It's when some claim to serve a higher purpose I have to see a sort of ignorance hard at work.
That's a verbal detonator cap. Now let's look at the shrapnel, the chunky, crude rumblings of a servant. Important words like hope, divine, truth, right, fire, piss, dirt, time, life. Those nuts and bolts of the serving meander. The sense of light and dark in a winter forest where a man hangs from a maple tree, his hands bound behind his back with rags, a mucky bile oozing from his leg to a puddle in the snow.
A pound of very high velocity plastic explosive, also known as C4, asks: Why does the tree have to suffer the weight of his body? Must the tree also serve?
Well I don't know. I never really thought too much about the tree before now. That's a good question. But rather than answer it let's just put the pipe bomb down by the tree next to the puddle and set it for thirty seconds or so and obliterate the tree and Judas and everything around in one big shebang -- turn them to confetti and letters meshed with the screaming, snowy air.
Now I'm going to take off and you can observe this on your own. I've seen bombs go off before. It served no purpose.