The Purest Pantheon, Dais Three

A sanguine horror is plastered across the marble, its slippery sheen reflecting the brilliance of the perfect man. His flesh taunts my eyes, teasing curvaceous lines and rippling muscles that peek through the toga. Though like the others, horror creeps through the stone. Turn one way, and I see a tenderized face: Eyeless, jawless, nose-less,Continue reading “The Purest Pantheon, Dais Three”

My Purest Pantheon, Dais Two

A rendering of tendons: Two kings in a tug of war, where ropes are tender muscles— a battle between siamese twins, who want to be two rather than whole. Their snapping sinews frozen, seconds from exploding. Imagine the pain of being stuck in that state— on the verge of death, yet trapped in purgatory wrappedContinue reading “My Purest Pantheon, Dais Two”

The Purest Pantheon, I enter

It shouldn’t be here, a bloated boil, all grey and sore on the skin of the city eclipsing the day with its dome, whose mould makes mountains— choking the spirit with the stench of corruption. I can picture it in its older days: baroque bars that held the dome up as though strutting the placeContinue reading “The Purest Pantheon, I enter”

An interview…with Satan: Part One

In this week’s edition of The auld Yorker, our Alan managed to have catch up with Satan over tea and cream cakes at his secret getaway cottage. From his job to love life, here’s what the Lord Of The Underworld has got to share with us! Sometimes I get bad press for what I do.Continue reading “An interview…with Satan: Part One”