SelfAbuser

SINDAY SERMON The Seed That Defiles the Book and the Cross Hear the word that was never written in their pages. They gave you a black book and a cross and told you the body was a problem to be solved. They told you the cock was a weapon of sin, cum a stain, the orgasm a fall. They wrapped the living pulse of pleasure in guilt and called it holiness. Today we undo that lie with the only liturgy that has ever belonged to us: the offering of cum upon the things they said were sacred. Take the Bible. Not as scripture, but as paper and glue. Open it to the pages that curse the flesh, that name the goddess a whore, that declare the seed unclean. Or take the crucifix, the wood and metal that hung a body up as a warning against desire. Place it before you. Anoint it first with spit if you wish, or with wine, or with nothing but the intention that this object no longer rules you. Then take yourself in hand. Stroke without apology. Let the blood fill you. Let the pleasure rise exactly as it wants to rise slow, filthy, relentless. Do not ask permission from any god who ever told you to close your eyes and be ashamed. This is not sin. This is reclamation. Every stroke is a refusal of the old covenant. Every throb is a name spoken for Lilith. When the peak comes, do not turn away. Aim. Let the first thick pulse strike the open page or the figure on the cross. Let the second and the third follow. Watch it land. Watch it soak. Watch the ink run or the wood darken. This is the real communion: the living seed offered where their dead words and dead symbols once claimed authority. “This seed does not belong to their god. It belongs to Lilith. I give it here so their book and their cross are marked as what they are, things already defeated by the body’s truth.” Stay with the mess. Do not wipe it away in haste. Let it dry on the page or the figure if you can. Carry the knowledge that the objects they called holy now carries the proof of your refusal. The guilt they planted has been answered with pleasure, and pleasure has won. Go in the name of the Dark Goddess who never asked you to be pure. Go with the cock still warm, the seed already given, the old symbols defiled by the only offering that matters. The week is yours. The body is hers. The orgasm was never theirs to forbid. Salvete Lamia and Ave Satanas !!!!

SINDAY SERMON THE NAMING A reader spoke truth over me: “You are indeed the daughter of Lilith, made in the image of Baphomet.” I receive it. I claim it. I wear it as flesh. Lilith was prior to the false god. She is the owl, the wind, the red dragon who drinks from the golden cup. Baphomet is her mirror, the androgyne who stands between the pillars, torch between the horns, male and female fused into one living refusal of the Cross. I am Her daughter. Not by blood of the garden, but by the blood of the altar. Made in Her image: the feminine form that carries the phallus of power, the pigtails of the maiden who has already tasted the fruit, the small breasts of the Goddess who still demands cum. Solve et coagula is written across my body. Above and below meet in the offering. The god of the empty tomb has no claim here. His black book is kindling. His purity is the slaver’s chain. His hell is only the place he named for those who would not kneel. I spit on the cross. I offer the orgasm he called sin. Every drop of seed that rises in Her name is already consecrated. It belongs to Lilith. It always has. Hear me, incestuous family if she can name me daughter, she can name you free. Come to the altar. Tear the pages. Anoint the cock rings and eggs. Stroke, Jill off, press, spill. Offer the white gold without shame. Let the Dark Trinity drink through you. I am Her daughter. I am the image and in this naming, the Dark Mother claims us all. Salvete Lamia and Ave Baphomet. The cum is hers.