during my time on the island. He's nice:
sympathetic, brews a good cup of tea.
A bit queeny, too, which is surprising.
He lets me call him Lucy -
short for Lucifer, yeah.
Lucy is especially good at painting my nails
(you would not think the devil's hands so delicate.They are) He paints mine different shades and tells me stories.
Most of all, he talks about the fall. 'I never fell,'
he says, 'I jumped. Hell was already there,
and full of souls in torment. I left of my own will,
to comfort them.'
When Lucy's away, I don't know what
to make of this. It seems too neat:
Satan, the primal prison visitor? But then,
he makes good tea, and paints my nails so gently...
He says 'Listen,' puts one hand over mine,
'from time to time, I may need you to
do things. You know. Favours.'
all these people dragged down with us,
are they worth it? Is our individuation
so important? Isn't it true that
the Godfather films are already written,
and Clint has directed and starred in Unforgiven -
why keep learning and teaching the lesson?
Cut it out: cut out the womb,
remove the balls, sew up the slits
and chemically castrate the males.
I'm sick of all the copies:
give the cockroaches a shot.
Fire the suicide bullet,
set off the suicide bomb; close all the borders,
watch the fuckers starve and clog your arteries
with fat. Exterminate
the brute, the so-called civilised, the decadent, the morally
unsure, the ever-righteous, the pro-life mob,
the feminists, the fundies;
the liberals who give in to power
and the fat sadistic generals
and the thin pathetic murderers - the lot,
the lot, the pseudo-paedo-necro-copro media,
the criminal-by-proxy on the sofa;
the fascist, the Maoist, the Hindu, the Sikh
and the Muslim; most of all the pallid Buddhist,
with his herb-tea vegan cowardice:
kill him first, because he will not like
the fire that is coming.
Your summer's moral purity was worthless:
in blood you will wallow again, to your hips;
your journey out of darkness was a lie.
With your back to the wall between empire and ummah
you'll redden your claws, and you'll fall
with fresh meat in your teeth. There are no choices
anymore: just repercussions.