On Skrmetti
They call us crazy, criminals, perverts.
Yes! Yes! A million times yes!
Better madness than to be sane in this world of theirs!
Better raving odes to whoring stealing and sleeping-in than Solomonic wisdom where bombs are safety and starving children needful justice.
Better we inject ourselves with hormones made from yams, sunflowers and gibbering glee than beg any longer for their rational care, which is just the groping of doctors, the berating of lawyers, the trampling of priests.
Let them keep their sanity of the gravedigger!
And when we tear this world to pieces for a laugh? When we rip them screaming limb from robéd limb, with press-on claws and wild desire flashing in our eyes, what reason will they appeal to, what law to save them from our wrath?
