Mariana Mariana
New member
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2013
- Messages
- 33
Our Mother is the Earth upon which We stand, Our Father a God to whom We raise Our every Aspiration. Their Mother is a Human Paper Virgin Whore, their Father a Human Paper Sacrificial Lamb.
By Human Psychological acceptance We are what Our Parents make us, very much so, though some may disagree, We are Forged this way. The Hammer and the Anvil beating together in order to Create. By the Physical Lineage, through the Singular existence of the Rotting christ, the Hammer and Anvil Forges a Plough with which to Sow generation upon generation of an impressed Lie. By the Spiritual Lineage, through the Eternal Existence of Satan, We are Forged a Sword!
A Weopon, if you Will, a Weopon by any imaginiation of HIS WILL. Warriors from Birth to Birth are We. A Plough that Sows the Seed of its own destructive pestilence then are they by comparrisson of Blood and Soul, Blood to Feed the Worms, a Soul to Feed the Ox that drives the Plough.
The Plough is the Crucifix of the christ, the christ the Ox, staggering, falling beneath the weight of its burden. Tired, weary, and stumbleing on stoney, cold ground. The seed of its existence will struggle to rise from weak foundations as a blunted plough and needfull lambs are grazed, and grazed, upon the rocks.
The Sword We are does not seek to cut the Earth, and neither is Our WILL to feed the Worms, they feed themselves without Our charity, each Life in Satans Service is a Life that Loves to Live. Should every Man and Woman embrace Our Fathers Gifts, embrace Our Fathers Future, what a Garden of Paradise each Love of Life would make. Eternally, with Breath and Memory. Spiritual Lineage in Physical Form, in the absence of finality, and in the company of Gods.
We are the Sword that Severs the Veil. The Blade that Severs the Shroud. Fertile is the Soil from which We grow, and We are tendered well by HIS instruction. Expansion of the xian Elysium, the Finality of everything Heroic and Virtuous, by their Intention, obstructed by the Intention of Our Own, en masse, and Indestructable in Our Fathers Name, and by Our Fathers Number.
We are an ever increasing Encumberment upon and ever increasing Burden upon an ever Weakening Foe. Abundent are the opportunities for those without to Bargain for their Souls, Fleeting are the moments of their Lives in which to harness oppertunity, however, so they gamble with their Souls, with the prospect of Eternity at the table of a Cheating God, for no odds are in their favour, for their saviour bets against them.
The Promise of a Safe Bet is Purgatory of Choice, Perfection for nothing regardless of the Actions of Physical Existence upon absolution or confession, by False Guidance and False Impression is a Road that leads to Knowhere. WE walk a Path that leads upon itself to its beginning, a Path without an End.
As Pen is Sword and Sword is Mighter by Far than Plough, the Pen becomes the Sword becomes the Whip upon the Ox that drags the Plough to its Fate, that Heralds Our Fathers Triumph. A Weopon by any Imagination or Intention of HIS WILL.
Their Days are Numbered in Years, and Singular in Lifetime. We, the Swords of Satan are held by HIM at the Hilt, and those Withouth are driven to DOOM by US! The Battlefields and Deserts of Yesterday Will become the Orchards that Will bare the Fruit of Our Every Labour by HIS Every Design.
Purge the Wrongly Righteous for their Wickedness has long outlived its Welcome. Live to Breathe the Company of Gods, absent of Promise, for all Promises Fulfilled! To Life amoung the Gods, Forever without Need!!
There is only one set of Footprints in the Sand , The Plow and the Dead Ox are Ebbing against a Merciless Tide.
HAIL SATAN!
By Human Psychological acceptance We are what Our Parents make us, very much so, though some may disagree, We are Forged this way. The Hammer and the Anvil beating together in order to Create. By the Physical Lineage, through the Singular existence of the Rotting christ, the Hammer and Anvil Forges a Plough with which to Sow generation upon generation of an impressed Lie. By the Spiritual Lineage, through the Eternal Existence of Satan, We are Forged a Sword!
A Weopon, if you Will, a Weopon by any imaginiation of HIS WILL. Warriors from Birth to Birth are We. A Plough that Sows the Seed of its own destructive pestilence then are they by comparrisson of Blood and Soul, Blood to Feed the Worms, a Soul to Feed the Ox that drives the Plough.
The Plough is the Crucifix of the christ, the christ the Ox, staggering, falling beneath the weight of its burden. Tired, weary, and stumbleing on stoney, cold ground. The seed of its existence will struggle to rise from weak foundations as a blunted plough and needfull lambs are grazed, and grazed, upon the rocks.
The Sword We are does not seek to cut the Earth, and neither is Our WILL to feed the Worms, they feed themselves without Our charity, each Life in Satans Service is a Life that Loves to Live. Should every Man and Woman embrace Our Fathers Gifts, embrace Our Fathers Future, what a Garden of Paradise each Love of Life would make. Eternally, with Breath and Memory. Spiritual Lineage in Physical Form, in the absence of finality, and in the company of Gods.
We are the Sword that Severs the Veil. The Blade that Severs the Shroud. Fertile is the Soil from which We grow, and We are tendered well by HIS instruction. Expansion of the xian Elysium, the Finality of everything Heroic and Virtuous, by their Intention, obstructed by the Intention of Our Own, en masse, and Indestructable in Our Fathers Name, and by Our Fathers Number.
We are an ever increasing Encumberment upon and ever increasing Burden upon an ever Weakening Foe. Abundent are the opportunities for those without to Bargain for their Souls, Fleeting are the moments of their Lives in which to harness oppertunity, however, so they gamble with their Souls, with the prospect of Eternity at the table of a Cheating God, for no odds are in their favour, for their saviour bets against them.
The Promise of a Safe Bet is Purgatory of Choice, Perfection for nothing regardless of the Actions of Physical Existence upon absolution or confession, by False Guidance and False Impression is a Road that leads to Knowhere. WE walk a Path that leads upon itself to its beginning, a Path without an End.
As Pen is Sword and Sword is Mighter by Far than Plough, the Pen becomes the Sword becomes the Whip upon the Ox that drags the Plough to its Fate, that Heralds Our Fathers Triumph. A Weopon by any Imagination or Intention of HIS WILL.
Their Days are Numbered in Years, and Singular in Lifetime. We, the Swords of Satan are held by HIM at the Hilt, and those Withouth are driven to DOOM by US! The Battlefields and Deserts of Yesterday Will become the Orchards that Will bare the Fruit of Our Every Labour by HIS Every Design.
Purge the Wrongly Righteous for their Wickedness has long outlived its Welcome. Live to Breathe the Company of Gods, absent of Promise, for all Promises Fulfilled! To Life amoung the Gods, Forever without Need!!
There is only one set of Footprints in the Sand , The Plow and the Dead Ox are Ebbing against a Merciless Tide.
HAIL SATAN!
not that it wasn't going good already 
