LA SANTA IPOCRISIA VI UNISCE

 

This and that are not the same. This is a fictional text, based on realities about pedophilia and that is a beautiful video of the praise of the divine. 

The walls are silent, but the souls speak. The walls maintain the absence of color, to better let light and communication conduct, and there are also lost souls, yes, between the walls, along the cemeteries, but also there, wandering, with so much to tell, that they stop, remembering stories and intimacies of people who have already been absent from the book of life. Intimate prefaces and prologues, with hidden deviations and paraphilias, with outcomes practiced on eternal victims, with open wounds, even if without exposure, on the contrary, begging for eternal oblivion, if there were any. The latter came with an old book in her hands. So many names and so many dates. And so much hidden sacrifice. The sensation of time tore at my skin and I felt, deep inside, that others were sleeping in it, with a smell of candles and candlesticks, which had come from a basilica to a small chapel! In the left side nave, a five-fingered high dais supports the holy family, the altar, where some baroque saints were held, where the gilded ones already told other stories about themselves, of how the moments of the ecclesiastical canon Cesarino, of the persistent blessed and lady of the bundle of keys, the polite Cremilde, of the monastery next door, of the bastard son, his and of the lord canon, who had been born, by accident or unfortunate chance, as an identity of sacrifice and disguise, tied up in embarrassments and girdles, in the period after conception, were framed, that so much had been tried to hide the embryo, that it had been limited from normal fetal growth and corroborated at the same time, to add, the significant and expected parental absence in the always rectal presence, which would become, in the end, its fate, in that chapel in praise of Mary Assumed to Heaven, Pieter and Caesarinus, which had united them would become stronger than disunity. Those huge candlesticks would remember the candlesticks as a lethal weapon, similar to those used by the octopus, and at the same time, of the accident that would diminish it even more. One would say that the wall dulled everything, but only in the eyes of those who passed by without stopping, however, it would not be able to exhaust the sorrows that were linked to these two characters that overlapped with the kinship, the burlesque of the situation. May our lord of hypocrisies help us in the remembrance of Pieter, and however much he would like to conceal it, the canon would also curse himself and his infidelity, pater, nasz Ojcze w Niebie, prayers prayed in the wind of the side nave and under the sacristy table, Pieter sweated and sniffled, while crying out of hatred and incomprehension with all the revolt contained in the silence of those acts, however, he believed himself somehow guilty and unfaithful, not to accept willingly the punitive punishments of his father who was there,  and that of heaven, absent, while the robes of the Holy Father shaved his thighs and kept him in that position that would only be remedied more quickly, if Pieter fulfilled the punishment of existing, swallowing the holy phallus, stubbornly insistent, of the holy canon Caesarinus. From the gap between their ideal hope and the summit of human dystopia. The canon passed every morning very early, as soon as the day broke, in the churchyard, and arrived at the dairy of Pieter, now a man, always with the same air of idolized innocence, as if he had forgotten the centuries-old punishments, and pretended to be tame patience. And also to remind you of the silence to be maintained. Yes, silence was a cult. Until death took them to the grave. 

Today I know it, through the passage of centuries and the immersions of souls that did not die. It was a way to contain the domesticated ghosts, to keep them under control, were it not for the panic or unbridled fear caused by their abuses to speak, to scream at them, finally giving them a voice. Today I know this because if it seems to you that the walls are silent, I tell you that they are not, on the contrary, the occult is unveiled just like the rosary of the canon, the priest and the sacristan, in a telling of follies and mysteries that they have always wanted to keep silent. No ghost is aphonic, everyone wants to tell. From the baroque candlestick that, at the end of the afternoon, came to be struck, how much heresy, like a sword, a dagger, hurled against the cruel pain that they intended to silence. As a Carnival disguise, to justify the child there, in those preparations. There was no science under the table in the sacristy. While Pieter had the phallus of the holy canon in his mouth, they burst through the side door, without any prior authorization, and Cremilde, who was the executioner's guard, He might have forgotten that this was the sacramental hour of the canon, to whom he had dedicated his life, to pray fervently to the Lord in the seclusion of his Church. And the lighted candlestick fell on the hands of the son and his own phallus. He cried out, and drowned out the cry of the creature who conceived for him the pleasures of the flesh, he took down his inglorious garments, and shouted again here-of-the-king, our lord, my god, who dared to hide under the sacristy table! And with such hypocrisy, he threw the candlestick at the creature he knew well, leaving some suspicions to the inopportune foreigners who had managed to enter the bosom of his altar. The walls reveal the time, but it is the ghosts that reveal the episodes that yielded the covering of the walls, the hiding place of the mysteries that were wanted to be kept under lock and key! Pieter had been severely injured, first by the burning on his hands from the hot, liquid wax, and then by the throwing of that heavy candlestick against his face. He was sad and crestfallen ever since, but his face could not deny the resemblance to the holy canon, and he himself, out of cowardice and fear, felt himself an accomplice in the recommended silence, and intended, after so much time had passed, to speak. Through it, he would denounce the thoroughness and cunning of the canon and the sacristan, who lived in the mildness of their crimes without punishment, unscathed and Freudian, that their internal vultures sought physical and human bodies and souls predisposed to yet another sexual mutilation. How could they put an end to the lust that burned inside their bowels and made them do all the deeds they engendered, with villainy, a kind of curse to those who sought God and were orphaned or diminished, deaf, dumb and even dwarfed! Curse or prophecy? That all those connected to the diocese, due to the young age of catechesis, either fled so as not to see them again or suffered from the syndrome of heavy silence, that of incommunication and pretense, of more or less happy marriages, more or less predictable, more or less sacralized by the secrecy, of the baptism of the children by the same hands that practiced all kinds of iniquity. Pieter wanted to talk. He had not left continuity, but his brother's children had. The homily rotted in the bosom of the holy Catholic religion, the fruit of the Lord, fed in the silence of the nave, under the table of the sacristy and only by the force of hosts was heresy silenced. And the solemn hypocrisy would continue until the posthumous "denunciation", because, gentlemen, compulsory celibacy is the cornerstone that will bring down the greatest institution. As a way to end human pain. It will then be the assumption of error. Errare humanum est.