sacramentumobscurus

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© Nona Limmen {via Instagram}

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Y'all ain't gonna keep me from my husband.

GRACE & BO CHOW SINNERS│2025

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SINNERS 2025, dir. Ryan Coogler

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“[T]he ancients said that man does not know the gods by logic or by reason but rather by realizing the presence of the gods within himself.”

— Manly P. Hall

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i need to stand ankle deep in a creek about this

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"I been hearin' about this one particular young man all day. Supposed to be a bad blues man. Preacher Boy where ya at?"

"I LIED TO YOU" Introduction SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

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Symbol of God

CW: cults & self-harm!

This tattoo is killing me. Do not get me wrong, I'm no stranger to ink designs in the skin, but this one I regret with my whole life. It's ruining my whole life! I should've never said yes to that strange one.

When he introduced me to his spells, I was astounded to all the things I didn't know, and wanted to know. I held on to each word that was said, each prayer to our gods. That leader. Oh the leader. A handsome fellow I couldn't help adore. He talked with complete confidence when he mentioned plans, explaining how to reach god. He pulled out a book and read each line carefully when he explained what do to. He was our preacher.

God wanted us all to succeed, he explained, but we all needed to know suffering in order to know what the truth is. He showed to us many times that he was psychic, knew the future! Either by explaining what event was to happen next, predicting what action we'd take in the moment, and so on and so forth. We all believed him, even skeptics came around. He said if we wanted his power we'd have to do the work. So we did.

We had to endorse some sort of pain every single day. I remember laughing with the other members, the jokes made it less scary when we had to be slapped on the face. Not only that but deal with boiling water, and to shed blood was the best. Whenever one of us bled we put it in a jar. It was an offering. There was an alter in the church where we prayed, singing hymns, hoping the gods heard us. In reality it wasn't a church. It was a basement we squandered ours days in. Some basement where the small following could barely fit in.

After we accomplished such a task in the extent of thirty days, we were taken to the next step. Many didn't survive the one before…from going too far. I was beaten, bruised, but so willing to go on; even if so many of my colleagues had passed. I was the first one up. They put a circle of our own sacrificial blood upon the floor, my knees smudged with red as I sat in it. In between the circle was a painted eye.

As I stepped in I felt different—it sounds strange, I know. It was a strange feeling. Some sort of jittering spark of energy took over me. I thought it was a sign from god. It was the opposite. Inner intuition, or if there is a god—something telling me it wasn't right. When I agreed to the next part it was just saying yes to giving my life away.

It was that tattoo.

Our leader took his needle and ink and started to draw it into my back. It burned, but like I said this wasn't my first tattoo. He promised this would give us his power; allow us to see the future and cast spells on the hand of god—yes, "on the hand of god", what he called it. When manipulating the energy around you either by picking an object up without touching it, or manipulating the feelings of others—it was a range of abilities. It was god giving you his powers, this is what he said. I remember him getting into my mind. He looked at me and I heard his voice saying "god loves you," but his mouth didn't move. Maybe I was just going crazy, but I swear he got into my head, he knew what I was thinking at times. I'd think about reaching to grab something, and before I did, he'd already given it to me. His hospitality was charming to me, even if he told us to harm ourselves. That tattoo was painful, but I'd already endorsed so much that this was nothing. When it was done I had felt different. It wasn't a surge of power, but control.

Throughout my days after, I was numb, not in a physical way, kind of like a general depression—except not that either. There wasn't even the pain and dread you get from being in a depressive numb. It was just numb. I was emotionally numb and couldn't think for myself. I do things without thinking. I am a slave.

The things I have done will haunt me forever. I do not want this blood on my hands and knees anymore. In reality he was just playing god in the small word he created.

I do not want to be his slave. I am not his creation, I am my mother's.

Oh dear, mother…what have I done?

🫀

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le démon à l'intérieur de ton esprit

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