Holy turpitude, forbidden fruit of the generous prayers of executing hearts, oh so religious!

Imen Marie Agnes Adili
2022 / 4 / 21

John 15:1-17
The Vine and the Branches
15 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2 He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes[a] so that it will be even more fruitful. 3 You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. 4 Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself-;- it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
5 “I am the vine-;- you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit-;- apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers-;- such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7 If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.
9 “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. 10 If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. 11 I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. 12 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command. 15 I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. 16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. 17 This is my command: Love each other.”
A cluster of fruits to illustrate the fecundity of the word of the gods and goddesses of the ancient deities is a tradition borrowed by writers since antiquity in order to make unnecessary distinctions between the seeds of flowers and the seeds of thorns "a branched series" as the thorns grow with the flowers exhausting the notion of beauty in the concept of attention.
A thorny shrub that casts its mists over distant berms burying the notion of divinity in shadows and building a cross of stone and sometimes wood to violate the concept of life making it a notion that glorifies itself on an ancient cross.
If dark ranged on the arid lands of the cemeteries commemorating the characters glorified on a cross! watered by the venomous wine of the ancient betrayal of the human condemned to be the slave of cruelty eternalized by the criminal religions naturally tempted by the frosts of a cruel death to be venerated and then resuscitated.
The aquilon of sadism that tries to bury life solemnly in the fruit of religious faith: the suicide that reminds one of a therapeutic obstinacy.
A poisonous substance that languishes in the sterile hearts of nuns who seek thorny glory in sacrifice, a soul that miraculously blooms without thorns, a fertile poet who brings forth from the dark mists the august word of the righteous heart illustrating life free and then liberated from the distant fears of foreign childhood, of losing one s family as a prophecy of a war that prepares itself in the horizons of the future fatherland.
Constant fluctuation of confused ideas according to the crowned head´-or-the elected criminal policy, born of hearts fallen since the twilight of time into unhealthy greed, what does a corpse seek to sacrifice? cold-headed in the face of danger, the prophet sent in order to steal and rape the gods of crime crowned with murder: the king of all crimes.
It is the globalization of organized crime legitimized then rewarded, catafalque decorated by a death symbol of a coffin commemorated by future generations, perhaps children baptized in the lava of the viol, a cursed destiny in order to decorate in the middle of the night the innocence goddess of the soul eternal poet of the thorns of the baptism of the religious criminals rapists thieves and assassins who pray in the pale and cold silence the father the son and the holy spirit Escobar.
Misty oh so generous hearts that offer a cord quivering in the woods quite simply they are religious hearts-;- funeral hymn to the birth of thorns in barren lands that whispers a doom song that offers you the contemporary rope to bear witness to the ancient cross
Fighting their flanks to write with blood a page in the thorny history of the settlers of the Nazis of the Israelis and the Palestinians who share the land once sold like a prostitute at the price of the innocent cries of the buried children they were told that it was for the land but the land was already sold.
Persecuting prayers, which threatens life in the soul with a rope which was to replace the ancient cross, thus respecting the lying course of history, written by the intrepid pens of ghost-writers who diffused in the fog of sooty times the false rumor of a humanity illustrated by the genius of the tanks of the swords then of the guns of "holy war".

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