The Queen of Heaven & of the Dead End Man

« I go round about behind Osiris. I have come that I may protect thee, and my strength which protecteth shall be behind thee forever and ever. »

Nephthys’ Address to the Dead-End Man in the Coffer, translation by good old Budge

I invoke thee ô Neith, Nut, oh Great Queen Nephthys, Hâthor, Mother of this mechanical organigramic thing we on make-believe Earth, call, the Universe.

Ô Lady of the Pin-Pricked Sky.

O for the marvelous dark inebriated Womb within which this nothingness of a sigh, a tiny itsy-bitsy Light sets off to conquer the encircled stellar wilderness.

We drop from beyond the Milky Way, advancing backwards, astride the torrential existential gluons of just plain mud,  sensually sensitizing the dark abject clay of your amalgamated body, with an harmonic of 1 divided by 1 exponentially by some inverse square calculation.

A momentary pleasure of the Supernal Mind, animating eventually these unique and limited uncooked vessels, which you with your bright insight not to mention your extraordinary Maternal wisdom have prepared for us with your fragile elemental quanta.

…all the possible limitations of ephemeral hope & sacred despair are upon & inside your heart and belly. Seeking through the by-ways of your dark ominous innards, the majestic hallway out of here!

On an altar, such a whiteness, sister to me and Seth’s spouse.

With wondrous vigor, you knit the radio active pile with cat gut so that some kind of god in a stupor, might edify atomically an individual living breathing material finite entity. Electronic bosons whirling breathlessly.

Ô Sacred Madness of Holy Mortar.   

That we might mesure the Volume, the Emptiness. The glint in your eye, with the Moon barque, made of ice.

While what is pristine, supernal, evanescent in the heart of an innocent child, abscond and intangible for even a Ghost, inseminate more or less entirely, the reptilian cloak of  primary muddy being.

Your warm carnal & erotic texture, is for all… & each and everyone… the sacred impasse, le cul de sac, the dead-end to all unlimited and infinite being… Hail.

*****

All holy doctrines are made-up things made for absent minded soulless freaks of Nature. There is no sin but stupidity. No Crime greater than to mutilate your Innocence!

No Evil but in holding dearly to your cadaver. Forgetting a Friend. Betraying your own eyes.

The Ghost is for your making. In this world it’s too late. But tomorrow belongs to us.

Nephthys! Sweet Vessel beyond all limitation bordered without end out stretching even each meek short-coming, over-pouring (sic). I salute you.