not you the confessional, O Pope!, So are we; compréndenos and that Catholics understand us. On behalf of the Fatherland, on behalf of the family, promote the sale of the souls and bodies free shredding. Between our souls and ourselves, we have many paths to tread, enough distance to save, to come and stand your wobbly priests and the accumulation of risky doctrines that feed all castrated of global liberalism. A Catholic and a Christian your god - as the other gods - has designed all wrong:
You've put in the pocket.
We have nothing to do with your fees, index, sins, confession, clerics, think of another war, a war against you, Papa, Dog.
Here the spirit is admitted to the spirit. From head to toe in your masquerade Roman conquers hatred immediate truths of the soul, those flames which consumed the same spirit. There is no God, Bible or Gospel, no words to stop the spirit. We are not in the world. Oh Papa confined to the world!, Neither land nor God speak to you.
The world is the abyss of the soul, Pope misshapen, Pope foreign to the soul, let us swim in our bodies, leave our souls in our souls, we do not need your knife for clarity.
-Antonin Artaud, Letter to the powers
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