A new disease will come in clouds of marijuana, fumes of opium, absinthe, and whores. A new disease will come as rock’n’roll pollution. A new disease will chew your bodies, the bodies of your mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, friends and enemies. It will send your sons to hell through the heavenly gates of your degenerate, debauched daughters. It will impale your friends and seat your enemies on thrones, first crowned with thorns. Your mothers and fathers will burn on pyres – the first raped, the second with slit throats.
The disease will come UNNOTICED. It will wear the mask of circus, theater, concert, innocent joyful Song, virginal spectacle, television show, prize contest. It will be your Joyful Reaper with a Holy Song upon Lustful Lips.
Maximum darkness lurks in the devil’s vineyards.
Now is the time of knowing. The time of rotten fruit. The time of a feast for people thirsty for mortal nectar.
The Hydra of Worlds turned its eyes toward desolate cliffs, toward the dead sea, and toward the sun leaning lazily westward, slowly dying. A fraction of a second later it was already TOO LATE. Sudden attack. Screams. Feast. Tomorrow the Altars of Dawn are ours!!!
And the world was seized by vulgar death in all its manifestations.
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