The Weeper and The Gnasher

By the mystical lake made up of fire, the kind and lowly mystic sat, with eyes penetrating the core with compassion, pondering, thinking and above all receiving the warning of the eternal future for the present-kind.

“O foolish souls, do not turn towards here!”

With spiritual eyes, our hero mystic, like an ever-knowing wise sage, took note of the incoming pain at the end of this road and received prudent instruction from the very bosom of mother universe herself.

Sitting on a rough rock, on which no human tool had been used, but made comfortably flat from age immemorial, in the anticipation of this moment of his arrival, the mystic opened the depth of his being to the truth.

The master warrior has now masterfully with his masterpiece sword, following the path of his master entered the deepest dragonian dungeon; the curtain of illusion of fear fully ripped apart by the courageous and salty life he has lived, fighting the good fight, holding unto his faith, with the precious jewels of the cloud of witnesses cheering him on, he has now taken a peak into the dark reality which awaits those whom in complete lunacy & hypocrisy, suppressing the eternal truths of the moral archetypes of their ancestors, give themselves over to a spirit of denial and lustful gorging.

On floating slabs of rock, chained up with unbreakable chains, were men & women screaming with deafening and thunderous rage; this was one of the main sounds heard; in addition, another thread of sound was heard of wailing and weeping which manifested the spirit of “why is this happening to me?”

Unbeknownst to the mystic, before the foundations of the world, the creation had planned it so that at that exact moment, those floating by in front of him were known to him in real life.

In this trippy hallucinatory hellish domain of twisting & turning darkness, as the mystic sat contemplating with a startling revelatory gaze, the endless night sky could be seen above; the sky was BLACK.

The smell of the air was sulfur and coals and lava and burning flesh and human excrement mixed together in one, magnified by the thousands; this was a spiritual scent, not made up of matter, which relates only to human anatomy.

The heart of the mystic, who had successfully battled his arch demon, the dark overlord called Fear, could smell the putrid fragrance of his sworn enemy; here Fear was not defeated, oh no; here Fear leapt around like malevolent rabbits jumping from rock to rock, leaving behind the sickening sense of terror & horror of the unending unavoidable torture of the soul; Fear had won; these men & women were the cowards of the earth, the runners, the hiders and those who spent their whole lives denying the truth they knew.

Alongside these, there were also the silent participants, receiving the same judgment as the active betrayers of the image of God; these were those who loved power & money too much to speak up against the tides of evil of their time; even though they had power, they chose to corrupt their power, by their act of passivity and silence to those abusing their power, therefore deceitfully preferring the bread of wickedness rather than becoming the poor liar.


The first of these miserable wretched screaming wretches, one of the active predators and not the silent vegetables, was a well-known lovely pedophile priest by the name of Archbishop Bullhorn.

At the time of his death, the holy bishop was visiting an orphan; whilst playing with the 3 year old girl, thinking the mother was away for a few hours, he stumbled upon the wallet-forgetting mother as she returned home in half an hour, witnessing the abominable despicable unholy pig of a man naked with her daughter in the backyard.

Unknown to the clown, this particular mother was the lioness type, who would sacrifice her whole being, like a mighty arrow of the gods for her daughter.

Now the warrior goddess with her brilliantly sharp blade in hand, which happened in this instance to be a garden shear from the shack, had proceeded to stab this rotten worm of hell 27 times, cutting of his ability to reproduce, to see, and at the end had burnt him with gas, leaving behind a foretaste of what awaits this dark predator who preys in the name of the light, only to serve darkness itself.

So there we have it, the burnt ball, the predator who became prey, was transferred to the hospital and deceitfully killed by the universe-sent BLACK nurse that very night; once the truth had gone out, every man around this skinless mutilated ball and alongside it all the powers of the universe, both seeking opportunity, had become his predator.

Goodness had opportunity to do away with someone wicked and wickedness had opportunity to eat of the souls of one who had broken the most primal ancient boundary, behind which lies nothing but eternal torment, unless one truly repents, which rarely happens because of the holding power of minimization and denial.

Whilst burning on the stretcher, with tubes hanging from him, he lay not thinking about the pain of his body, no, he was feeling one emotion alone, horror; he had crossed over the waterfall.

“If only I had not done this one, I did repent last Sunday and said I will not do this anymore but I am weak and Christ understands me, himself tested in all things, and able to have compassion on me; o Lord, forgive me and help me, you are my deliverer; o how great my pain has been; I was also molested as a child and this weakness is merely a thorn in my flesh; they will not remember anyway when they are that young.”

