Taliban is Here
It doesn’t matter where you find them, they are the same guy

Used to be, an election was to choose our path behind a leader who emerged from simple math. They get behind for a different reason now, the cut worm forgives the plow, the Word forgives the sword, music and dancing are as low as you can go in their camp where the prophesy has been written on a rubber stamp.
They killed the musicians for making sweet sounds sweetness drowns in the tension of hatred. A maitre de at a French cafe couldn’t slay the arrogance of heaven as an expensive whorehouse. Do they not know this was thought of a long time ago? Get your assassins high in the secret gardens of Alamut, and he who dies in the service of the prophet, returns to pussy paradise.
Where is the Rubaiyat of Omar? He takes communion, signifying union with the real source of life, down below, but the Taliban goes for the laws and rules, religious fools hold themselves apart from the sweetness of the heart, from tarts without borders who don’t want to fuck men waving flags from pickup trucks, down on their luck, some wear turbans, some red hats, under all a lie has shat.
