T H E E N D C O M M U N E

   "THERESE & ALL THE BLOOD"

Therese! Receive the beatified vision! Scourge yourself in the vein of the Martyr with all the strength and speed of which you are capable… 

Smile through gnashing teeth, your closed mouth like a gate opening: the vicious sound of vipers shall hiss therefrom once it ever stands open!

And utter your profane and filthy blasphemies and your loving benedictions in joint compassion toward this crucifix above and afront…and weep and pray and howl through the heavy tears which bedews now the throbbing lashes of your eyes!

A Catholic virgin's nuptial innocence and all her spiritual stupefactions were laid bare to nightly troops of stygian vampires – but in shelter she was under Christ. And none could touch her but the Christian one.

The maddening euphoria of this fleshly concupiscence was laid to calm by the great and solidaire hand of heavenly providence! Holy fingers, holy tongues.

A black and moist cloud of apparition, a green and pungent foam takes form, appearing in shape: The Holy Spirit penetrated the veins of Virgin Therese – and not with fang but member!

Six-winged angel descendant before the Cross! Sullen voice, mighty frame, hands of love – Heaven’s most luminescent nimbus! Exaltations before the altar of Christ, Hallelujah, Amen, Hallelujah! God’s Phallus erect!

In phrensy and with maniacal glossolalia, the religious hysteria, you recite Galatians 6:17! “From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus."

As drops of holy love stained the modest wimple and pearled down the marble skin like stearin off the candles’ edge, swarming behind them came the old, blind and lame seraphim in stupor out of grottos and taverns bragging of honor, strength and ancestry but showing absolutely nothing thereof…

Nevertheless, only the Christ could utter your name in melody.

You learned from Teresa of Avila, your beautiful namesake of which you are a modern and second incarnation, the secrets of the innermost mysteries. 

         And you said:

“Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord. Praise your bleeding flesh which is affixed to the Cross, suffering terribly. I am your Holy Wounds, your openings. Bleed through them.”

Blind of sight and ecstatic in the presence of the Lord, your tunic and garment soaked with sacred blood, the skin rupturing with wounds of Holy stigmata… and Aramaic apotropaic rhymes were sung and they echoed through the sparkling ambience of ember-flames and night-winds.

A sharp sword is driven through the heart of every Martyr – and you are each Holy Wound! Blood upon the hands of the innocent splatter, and sacred bolts and nails driven into these blind and useless eyes which are faded!

How can you but redeem if not by these fleshly sores with Divine likeness to Christ's,  these wounds with null apparent reason but with God in the Heavens?