Forgotten Ground Regained

The City is Recruited from the Country

Downstairs, my neighbor was stabbed today.The cherry-bright Pepto-Bismol glugged out of the mere gallon and a halfhis forty-sixth year’s frame had held within to be eaten by the snowbankor pool in the pavement of the Synagogue’s path.
There is no news outside needful:Three assailants; searching for two;slashed on the hands; slit his face.
But was it a hate crime?Or was it a lone wolf slasher?Is there a difference these days?
I will not write this woe elsewhere. If I blog about it, my buddies and motherswill write concerned. I’ll have to unsealold demographic studies to prove to the doltsthat this kind of thing happens quiteoften — tenfold as often or more —as it happens in my hood. But they don’t hear.
Perhaps it’s because I merely have to call out “YO!” from where I’m looking, leaning out my tower,while they are shielded from local stabbingsby fences, walls, front yards,and football games. I guarantee you:it is not the city that is depraved anymore.
It wasn’t for the early church, even, but the country, the desert, the dark cloudsrolling over the forbidden forest’s ringof eldritch trees demanding a trystwith sanguine knife sacrifice. Neo-Pagan nihilisminfects my city now, it seems,
but only ’cause of our murderous country.
Copyright © Lancelot Schaubert, 2025
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