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. . .