THE DARK SUN
–
Kali’s Dance
Paula A.M. Puolakka
[The raw text version. The original publication came out on 03/31/2026 in the USA.
Edit & Distribution: "Blame" John. :)
The PDF is, also, available for private reading on Puolakka's LinkedIn profile.]
PREFACE
We are all going to disappear. And I’m not talking about our physical bodies: I’m talking about our energies, souls. Your soul will either go to Heaven/New Jerusalem or your soul will be shot into Nothingness, and nobody in Heaven/New Jerusalem will think about your energy (or your name) because the energies in Heaven/New Jerusalem are Next Level and without any memories (of their past lives and social connections.)
Before Heaven/New Jerusalem or Nothingness, there is The Waiting Area: this is the place where all the dead people have been waiting, are waiting, and will be waiting for the death of our Sun.
The Dark Sun, the destroyer of Earth, is the Supreme Mother and the Goddess of the Mathematicians, Kali. Even when she grins or shows her tongue, she’s more beautiful than all the tiny and insignificant women and girlies with their syrupy fake smiles and shitty tiny bitch attitude. When Kali "dances," she only stands still, flips her hips and stamps her foot, and the tiny women and girlies are dead.
The End, bitches.
And the best thing is that Daddy, Our Father in Heaven, HaShem, the Old Hebrew, loves Kali: She is the Queen He once overlooked but who is, now, treated as The Only One for Him.
This publication is dedicated to all the men who, in March 2026, told me to concentrate, again, on my Ted – Mr. Theodore John Kaczynski – and Mr. Ludwig Wittgenstein: my Mathematicians. After participating in the making of the poetry collection Honest and after reading the poetry collection Sangre de Toro, it seems, many of the younger guys found refuge in the idea that even though Ted is dead, there is still somebody who knows what to say and do to make them forget about the voids in their hearts.
Thanks guys.
Helsinki 03/28/2026,
Paula A.M. Puolakka
I
Yeshua, Jesus Christ, who in this life was a woman, was eating breakfast when a gentle clanging sound interrupted her thoughts. She walked to the door: on the floor, there was a pastel-colored picture of praying Yeshua. She picked up the picture, began to laugh, and opened the door. The dude, who had pushed the picture through the mail slot, was already walking down the stairs and was startled when the door behind him opened. He ran down the last five steps and sprinted out of the front door before The Woman had time to yell: "Oy!"
She closed the door and was kind of annoyed, now, when she looked at the beautifully drawn picture of the bearded rough-jawed man who resembled the late mathematician Theodore John Kaczynski: he had been framed, he had been slandered and ridiculed, stoned in front of the whole world, violated… You name it. He had personally known the sufferings of both the imprisoned John the Baptist and Jesus Christ, but his humiliation rituals and death had been more severe, and they had lasted unnecessarily long…
(NOTE: Ted’s V.I.P. place in Heaven/New Jerusalem had been immediately confirmed by HaShem, Lord Satan, and Jesus when Satan and Jesus had made their deal.)
"Dude," the woman said, both out loud and in her mind, to the dude who wasn’t there and had ran away, "I would’ve offered you a cup of coffee! Brother! Next time don’t run away. Okay?"
The woman sat down to finish her breakfast and thought to herself: Am I really that scary?
It was the story of her life: almost all the boys and men she had ever met had fled her presence after getting the idea that the next step would be "that funny feeling in your tummy."
Only Lord Suhtahn – Satan –, the elderly monks of John the Baptist, and the gang of youngish Ultra Catholic anti-tech city monks had not been intimidated by her: Lord Satan was LORD SATAN! – of course – and wasn’t afraid of anybody. The beautiful Super Rabbi, a.k.a. The Goat, a.k.a. the King of New Jerusalem, was busy at the moment, somewhere in the USA: he was finishing the list that would include all the (gem) stones needed in New Jerusalem.
The woman made an old-school phone call. The coolest part was that people couldn’t trace the calls because nowadays they were only able to monitor the latest gadgets and their digital prints.
"Baruch HaShem," the woman hollered to the palm-sized old smart phone. She was still in her mini length black satin nightie, and her golden grayish hair with wide black stripes looked like an over-the-shoulders nest for the little birds because she hadn’t showered, yet. On the other end, one of the elderly monks responded with enthusiasm and asked about her week. She wasn’t ready to give out any details – her life wasn’t that eventful, especially now when Satan was elsewhere and their relationship had turned from the "Earthly Lovers" scenario into the "Future King of New Jerusalem and His Heavenly Advisor" scenario – and she just said: "You know, I’ve been sleeping late and yada, yada, yada."
