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Oct. 10 1998

The goat in sacred, sacrificial invocations sits looking mesmerized by long, black, stillness. Waiting for the power to rip down the soft blue, silence sitting before it.

This drunk sloppy whore stuffs this city inside her bloated body. She is pulling the strings of these pathetic gallows of life wandering in her slime ridden corridors. Yet, a floating seraphim with nine wings and nine eyes guards me against her illusion. It guards me against the onslaught of evil, this evil is gouging, killing and maiming goodness. Its name is: 279.

Is this the tribulation that the members warned? Is this the reckoning so many prophets have been witness to?

The goat shows itself proudly. Parading it’s black mottled visage in front of my weak human eyes. I fight the hate. This city is slated for destruction which has not yet passed. The ax turns at the last moment, but the damage will already be complete. New Orleans will fall and be reborn in the image of the goat. These are the words I hear from the mouth of the blackness.

The children of the goat sing, “we have harnessed nature and turned the storm in the name of the lord!” But, it will be me. Their professions are lies, spewed out like flies from their mouths.

“I will laugh at your transgression and say I never knew you.”

They all vomit forth their lives, forgetting the warnings. I wait to escape this new Sodom.

And my wife, my beloved wife…

Becomes as Lot’s…

Now a pillar of salt.

I never looked back.

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