Once upon a time, a woman who was not used to see goths in natural environment, said that if I listened to “such” music and wear “such clothes” – I will certainly go to hell,
It’s a red-hot, terrible place where demons pour cat urine on souls and make them listen to tirades about last visit to the tax office or doctor, or about spine pains.
I would answer her this way, trying to shine with sarcasm and knowledge of the afterlife.
But I really didn’t care and was evil enough to look at her with superiority and just walk away.
And I’m sad. Because now I would probably wrap the woman in a Machiavellian web of irony and in the end it would only end up with lost time and a sore tongue.
Death by irony is always paintful – as the good old quote from the Lara Croft forum says. People are hopeless, none the less. It’s hard to be a black fae in their crazy world.