I am possessed by the rasping, sandpaper tongue of cat lick confession. The sinuous, feline beauty of liturgy and performance, the revelation of sins and miracles. The congregation of troubled souls, the guilty pleasure of wine and song. The body, the blood, the absolution.
In the churches that I attend, the music is fuelled by a darkness of faltering intensity. Enlightenment burns with the slow intention of an all-consuming flame. We inhale the heady smoke like incense and exhale with the sated pleasure of those who have breathed the divine.
Fire Is The Devil’s Only Friend
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Happy to read writing like this and the previous post on your site, adn I like the photos too… More please.
Thanks Beth. Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve had an outbreak of dark purple round here. There have been hints and tints in a few pieces I’ve written, but really it’s probably been over nine months since I’ve written something so impenetrably self-absorbed.