Text: Million Dead. Gnostic Front.

it's tragic to concede geothermals, to take the deus from the machina, and yet what could i have done? i bowed my head and just injured my neck. what could i have said? oh yes, TS, i have stuttered your words. what could i accept? because if it's all or nothing, then i've made my choice. what must i reject? and i know that in silence there is wisdom, but i know that this beauty is marred with peter's scars. and i know that in this vastness is veneration, but the bone was broke when nicea spoke. the beauty becomes the model becomes the law becomes the weight becomes the wisdom. not so far from surrendering myself, not so far from letting my sandcastles get washed away, not so far from wallowing in the pity, effaced or striking my own damn pose. but i know that in silence there is wisdom, and i know that this beauty is marred with peter's scars, and i know that in this vastness is veneration, but i know that i can't walk this road with my bones broke.