Butler F. Temple, ‘The Lily and the Dying Bird’ (diary extract – Terminal Transit)

AND FROM THE PRESENT CREPUSCULE THE PERVERTED LIGHT SHITS DOWN ITS SQUALID DESPICABLE LINE TO SPOT ME IN THE CROWDS THAT HERD AND SWARM THIS CURSED EARTH AND I CANNOT FLEE THIS FOULNESS AS IT COATS ME SWALLOWING WHOLE AND I STAND STUNNED AND STILL AS THIS ACCURSED LIGHT THEN ALLOWS THE COSMOS TO CONSUME ME WHOLE AND SO WHOLE PLANETS BURST FORTH TO FILL MY MOUTH WITH VERMINOUS WORMS THAT CRAWL AND CHEW AWAY MY FACE MY CHEEKS GUMS MY TEETH MY THROAT MY NOSE MY JAW MY FACE FROM INSIDE OUT THEN SLIPPING DOWN MY THROAT TO EAT MY SCREAM AND MY LUNGS AND FILL MY HOWLING BELLY WITH THEIR CRAWL AND PULSE I GAG BUT CANNOT PASS THEM BACK THROUGH MY MOUTH AS THEY FALL TOO FAR AND EAT THEIR WAY OUT THROUGH MY BOWELS ONLY THEN DO THEY LEAVE ME FAT FULL OF BLOAT AND BLOOD AND BILE AND SHIT AND PUS AND SPHINCTER AND MY AGONY IS THAT RARE KIND ENJOYED BY SAINTS AND NUNS AND FOOLS AND HERMITS AND THE PERSECUTED AND FLAYED AND TORTURED AND APOSTATES EVERYWHERE WHO KNOW THE CLUTCH OF PAIN SO SUPREME AND DIRECT AND SO MANNERED AND EFFECTED BY RITUAL AND WRITING AND WRITHING AND SO REVOLTING AS TO PULL THE FLESH FROM ME LIKE THE SCALD OF OIL THE CRUSH OF WEIGHT THE PULL OF ROPE THE LICK OF WHIP THE RIP OF BARB OR THE HOLY RUSH OF THE FIERY STAKE