Pantheism- the worship of Pan, God of the wild. Rosaleen Norton, the Witch of King’s Cross, took it a step further and claimed pantheism squared, that Pan, God of the Wild, was God of all. A true pantheist believes, unlike many Christians and Jews, that God is essential wild, and that in ones wildness is the key to God.

God- more on this strange word later.

Monotheism- the unsustainable and primitive belief that essentially boils down to: there is only view of the universe, and “wah lah”, it is mine. The current politically correct version of monotheism stretches to where, on paper, Jews, Christians and Muslims agree to share the same god, but, scratching beneath the surface to speak to adherents of any of these groups, one can quickly see that none of them really believes this and, what is more, often believes members of their own group who do not hold the exact same view of deity as themselves are in error. Monotheism is essentially intolerance and vanity. Modern monotheism which spurs “intereligious dialogue” is generally polite intolerance which is why interfaith dialogue accomplishes so little, better to scrap monotheism altogether.

Sexclamation- the surprised and joyous noises let out during sexual intercourse.

Atheism- one of the more sentimental religions to come into prominence in the last few centuries. Like most religions it is not new, and has always been around in some way, shape or form. The essence of this philosophy is the idea that because something is objectionable—the something being God—and because many who claim to believe in the something are deeply objectionable, that thing cannot possibly exist. By this logic all manner of difficult, illogical and often unpleasant things ought not exist. Proponents of this idea often lean on “science” with a capital S ignoring the fact that people just as scientific and far more rational do not share their views. One might remember that in the Middle Ages alchemists attempting to turn lead to gold and scholastics insisting that bread and wine were God Himself did the same thing.

I am She
that is the natural
mother of all things,
mistress and governess
of all the elements,
the initial progeny of worlds,
chief of the powers divine,
Queen of all that are in the otherworld,
the principal of them
that dwell above,
manifested alone
and under one form
of all the Gods and Goddesses.

which is what you need

At four thirty a,m. i am here
after you have gone,
spreading out the sheet and it still smells like iron
and man and perspiration and you
and bodies touching and pushing and pressing,
the tasting, inhaling that went on here.
The room is still stuffy with the stuff of you,
still filled with the filling up we did on
each other,
and I am still wet with your kiss
And oh how after all hope was gone,
against all odds you came at three in the morning
with the wetness of your mouth and the gift
of your kiss, unpeeling me like a fruit,
sucking me like a lollipop,
pulling the goodness out of me like milk,
hands and hands and hands and fingers,
tender, gentle unfolding,
and the hot opening, the warm milk love,
and the apple pie thrusting, trusting glide,
what means the thrill of the sea,
and the wind in the trees if you don’t have me,
and if we don’t, in this bed, have this
miracle of men, and then, the orgasm,
which is making stars, which is making,
which is what it is, which is hot and slick
and does not care,
which is what you need?

Try To Praise The Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski

originally associated with the events of September eleventh, 2001, this poem is a gentle urging to remember the necessity of praise and, if you will, of tefillah.



Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.


Translated by Renata Gorczynski

She likes to eve her apple
And oh, I can’t blame her

He is forty five
Tight assed like a boy of twenty
Stands there and takes his picture
Now
He puts it online
I say you’re doing fine
You’re not, but your body’s still rocking

He likes to eve his adam
And if the serpent told you to
Then I would eve the apple
I think that you would do
And she would take her clothes off
Jump into the swimming pool
A think she’s a little crazy
She’s not fine –
- and no one’s stopping her

stopping,
dropping
everyone’s cocking
and, you’re body’s still rocking

but who will eve your apple

when the snake takes his body from the swimming pool?

not to live sentimental
or to say what i don't mean
not sad like instrumental
songs that they play in
a
elevator
but i have to say
and you have to know
you have to know
its truly so
and now after all the evil days i want to say:
i still love you the most

look at me, transcendental
washed in the blood and the blood
and the flood and now, bitch, i am on the lamb
even where the milk will go
cookies and milk
cookies and truth
and now after all the weepy days, after how i cried i'll say:
don't you know i love you the most

i have gone continental
and now i know you spill
out of your jeans
and salt slick onto me
now we only have thin
and this wrists getting thin
thinking how you got thick and so hard in my hands
when you were in my hands
when i held your hand
after all the love i've had, lover under stools i've had, don't you forget that i will love you the most

the life you save may not be around tonight
and the love you make may never be to me
and the even after all the washings done
who will wash the sin all out of me
take me the sanga
take me to the kirk
take me to the body
take me to the kirk
let me hear the ram's horn
mark me on your door
i can be your love
i will be your whore
at midnight tonight
when everything is right
for the spirit of lust and sin
to pass through egypt again
lick me all over
covered in clover
come and take me down