Let God be dead and every man a liar
A interplay of voices
They ask they ask, but what do they want? The vision of the blind? The revelations of nothing? The riddles of the unhinged?
Spit in my eyes again, o son of man. Perform another peasant parable today we pray. For when the waters parted there was no bottom, no place to stand, no outside, no last appeal, no safe place. Another parable another parable another parable and let us not rest in peace.
This is our banquet of doubt, our ancient tradition without a secret, our bequest of a labyrinth of many rooms.
In agnosia I went again, again to the catacombs of perpetual catechumens who undermined every kabbalah, where martyrs said 'even if it kills me', knowing only the empirical fact of burning flesh and the ever presence of doubt.
We die not for the verifiable but for the doubtful.
Even if he doesn't save us.
Even if he slays us.
Even if he didn't rise.
Did you think the walls of the credible held up any house but my own? It rains through the breach of faith.