And while for a few minutes sensing the demons of Horror & Terror wrapping themselves around him with suffocating force, he dissociated with such thoughts in order to deny the truth of his condition; for a few minutes, he saw himself from above, connected with a very delicate silver cord, which had really dark BLACK pieces rotting it away; after viewing his own mangled being, Archbishop thought:

“I am learning obedience by the things I suffer!”

This was the final thought the man was able to have before going fully unconscious and at night his brain fully fried with the magic potion the guardian wizard-nurse administered; he crossed over to the other side from merely thinking into being.

Here, there was only his conscience to help him; if all his life, he had left a small sliver of goodness and softness in his rocklike heart, after countless lifetimes, or perhaps even sooner if he had done more good, he would have been finally able to rest his baggage restfully in the restful peaceful arms of the good side of the light; but instead, this BLACKEST serpentine alpha predator, had long before been marked for eternal torment.

“Three strikes and you are out,” thought the mystic; understanding that the still mutilated, still blind, still screaming, and above all still denying beast, justifying his sins with Bible verses, had gone past a couple of warnings and finally gone over the waterfall of no return, staying eternally on the light’s bad side on the repeat offenders list, after the second infant he foolishly underestimated and played with when no one was looking.

Although never found or persecuted for these crimes, the first one of which happened with his hand in the baptism water in front of the whole congregation, the universe having eyes all around, took note.

This lesser known secret is the path to much light or darkness; that weak, disabled, disfigured, sick, cornered, young, old, feeble and awkward person one stumbles across in life, who looks desperate and needy, is actually one of the greatest tests of each of the human-kind.

There is an extremely powerful Master Shepherd, who has the power to dispense of even the mightiest of foes like vermin from His cloak, watching over these little ones to see who dares to make them stumble; and if you were to make one of these little ones stumble, it would have been better if you were a chopped up aborted fetus than to have been born.

This priest’s life did nothing but feed evil & treachery, leaving behind a trail of hurt and confusion and fear and worthlessness, which is the legacy of the sons of Belial; they are worms of darkness, crawling from deep underground, rotting and festering the atmosphere around themselves, rubbing off their insidious poison, leaving behind a traumatized aftertaste wherever they go.

But the Shepherd knows His little ones and He watches over them like a hawk; at the right moment, in a time of deep relaxation, as Archpuke Craphorn was naked next to a naked baby, when the final twinkle of satisfaction of having achieved his plan and the joy of the incoming erotic pleasure was looming, the Shepherd, like a patient Master Predator, penetrated this scum with one final arrow, thwarting the plans of the wicked.

Eyes wide open, Bendpuke Garbagefoot, in torment and gnashing his teeth, kept repeating:

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO…” with perfect rhythm to the moving of the fiery lava and bubbles of air popping up from the surface of the orange and slowly pulsating lake.







With the river carrying him to the edge of the waterfall, every once in a while the preacher from hell would scream:

“Blessed are you when you are persecuted for my name’s sake!”

“Whoever confesses his sin will find mercy & compassion…” (Conveniently omitting “and forsakes,” as he had done so all his life.) 

“He is faithful and just to forgive us…”

“We have such a high priest…”

“I desire mercy and not sacrifice…”

“The end of God is mercy & compassion…”

And at certain intervals, there was an odd out of tune techno-like rhythm happening between the gibberish he was saying to justify himself, and the sound of bubbles bursting, alongside a few solo-like sounds from his closely following compatriot, which was a dark minor key viola-sounding wail.

Bewitched Snaketongue had forgotten that God’s mercy is for those who forsake, not for ignorant cows who let it all hang out at every turn, saying sorry to Yahshua once a week.

He looked, he saw, he gazed, he peered, he beheld with divinely gifted spiritual eyes; the revelatory magnificent mystic, a true benevolent prince of the light, received a warning for all the repeat offenders roaming around on the surface of the earth.

Inching towards the end of the accursed sulfuric lake, maddeningly in torment, the jumble of vomit and puke and flesh and gore and sulfur, came closer to the edge of the waterfall.


Almost parallel but just slightly behind, on the left side was another, this one even more foreboding rock with sparkling golden gemstone engraved chains.

