artemis of the ephesians
the author doesn't know what the pen doest, and the potter is unfamiliar with the clay. Hell is in the details and so is god and I am in the hallway outside of a great dining hall of infants horde of devils, waiting to devour, my god my god why have you forsaken yourself! who is the man that thought this was a good way to do things? show yourself! fuck, it's me. and i'm not a man but not a woman, not a person but not a nonperson, an imposter in human skin, of the same proportions but with none of the same ingredients. staring into the murky dark water i uttered an offering, my words the only thing between myself and god. the veil lifted up and for a moment i beheld him as him as he can be, portly and ugly and writhing with worms. you chose your god long ago. he said. in pity. you chose who i was to be when you formed me from the clay. ...