-The Resurrection-: the blue disease of dethroned dark lies.

John 20:10-18
10 Then the disciples went back to where they were staying.
Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene
11 Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.
13 They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
15 He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).
17 Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
18 Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.”
Seraphic harp used in the past in order to soak the fragile spirits delivered to the invisible war between the instrument of the relentless misery and the political instrumentalization of the bravery of the heroine of the inspired pen, of the "angels" coming back from the entrails of the underworld in order to testify to the "eternal resurrection of the literary "gehenna" marked by the death of the inspiration, a bitter autumn of unfortunate souls reached by the cruelly cold tramontane of bifid tongues worshipping the "holy" luciferian seats struck down by the reality of a destined finitude of words struck down by cyanosis, the blue disease of dethroned gloomy lies.
Angels: cantors of the fatal rains of twilight times, witnesses of an eternal resurrection from the desolate burials of the monotonous character Jesus crossed on the way to the tombs, a sinuous thought delivered to the certainty of the just death of the crucified character on my holy "canonized" cave "! By the truth of failed attempts to crucify my homeschooled son to inherit a realm of shadows hidden under the slaughtered figures of "religion" - stiff-necked descended into hell repeated crimes, religion – pandemonium fallen under the shine of my chosen pen to bear witness with my life to the fall of "religious" mythology into the abyss of ignorant and desperate hypocrisy continually concealed under the ruins of "-script-ures" marked by the stigmata of the superiority of the ancients Greek myths: epics about the "holy" lies of revered crimes.

Cerastes intertwining the horns in order to create a spectacle of horned heads deserted and afflicted by the venom of the corrupt titles of the old totalitarian regimes resuscitated by the Luciferian angels guarding in sepulchral silence the secret of an eternal blind dictatorship which wanders on the infinite asphalt seeking to waltz incurably on the relics murdered by corruption stories strongly inspired by ancient myths without any originality, "-script-ures" struck by the ocher dust of the unhealthy deceptions unveiled by my life writing history affixing the seal on the truth of the human chosen to be the star of the visions ceaselessly celebrated by the enchanted words a mystical perfume diffused without needing to be published, such as the undeniable miracle of the soul witness to humanity chosen since heartbreaking eternity the sail of the ship of the clandestine spirits who wander on the discouraged mists of the evidence of humanity pierced by the dagger of the crime of corrupt indifference to the grave abuses of my rights and the rights of my continually persecuted son, confirming the reality of the presence of criminal organizations and the truth of the absenteeism of gamy human rights organizations.
To get drunk on the hope of being able to build a temple of troubled waters persecuting me in order to steal my possessor titles to the point of invoking the authorities of the debauched shadows in order to bring about my divorce in order to be sadly wrapped in the shroud of the title Mrs. single mother, the coveted elector,´-or-Mrs. President, the "feminist" wanting to assassinate me because she is the militant for the cause of a legitimate greed to join the palace of Carthage so dreamed of, because she is treacherous and interested, she desperately thinks of turning me into a revolver so that militancy is synonymous with my committed life and so that hungry vampirism is her disloyal sign of a bloodthirsty frenzied.

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