Then, she told him about the picture the young dude in a black hoodie had slipped through her mail slot 10 minutes earlier.
"We could make flyers and promote The Sun Cross and the Five Commandments of New Jerusalem before and after Shabbos," the monk had a sudden idea and added: "That young man restored my motivation towards art and the traditional promotion styles of my youth."
"You old wanker," the woman said, manly, and added: "You’re not THAT old. Dear Lord, you made yourself sound ancient!"
"Dear Lord," the man said, "you are ancient."
"Oh, fuck you, M!" the woman stated without any emotion.
"This is NOT going to be one of those calls," the man said, and the woman hollered with disgust. "Why would you say something like that, M?!"
She huffed and puffed a bit, annoyed as hell, and then added: "It has never been like that between you and I, and now you decided to throw in some ‘Hotline Bling’ vibes?! That’s just nasty, man. Don’t fuck with Jesus."
"I spy… with my mind’s eye… that Jesus is wearing something short, black, and silky," the Jewish monk stated bluntly.
The woman screamed, and the man started to laugh. She hung up without saying goodbye. Then, however, she sent him a telepathic message that he should plug that one white hair from his left ball, and she felt him cover his already pretty tightly covered nuts with his huge palms, heard him curse and scream, and it made her feel extremely satisfied: kind of funny in her tummy.
II
The woman woke up to the barking of a terrier. First, she thought that the dog was outside and that the voice would fade away: then, however, she opened up her eyes and realized that the dog was upstairs, inside the flat, and was barking viciously to the wall, obviously.
"Fucking bitch," she screamed because: Who wants to wake up early to this on Shabbos?
"Don’t marry but get yourself a dog!" she roared towards her roof – the neighbor’s floor – and continued: "Crazy Finns! Fucking stupid idiots!"
She flung the blanket on the floor and stood up. She walked to the side table, on which her phone was charging, and checked the time.
"5:45!" she screamed, started mimicking the dog’s voice, and understood that her next-door neighbor was probably listening to the same dog, now her, and was probably laughing his ass off. She stopped and, in her mind, she apologized from the man next-door. He was Russian, very hardworking, very quiet, and needed no extra shit from anybody.
*
It’s a bad omen, the woman thought when she was drinking hot Kiwi Bolero and listening to T.I.’s "Trauma Bond" to cover the voice of the dog. She put the tall glass of green liquid on the table and, still wearing her large white Sony headphones, walked to get the Holy Texts and the sandalwood incense. She lit the incense, in the name of HaShem and His True Queen Kali, and she read a chapter from the book to rebuke any evil spirits and to return any possible black curses to the sender. The second she finished doing so, the dog went silent. However, she heard a sharp male voice, in her mind, somewhere in the distance: it felt and sounded like a spike had just pierced the man’s side. For some reason, the woman felt uneasy.
*
In the dark cellar of the semi-molded 1970s Brutalist style church building, the Catholic Church had rented from the corrupted Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland, a black bearded slender man was on his knees on the ground and beaten up with a long wooden stick by his superior – a dark haired man with big glasses who had the face of a young evil nerd even though he was around his 50s.
"Jesus suffered, and so should you!" the big evil nerd yelled and struck the man’s left side. The man fell down on his right side but didn’t make a sound.
"Oh, still the big guy, eh," hissed his superior and gave him a little kick even though usually he was very careful not to get his polished black leather shoes filthy.
The man didn’t say a word. He knew from the light kick that the beating was over, and he felt relieved that he was still alive.
Captain Haddock needs his Tintin, the man thought silently, in his mind.
III
Father Solomon had met Jesus the Woman face-to-face three years earlier when he and his younger colleague Father Tuomo had visited her flat, a.k.a. the Monk Cave, together with the young boy named Peter who had escaped the claws of his pig of a father, bumped into Father Solomon only a few minutes after his escape, and sought shelter and protection from Father Solomon: they had sought advice from the woman, Father Solomon had quickly ended up having a bit of a mind war with her, and ended up waking a few hours later in his flat – seeing visions, like he had met Extraterrestrials, and wearing nothing else but his sperm-stained undies.
However, the journey of Father Solomon and Jesus the Woman had begun much earlier: once upon a time, Father Solomon had been "just Saul Solomon" who had floated from one social gathering to another, trying to find his place in this world. Once upon a time, Saul had floated into a bad party and gotten beaten up by a small-time drug dealer and his posse: he almost lost his life, and after he got out of the hospital, he decided to become a better person. And that was when he heard the voice of Jesus for the first time: Wassup, baby?!
