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The Mourning of Agdistis

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The Mourning of Agdistis

The stones are wet with black moss where i lie, broken, weeping, and defeated. This dark is not the liminal twilight I have revelled in, but a binary cruelty crushing me with its certainty, that I am not a dancer on bridges of starlight, but rather a chess piece moved incorrectly, smugly returned to its neatly colored square. Bad square, get out of the round hole, or be burned and learn too late this two-of-swords world was made for anyone but the likes of you. Cleaved in two , im a beast in a zoo made to beg for your scraps . i dont know what to do.

And these pieces lie in mirror shards around me, broken chess dolls confound me. How did I find myself at the bottom of this well, drearily dripping ghost whispers like helaheim spells….. I was Agdistis, puma-chested lady with a brow of quartz, smelt of hyacinthe and sex of all sorts, mushroom crown and ivy gown fabulous. That which was neatly divided was all mine to fathom, my bed was filled with satyr girls and flatterers, and a boy nymph that purred. My mother was the mountain crystal canopy castle balance blessing fertile laughter, my father a pornographic narcissistic thunderbolt. Zeus conned Dionysis to love me and destroy me, like jocks and the new guy in a stupid teen movie. Dionysus loved me. Flirtatious betraying wounding bastard…..and I loved him…and he broke me with sleep and my lifeblood river prophesied the agony of all my kind. Who would ever love me again? If this was how the story began and ended…who would ever love one such as me who dared to be born with both powers. The brightest symbol my aeons of tortured kind would know would be this river of pomegranate blood, this almond in a cleavage, this sex massacre wedding where Attis was a red lipped king. A coin in a lap and a millenium of claptrap, a baptism of lies and a balance sheet of “why’s”. For this, the mind of Diony-cis had to be struck a killing blow to know that mad justice was an undertow. In another myth he would become a god of madness due to the sacrifice i demanded, and i dont fucking care. Born we are in blood, in shouting, in pills and stitches and sneers and alleyways, in concrete and rooftops and bricks and sticks and midnight tricks. Born in the dark, screaming and scrambling to get up to the white and red, the light that beckons to the dead. I wandered the world, half of my riotous sorcery stolen and thrown in the gutter like a chicken neck. Can you guess which half? Does it matter? Do you see my kind rising from the slaughter, my fishnet ballad daughters, my Babalon boys of MATTER MATER MOTHER? Cybeles Sybiline Mysterio Dream Scream Queen with Unchaste Tongue in this dung-heap world where there is no quarter, no spare change barter, no mother no father, no caress, no food, no water.

I had a john from Cicily, he waxed poetic about a man in a tree as I sucked his flaccid dick and miserable aching balls, Johnnys daddy went away in blood and blisters and thistles and splinters and promises and stupid fucking lightshows, I dont give a toss just toss a roman coin to me and go back to your Patmos cave you pretty pansy weed, continue to curse the world. Ill be in thurston county in this agonized tapestry trying to learn how to be me.

Ah at your peril do you scorn me, menstrual puritan cisters clinging to your one source of power in a world that hates us, carrying cysterns of bile for a genderqueer loki, writhing in entrails, screaming, no…not in my eyes. Im sorry I changed. Im sorry I cut off sifs hair and played a trick on that Baldrchrist, If you stop with the venom I will try to be nice…. In the meadow the moon rises full, you lull yourself to believe you have it all figured out. Doubtless you dox us and breathless is your cowardice. But we are fox-quick, we lick each others tears and conspire in a hollow , an army of mischief. Like Zeus you dream of us all bleeding in the gutter. Like YAHWEH you spat fire at our temples of love, where Lilith and Enki made out on the sofa…my lyrics are sealed with the poison of roses.

The liminal mischief of fey and sprite, giggling sparkles and ambiguous night, gone in the ravages of savage catholic blight that broods on the heath where i once knew delight of a lover entwined and a wine of mind. I dine on moonlight and strain against a bind. Now see a stack of cards offered in a doorway, the gendersparkle bean sidhe bleached by the angel lady, fucking whimsy, piss on your sentimentality. I want war and FAIRY whoredom pouring out of the heavenly gates like a water jug on a cloud of hate.

LOGOS IS NOW LOGO GO LOW AND BLOW A DILDO

Book of Ruth, Chapter ____. Ruth says to Cathy: “youre people are my people your god is my god” You. You fucking liar. You imposter. You betrayer. You sickening vomitous roman faux-goddess of dimestore Justice. puff up your feathered breast and malign my children as medusa, for daring to say we are more lovely than thee. Cast us out, and down? We have been down and out and painted the clown from the moment we saw ourselves in ragged gowns. Dox us? A pox on us? We are contagion, immunity, the holder of a skeletons keys, we know names you could scarce imagine whispered to us in the last breaths of Thanateros lovers. We are ordeal and heroin and screaming and gnashing of teeth and gashes and pretty eyelashes and bashful drag kisses. You cannot stop us. You cannot contain us. You cannot make us afraid, you gutless mindless pompous worms.

For you the moon descends in blood for My avatar lune sickles curved sick in a mind collapsing like towers and bricks and sticks and mortar and wicks burning low and starry caverns that glow.

Long ago, I was there. Life after life, I came to the temple, offered up that which tribe called “manhood’’, risking death, to reinact this rite of Agdistis, to hope that the river of blood would mix with the mud and my mother Eart could stop weeping and I could be loved. Stitched me up in the morning and I moved to the red , the white and the light and the temple, and the bread. Devote my life and a life and this life and that life to healing all strife, to being the holy and the grail and the knife.

Now gone, all gone.

But we are dusk and dawn.

When did you part ways with me, cister in Lunar Rite? was the trauma of what was done to us so great for you that you forgot your own kind? Was it the rending of the social fabric, the plagues, the mental hospitals, the centuries of rape, the lords who loved to take take take? We had no part in that. While Roman Soldiers brutalized the world, we gathered in the temples of Cybele, straining to hear the commands of our goddess, bleeding for her and weeping for her. It was we who as the Asushunamir descending into this obsidian wasteland of Irkalla to steal back home the Starry Lady, only to bear the curse of Ereshkigal whose heart we broke. It was you that we fought for, and us, and our mother, and the world, and the universe, and the stars and the right of all beings to be free and live in love.

And after all this, you would deny us a place, a face, a bathroom, guaranteeing us only a tomb? Fuck you and your whole crew.

There is no contest. Our pain is equal. You treat me like the last, the invention of the enemy. But i am AGDISTIS. i was the first. Adam didnt lose a fucking rib you idiot christians, ZE lost half of Zirself, the two halves war against each other in a dying world where healing eludes and fades and flies away like a moth towards the moon.

My healing venom has come and not a moment too soon.

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