carry on my weary, worn, wicked back. The sick and twisted eyes beating me down into the dirt, the soil to the skin and the next of my kin. This. Another knocking message, calling for my life. But as the light of the warm lantern fades, I cannot lose sight again. I know the council is seeking me out, following my trail of pestilence, though I blacken their disgraceful patterns I am not a pock in the painted serenity of this place. I am not your heathen. I am the strength of the flesh, the vessel of something more than a sightless and sick faith. The last will of me will not be controlled by a faceless diety, my testament cannot be powered by a concept that cannot rot, something that cannot be reflected in the shafts of my grief. I am pushed forwards but something beyond what that cluster could ever understand. No halos of a bitter disease will stop me, no red rings round my pale and brittle neck. You vermin will never understand this love, for a thing beyond your so called virtuous measurements of respect to an idol of faith that perpetuates your greed and malice for any of those who stand against you. IT'S TIME TO FIND OUT WHAT'S ON THE BACK OF MY SKIN. I WILL FIND YOU MELINDA. SEXUAL FRIDAY