Let’s get one thing straight. Any attempt to quell the savage within is futile. It’s coming out. The longer you shun your brother, the deeper the roots of his sin. You’ll be sent screaming like a jetliner into the face of towering fear.
The building is rigged for controlled detonation. Your best hope is to burn away the membrane. The gateway gapes. Sparkling liquid emptiness. For this purpose, I would recommend crystal meth – though all roads lead to Rome. The path of excess leads to a charred temple, but a temple nonetheless. This temple houses the shrine to all defilement. Bring an offering to the goat and masturbate upon his threshold. He’s alright – don’t believe the shit-talkers. They’re just enmeshed in a morbid charade in which they place you as the surrogate to all devious longing – symbolic of the very repression in question. Dog cunts. Find yourself enacting their rituals. The moment you stop they implode. You were court jester. The fool is always male. You don’t hear me complaining.