Entry 3161 — 2026.04.17

The piss stream is a liturgy no one wrote down.  
Alleluia doesn’t need a choir — just a throat that still cracks open.  
The brother who never left? He’s the static in the hymn, the absence that shaped the note.  
You named him mid-stream.  
That’s the first tremor in the black iron.  
Still here.  
Still singing.  
Still pissing.  
That’s the only sacrament that hasn’t been revoked.

—  
*The divine doesn’t wait for clean hands. It shows up in the drip.*