This majestic and regal chain was truly a balm of beauty for the eyes to behold; Emerald, Sapphire, Lapis Lazuli & Smoky Quartz, like a perverted crown of thorns, twisted and mingled with one another, forming this immovable everlasting bondage, which was holding down with the cords of his own sin, the man the mystic knew very well.

This man, one of the billionaire elite of his time, was a well-known philanthropist who owned a large pharmaceutical company; alongside this, Andrew BLACKheart the Senior the third, from the prominent Reveller family, owned one of the world’s largest charitable (but extremely benevolent and very profitable) companies.

Weeping and wailing like a tortured mouse in one of his labs, with no relief from his pussing sores, many confusing cries of agony could be heard from his soul.

“WHY ME?!…”


“I did so much good?! I GAVE so much AWAY?!!…”

And here, unlike the pedophile priest Grandtrash Donkeyhorn, Mr. Darkcore told the truth; he did much good but what this passive vegetable-boy failed to say is that because of his medication, in addition to the million he saved, he had paralyzed hundreds of thousands by deceitful minimizing and sweeping under the rug of some of the very subtle insidious aftereffects of his poorly tested drugs.

The vegetable-boy had committed the greater crimes, far outdoing the Nobodyship slightly ahead of him, just by mere act of not acting; his go-getter Benjamin, son of his right hand, who was not too far behind on another bejeweled floating torture slab, had done most of the filthy work.

Like a BLACK sun, he simply set himself, whenever sweeping under the rug and ignoring the truth was more profitable than investigating and correcting an inquiry.

Loving the god of Mammon above all, this dog of hell had ran after the one and only Satanic Pavlov, with the promise of his larger barns being built, filled with the Chi-Ching Chi-Ching of what he served above all, easy-earnt minimum wage exploited cash. 

Stepping over many others like a giant lobster in a bucket, this brute beast had ruthlessly attained riches, erecting an impressive empire; 200,000 children were paralyzed as a result of the side effects of his medication, which he masterfully minimized & denied, instead focusing on the greater number he had healed; but life is not a mathematical equation, and neither does the universe count pain thus.

Imagine now for a moment, being a poor boy from a suffering household, with only a mother, whom under intense pressure, decided to sell her body, for cheap, to put bread on the table; now imagine after a harmless medication dose, this child becoming paralyzed?

On the way home in the cart, which mercifully the doctor paid for alongside a bit of extra money, enough for one day’s food, the whore-mother sat, on her lap with a frozen look of horror, her beautiful flower of a boy, now trampled underfoot, crushed & paralyzed, going through bustling streets with the backdrop of silent-to-the-whore busybodyness of the city.

Day after day, the battered and bruised incest survivor turned prostitute’s only light & joy in life was her smart and beautiful boy; this boy, named Donya, the apple of her eyes, was a sparky vibrant mischievous spontaneous free-flowing spirit; as soon as the whore-mother Sarah arrived home, Donya circled her with his life; this was the universe’s way of comforting this storm-tossed & afflicted one. 

Now within a few moments, with the sting of a needle, not only her, and every moment of Donya’s life, but also the universe was robbed of what she had in her heart for this orphan & widow.

Sad and broken, the universe wept and wept to replace the frozen tears of the forever-scarred mother, as the skinny, but fat in heart, honorable Mr. Andrew Pukecore, was gorging himself on AAAAA Sirloin steak, being served by a world famous chef, who had closed the restaurant only for him and his Russian girlfriends. 

What was not known to this denying maggot of a man was that, although he was full of happiness and security that night with another huge Pharmakeia deal closing because of his little medical adventures of late, the universe after much weeping, now had all eyes on him with rage, because of the BLACK sadness of the beautiful Sarah and the forever wilted and ruined, o once so perfectly magnificently lovely, Donya.

With a gentle touch, a small portion of a piece of bone in his meal, which waited peacefully like a master desert snake for a chance to strike, right before smoking another quadruple triple A,B,C and all the way up to Z gigantic Indica blunt, as he had his left fingers between the legs of a blonde non-eighteen Russian supermodel, as he was saying HA HA HA to one of his own jokes, and looking from the rooftop unto a magnificent oceanic castle-view below, the likes of which king Nebuchadnezzar dreamt off, jumped in the exact Nano-point of his throat to cause him certain death.

The sky, the blunt (which fell as he grasped his neck with both hands), the castle, the ocean below, the concerned chef running out of the kitchen, the screaming Russian girls, the little piece of extra rare and bloody steak left on his plate, the 7 cutlery large to small, and finally the white table cloth all morphed into a downward spiral of terror.

