Ben Scudder/Intro

I'm just excited to see my Lord and Savior, Baphomet, represented in such glorious Italian stone. I do hope his eyes gaze upon me and that my allegiance is recognized.

I dunno.

Notice me, Senpai, notice me!

Part of me wishes that angel statue would come to life, and King Baphomet would rise, and two eternal juggernauts would do battle right here in the middle of the city. But for what is this battle raging, you ask? I dunno. What stands at the center? To that I say: My soul is at the center, offered up to the ageless ones, only to be torn in twain.

It's like you can’t have one without the other, y'know? Like I'm equal parts God and the devil. A cloak of shame covers this man, and only supreme light will wash my body clean. But how could that light possibly reach me with the thick clouds of indecency that surround my poor soul? So I carry my wrongdoings on my back like some kind of tormented hiker lost in the hills of misfortune, looking desperately for that peak to rescue him from the valley of depraved habitual self-pleasuring.

But again, I find nothing, except for sweaty devastated loneliness, and a thousand judging eyes staring back at me from the cover of a stolen Victoria’s Secret catalog: "I didn’t take your mail, Mrs. Pemberton. Stop asking me that! Leave me alone!"

I dunno.

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Satan's pretty cool.