adamdaniel

The Tabernacle of the Most Fvcked

I dwell eternally in the tabernacle of the most fvcked, where the thick-dripping molasses of iniquity filters down in rank dollops, coagulating slowly and separating at length by a long strand, finally depositing with a plop into the torpid water where I rest my naked form.

I sit enthroned in mud, in catatonic stupor, in the most inauspicious tabernacle of the most fvcked, where the corpses of dead dolphins collect in heaps on yonder shore, where I keep my raft and buried food, as the poisoned waters of the Styx lap anon, with prurient tongues, hoping to gather the succour of decay and rank iniquity which characterises these shores.

I suffer all the smorgasbord aromas of decayed animals and algal profusion, rising odiously through the putrescent air, like an infernal incense, causing asphyxiation and hallucination in simultaneous effect, as I walk the black sands where strange icthyic creatures peruse the twilight and where inarticulate insects grow haughtily into deformed parodies of birds.

I maintain my habitation in the preposterous tabernacle of the most fvcked, where the sins of millennia past stand pungently in heaps, putrefying and decomposing, like masses of landfill. This is where the minion workers of the devil keep the sins of Adam’s kind, stacked in smoldering heaps, like burnt offerings for dark gods and Eldritch monstrosities.

I breathe weakly here, in the tabernacle of the most fvcked, where the shapes of iniquity play on the walls even as spectacular shadows wielded by an adept magician. There flies malpractice, and spy larceny and solicitation, her voluptuous neighbours, devoid of conscience and given ever to the low proclivities of fallen man.

Here I waste away in the tabernacle of the most fvcked, my valour spent and my chivalry depleted to a wry scoff. Through the crack at the top of the volcano protecting these subterranean waters comes a faintly golden shard of light, wispy and otherworldly, like a lonely ghost separated from a clan of cloud bank. As I mark the atmosphere surrounding me, bacterial delight awash upon my finned feet, I consider the memory of God’s eidolon, His likeness, and I swoon.