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[transcript: 1. “god is fucking with my oblivion. if he wants forgiveness, he shouldn’t have given us memory.”

2. “your god comes and he is ordinary and terrible. he confers with the doctors at your kitchen table and tells you to eat….”

3. “our father who art in heaven. our father who art buried in the yard.”

4. “at the trial of god, we will ask: ‘why did you allow all this?’ and the answer will be an echo: ‘why did you allow all this?’”

5. “i don’t believe in god as much as i believe in the interrogation room. i believe in someone placing a loaded gun on a metal table between me and a door. who gets to be god then? will god be the bullet or the table or the door.”

6. “every spy knows this. some say god is where we put our sorrow. god says, which one of you fuckers can get to me first?”/end transcript.]

Remnant sins stick to the walls of your craving womb. On Christmas morning you tear my liver and bite carnivorous. I’ll giggle painfully as your maternal claws carve into my abdomen, pulling out my intestines, my stomach, my chemical grief. I’ll tear apart my gravel scraped knees and sever the holy ligaments. Glass bones shatter into myriad stars upon your blood stained face, and you’re beautiful. We have the same eyes.