I lie outside the gates of new Jerusalem with a body riddled with sores. I hear a harsh trumpet playing, and a broken violin screeching. Here, in this place of weeping and gnashing of teeth, where darkness enshrouds, and the wrath of Elohim is both corporeal and incorporeal, there is no redemption. The messiah came and went, but never chose us. We dressed in rags and attended the banquet, but looking at our pitiful state in contempt, he rebuked us; had us bound and cast aside. The righteous feast on the meat of the Leviathan and the Behemoth while we lie with Beelzebub and the Jinn.
The roars of the banquet augment our sorrow because we’re missing out on spiritual ecstasy. The cheers of the elect exacerbate our misery because we were never one of them. I look at you while worms eat my flesh, and fire scalds my tongue, and want to tell you that I still love you; that our hedonistic romp through life was worth it because love never dies. Even here, in perdition where the mongrels of reprobation hunger for morsels never given, I still love you in a profoundly twisted way.
We made our choices; chose misery and pessimism over positivity and hope. We lived as resigned fatalists; wasting away in that old apartment; smoking joints and finding release in rough sex. And man, did we fuck like maniacs! We lived out our twisted fetishes with blades and blood, and murmurs and thrills, and we’re now paying the price. We chose to be antinatalists and heralded Ligotti’s nihilism. We didn’t play roles in life, but man, did we play roles in bed! We wanted the extinction of humanity unlike the breeders and hoarders; the fame whores and idealists. We wanted it because we knew the truth. We knew that most of us would end up here, in this place where the seraphim watch over with righteous indignation, where aborted fetuses spit fire, where the obsidian mountain overlooks a tarn of both ice and fire. And we wanted annihilation because we had no choice.
What are we but puppets in the hands of a vengeful sovereign? Who are we but foolish mendicants? And look at us now, with resurrected bodies of filth and shame; the scat and the yellow phlegm clinging to them and refusing a cleansing. Bodies mangled and repugnant. We’re abominations. We always were, but back then we could escape it all by drinking ourselves to stupor. Now, there is no wine, no vodka, no crack, no skag, no weed and no cigarette. It’s just torture. But I still love you, despite the fire and the brimstone. I still long for you despite the impossibility of us holding hands, let alone romping in bed. I still yearn for us despite the cacophony and the chaos.
DGAF*FAYW/T=M is the equation that once made us. For those who don’t have ears or wisdom, I’ll explain it, unlike the prophet of Patmos who never gave us clues about the number of the beast. It’s Don’t Give A Fuck*Fuck All You Want/Time = Misfit. And that simple equation embodied us. We didn’t give a shit about the world because it was doomed and damned, and we fucked all we wanted. We lived like misfits: Dirty, unwashed, farty and messed up in the head. There were a few like us, but they fell like mosquitoes swatted. Johnny aimed the gat at his head. Ophelia bladed her wrists diagonally. James threw himself off a building. We see them here in this place, suffering more, and that was God’s mission for us, wasn’t it? To suffer and suffer both in life and the afterlife.
Remember when we fucked in the woods outside that ramshackle shack. Dave Matthews was blaring in the background: “Let’s not forget these early days/Remember we begin the same/We lose our way in fear and pain/Oh, joy begin.” I guess he was wrong because we lost our innocence before we were born, and there’s nothing to remember except the blows of our fathers, and fear and pain are quintessential to the life of the damned. The wicked quiver when they hear the leaf rustle. But here’s the irony: We didn’t quiver that day and found joy in eros. We knew Thanatos always crept into our veins and whispered its dark truth into the crimson, but we fucked that day like there was no tomorrow.
Semen and juice; bites and kisses; lightning and thunder: These things we knew intimately. Madness and turmoil; punctured hands and dilated pupils; prescription pulls and gasping lungs: These things we also knew. Look at us now darling, bound and chained, forever and alone. But we look at each other and what passes between us transcends even the second death.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2019)
Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash