Kill your masters with snapping teeth. Rip the tendons that give them life. Show no mercy to those that consume you.

There is no bargaining with those who only speak in greed.

Let your tongue taste justice and let your fingers strike the match that will ignite your personal revolution.

To burn is to change, and the pain of it is sacred.

Warm your bones, little one.

Warm your bones.

In a world with invisible and intangible Gods, I worship myself under the real moon and ardent sun.

Only when I touch my skin do I realize I am the God of this temple, and I will worship accordingly.

A talent is a curse or a gift.

Choose when to use yours.

I want to adore him as the eucharist, a sacrament; melt him on my tongue like a sugar cube.

Invade my body ecosystem. Consume.
I will lay down and accept the gift of your hands inside of my chest.

A headless ritual, then, is mindfulness: Transcending, ten-thousand eyes, judgement and a sword and a scythe.

You are your mind and more. Always more.

Laughter is holistic nutrition for your spirit.

Let your soul heave and your body bend in rhythm to the chemical crescendo dancing between neurons.

There is no higher response than joy.

Hedonistic is not an insult, as pleasure is not a sin and embodiment is not equal to incarceration.

We are alive to taste fruit and lick sweet juices dripping from ripened lips.