oddnessmostly

There is the indecency of me having been asleep to thee too long.





I have shamed my angels with the slander of silence.

There's the desperate stench I am and again the desperate stench. I am become a presence of dread sentiment. Wouldst thou laugh now for me please? It's thy laugh I miss most if not my causing of it. Laugh at the silliness of my stench and sentiment. Laugh at that absurdity makes us something more than worms.

I'm missing an apostrophe.

I have become the presence of dread sentiment.

It's always after midnight here.

It's always after midnight where you are.

What voice was it then had all that truth inside it may have been wounded by its own notes of mercy. There are some blessings come so puzzled one can hardly bear them.

The ways of angels drive men mad. This much is certainly known. Men driven mad in this fashion are stripped of their free will, rendered simple instruments worked by the whim of heavenly agents.

from Notes for a Study of Angels by St. Barabbas of Carthage

This is mercy mixed with thunderbolts.

I am filled then with the mercy of the thunderbolts that strike me.