Thursday, 6 November 2008

Money is my endless death

Money is my endless death. And yours too. We cry in this hell of burnt money (ashes!) with Jack Pickles, Satan, and all the sick angels - blood streaming from the eyes! This is the darkness we try to avoid. And this darkness, it takes us away to a world of pain that we love too much. A world of evil gold that weighs us down and torments us.

But we must remember. There is a better place.

O Stacy-Marie Ishmael, just like a beautiful little butterfly, you hover there on the astral plane. Smile for us sinners. O priestess of the holy cash, come to me!