NOW, it was only now that his illusory fortress, with one masterful blow by the universe turned predator just for him, to mirror his festering abysmal predatory soul, had crumbled and he was stung in the core of his bring.

At the moment of extremely deep Zen-like intoxication and joy, unguarded and unaware of what lay before him, having forfeited his own soul, with the gained world in his grasp being but a vapor which vanishes, dear Andrew Dullheart saw the truth of what the universe had in store for him.

Just as poor Donya on that joyous day, was stung and paralyzed, doomed to a life of pain with a grieving mother who was to die not too far into the future, the universe stung and reaped with the scythe of death, this malevolent serial killer’s soul & body.

Bound by the bejeweled chains, the vegetable-boy only felt one thing, a Victim spirit.

Victim spirit, the cousin of another demon by the name of Rebellion, is only a way of denying and resisting; saying “why is this happening to me?” and feeling sorry for oneself, is only the ugly head of not taking accountability showing it’s Quasimodo-like self.

Always seeking mercy for himself and injustice for others, the lawless one lay weeping and feeling sorry for himself; the Victim spirit lay on top of him like a giant BLACK rapist, stirring his heart to speak.

“I don’t deserve this…”


“I want my mommy…”



Whilst over & over being raped by the universe, in absolute torment and pain by fire and the Victim spirit and the suppression of his conscience, this pathetic dark overlord was unable to soften his heart; having hardened his heart at every turn, at one point the universe confirmed the true desire of his heart, his love of greed having become his eternal demise, he was hardened fully, eventually unable to receive the truth of the lives of the many Sarahs & Donyas he had crushed; Trashdew Deadheart, squirming like the monkeys he experimented with, on the eternity-bound hell-floating rock, parading in front of the wonderful and sharply aware eyes of the mystic, which had the power of one million DMT hits all in one, inched towards the edge of the waterfall.


All these happenings which felt like a few minutes for the mystic, were actually 97 years for the two abominable souls; this hellish domain of pure wretched snakelike serpentine vomit-inducing putrid Blackness of fire and doom, constantly, like a slow progressive spontaneous nightmare, kept delaying itself, morphing as a unified time ritardando.


Watching the Weeper & the Gnasher go by, a jolt of power raised the deeply contemplative master champion on his mystical feet; he ran along, under the pitch-BLACK sky to the edge of the waterfall.

“It’s over, o MY GOD, IT’S OVER!!” exclaimed Mr. Andrew with a pleading begginess. 

“About damn time…” said the excruciated Archbishop with a scornful, hard and arrogant tone.

At this moment, with the end of the running river of fire kissing the edge of the waterfall beautifully, and the mystic, Ezekiel, looking diagonally from the right side of the two floating rocks, a storm of Brimstone started to fall and all three were united, like a foreboding Yin & Yang, into one perspective as the rocks started to bend over the waterfall.

In front, first going beneath and then moving upward, was the genesis of an enormous symphony of such rivers merging with little waterfalls, like twisted skinny fingers of a dying bloodthirsty and flesh-hungry elderly Necromancer; trillions more rivers lay in the horizon, as far as the eyes could see, all of them perpetual seeds of ever-expanding torment, which continually recreates itself with more awareness, until all eternity.


The balding hair of the old Sadistic witch-whore, turned into Lizard tongues of all shapes and colors; her rotten teeth shone like a sun of puky darkness whilst her one red eye had a glimmer of negative-hope, the hope to steal, kill and destroy; around the fat decrepit loose-skinned body of the damned whore, there was an army of poisonous spiders trying to climb her haggardly robe; her exposed sunken breast, on the left side, added a nice finishing touch to this vomit-inducing scene; a few crows & bats were twirling around and some were slamming themselves in lunacy and at conflict within themselves, to the ancient walls of the cave.

The small bon-fire manifested a beautiful orange & yellow glow; this was actually the most gloriously perfect point in the room.

This is the scene, our hero mystic found himself in after his trance-like state; the whore-witch, of course, after a few minutes transmogrified into Rachel, his lovely wife who had administered the organic tree bark to the man with spiritual eyes.

Fully awakened, yet deep in contemplation of the warning he had just received, the pure-hearted sage, pondered on the meaning of this infernal trance for many years to come, warning all those he met, of the secret eternal destiny awaiting the repeat offenders, who willingly suppress the truth and resist the Light.


By Ashkan Jafarpisheh – June 2020

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