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The Shit

 

 

I want to tell you about my son.

 

I didn’t want him. He was conceived when I was raped by I. And I wanted him to die inside me.

I wanted him not to be born alive.

 

Back then, I didn’t know what it meant to want your child not to be born.      Now know.

I know that he is not given what is given to a child who is loved before conception           and after. . .       when he grows in the belly. . .       when he comes out. . .           when he starts thinking. . .          when he should be a Source for the next World.

 

 

I don’t want to explain what this means, think for yourself. . .

 

 

 

 

I didn’t want him to become a Source for the World of those who raped me

and I was killing him. . .        with a thought. . .          that he shouldn’t live.   That he must die inside me. . .           That he should kill his Source. .

 

I became his Grave and he listened to me. . .

He died in the ninth moon. . .

I was destroyed and I didn’t become a Record.

 

 

 

When they destroyed me, I fell into the shit.            I don’t want to explain.

 

Shit does not see who fell into it – it devours the fallen and becomes the owner of the shell of the one it devoured.                  This opens up a passage for him to the World above shit.

And the soul of the devoured becomes dead shit.

 

That is enough to understand what I’ve become.

 

 

 

I never wanted to know what happened to the unborn. . .

 

And he became what all unborn people become, the shit. . .

 

 

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