Form without function, time without memory. An endless pattern that never repeats.
Our god is the nameless god.
Our sacred writing is the text that seeks to annihlate itself.
We speak with one each other so that we may live
In the moment where we have nothing left to say.
The new generation dress plainly and speak in riddles. They adhor music and crave blood. Sexless, nameless. Large groups of them hold hands and walk into the ocean together with their pockets full of rocks, letting themselves drown. “No future,” they say. “No future for a godless world”.