Dirt road in Mexico

Supposed “magic” implies incredulity. I contend that it requires faith and a belief in the miraculous; in other words, nearly inhuman traits. I wandered on a dirt road in the vast desert of Mexico for thousands of years, watching carrion birds devour themselves. I ate dirt and drank my piss. I vomited daylight and wondered what I could offer to a vile world full of hells and cunts full of fever and longing. At the end of the day, struck by contagion and the visions of God I saw in the distance a cloud of violence that devoured men as it struck out in a garden of mushroom and sky. Both of my hands held the expiration of the physical world. I digressed where the feet of men rarely sensed ground or ether; so complete was my abdication from the human race. The splitting of the atom is the glory of God. I'll journey a thousand years more in search of oblivion, peace, mercy.