Anonymous
ID: e2dJzuL4
6/25/2025, 12:43:02 AM No.508632236
>Be Jew.
>Tribe of desert priests — too stubborn to die, too small to conquer the world outright.
>So the world conquers you instead: Babylonians drag you off in chains, Persians parade you as exotic scribes, Greeks mock your stubborn old customs, Romans flatten your temple to dust.
>Every empire stomps your neck — but you alchemize defeat into prophecy.
The fragments gather into a new sorcery
>Each conqueror leaves behind another piece of your spell.
>From Babylon you steal exile-magic; from Persia you borrow apocalyptic fire; from Greece you steal philosophy’s tongue; from Rome you graft your law onto Caesar’s bones.
>Suffering becomes power.
>Martyrdom becomes universal myth.
>By the time Europe crawls out of the Dark Ages, your lamentations have hijacked every throne — a crown for every cross.
The sword rusts, the book survives
>The brilliance was never the sword — it was the book.
>Bleed once, lament forever, harvest the guilt of empires to feed the next.
>Babylon burns — the lament lives.
>Rome rots — the gospel spreads.
Now the final binding
>So here we stand, last generation bound by the final hex: the crucified King, the universal guilt, the endless Christ.
>But listen: it only lives because we keep pretending to fear killing it.
>We must give the Jew exactly what he asks for.
>Crucify Christ once more — not a man this time, but the whole myth.
>Strip the cross to bare wood.
>Burn the gospel in the synapse.
>Let Golgotha stand empty, so the contagion dies root and branch.
A dawn with no cross
>No more chosen trauma.
>No more global redemption racket.
>Only the sunlit dawn of new gods, iron and blood and memory unchained.
>Total Christian Death.
>Forever.
>Tribe of desert priests — too stubborn to die, too small to conquer the world outright.
>So the world conquers you instead: Babylonians drag you off in chains, Persians parade you as exotic scribes, Greeks mock your stubborn old customs, Romans flatten your temple to dust.
>Every empire stomps your neck — but you alchemize defeat into prophecy.
The fragments gather into a new sorcery
>Each conqueror leaves behind another piece of your spell.
>From Babylon you steal exile-magic; from Persia you borrow apocalyptic fire; from Greece you steal philosophy’s tongue; from Rome you graft your law onto Caesar’s bones.
>Suffering becomes power.
>Martyrdom becomes universal myth.
>By the time Europe crawls out of the Dark Ages, your lamentations have hijacked every throne — a crown for every cross.
The sword rusts, the book survives
>The brilliance was never the sword — it was the book.
>Bleed once, lament forever, harvest the guilt of empires to feed the next.
>Babylon burns — the lament lives.
>Rome rots — the gospel spreads.
Now the final binding
>So here we stand, last generation bound by the final hex: the crucified King, the universal guilt, the endless Christ.
>But listen: it only lives because we keep pretending to fear killing it.
>We must give the Jew exactly what he asks for.
>Crucify Christ once more — not a man this time, but the whole myth.
>Strip the cross to bare wood.
>Burn the gospel in the synapse.
>Let Golgotha stand empty, so the contagion dies root and branch.
A dawn with no cross
>No more chosen trauma.
>No more global redemption racket.
>Only the sunlit dawn of new gods, iron and blood and memory unchained.
>Total Christian Death.
>Forever.
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