After the incident, three years ago, Father Solomon had lost his capability to talk to Jesus. His head had been a mess. He had started fucking everything up – his schedule, his correspondence with other individuals, you name it – but instead of taking responsibility and trying to fix himself, he had begun to make silly excuses and trying to flex, making others feel like shit. He had ended up in arguments with his fellow priests, especially with Father Tuomo: Father Solomon found it hard to swallow that at the same time he had dreamt of being in a spaceship and ended up having a "forbidden relieve of the Sexual Chakra," Father Tuomo had stayed with Peter and Jesus and mysteriously ended up as Peter’s stepdad because Peter’s pig of a father had mysteriously died that night.
In fact! Father Solomon had been so aggravated that a week ago, when the memory of that night had briefly visited his mind without any warning, he had pushed Father Tuomo in front of everybody, and that was not good because Father Tuomo happened to be the apple of the eye of their superior who at the same time disliked Father Solomon because some random lady had told him that she would rather fuck "that old bearded Spaniard she had seen in the church cafeteria" than him.
*
"That fucking bitch," grumbled Father Solomon after his release from the cellar.
He was alone and trying to get home, and the streets of Lauttasaari, Helsinki, had never felt this windy, cold, and merciless. The whole area was bare and lifeless. The lights were bright, yes-yes, but the brightness was falsehood: Light of G-d wasn’t there.
"Why the hell did you have to do this to me?!" Father Solomon yelled to nobody at all.
*
"You poor thing," said the woman, and Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming. For a brief moment, he became surprisingly philosophical, in his own head: Isn’t life just a dream, maya, big illusion?
"I remember when you looked so fresh and clean-cut like Don Camillo," continued the woman, and the priest could not help but think how astonishingly real her silhouette looked as he looked at her from the big oval-shaped mirror that was hanging on the living room wall, on the right side from where he was lying.
Then, suddenly, he understood: she was there! He turned his head back to where she was and was physically alarmed when he understood that she was only 5 inches away, on her knees on his bed. "Get away from me, you devil!" he blurted out, sounding and looking weak, but didn’t do much to "safe himself."
She stared at him with a -_- face.
"Okay, so, you’re Captain Haddock these days," she made a remark, then.
"What you know about that?" he said, and her face lit up.
"I love that song, too!" she said, merrily, and added: "Have you heard T.I.’s latest single? It’s so good."
"What are you talking about?" he grunted and tried to lift himself onto a sitting position, but his ribs were on fire and he just sounded and looked like a depressed bagpipe when he tried his best. She looked at him silently, and there was something familiar in her expression than on that unfortunate night three years ago: she looked dead serious. He made a final attempt to sit up but ended up passing out on the bed.
*
"You poor thing," said the woman, and Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming. For a brief moment, he became surprisingly philosophical, in his own head: Isn’t life just a dream, maya, big illusion?
"This is called Kali’s dance," the shadow figure of the woman, standing next to his bed, said.
Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming: he watched as the woman slowly straightened her body into a bold stick, sharply flipped her hips towards the priest, slamming then her right foot on the ground and throwing the cut off head of his superior on his lap. The priest screamed – he was a sensitive Catholic, for crying out loud! – and he tossed the head like a softball on the ground.
"Wassup, baby?!" the woman laughed out lightly and picked up the head of the dead nerd. He still had his big glasses on, and his long purple tongue was sticking out of his mouth.
"You… you…" the priest couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, and as he looked at the face of the man who had just three hours earlier joyfully beaten the shit out of him, he had to make the sign of the cross, and he started praying and sobbing heavily.
"Really?" the woman was genuinely surprised and looked at the face of the loose head, smiling sweetly.
"I think he looks better like this. I wonder if he would still crack jokes about my beautiful John," she pondered, and the name of the Baptist made her disappear into some soft memory, for a moment.
"May the Lord bless the memory of Yochanan ben Zechariah," the priest started wailing loudly, shit scared.
"Good! That sounds so beautiful!" the woman was immediately boosted up with extra energy, and her eyes lit up like two silvery stars.
"I will get rid of this," she said pointing at the head, and as she turned around to walk out of the room, he felt some hidden inner tension letting go of his soul and escaping with her, making him pass out on the bed, again.
*
Ye’s song "Father" woke Father Solomon up when the metallic tearing beat begun to rip apart the gentle melody. He anticipated to feel a painful nudge or a poke between each rib bone but was astonished when he could sit up and feel nothing else but pure relaxation. Immediately, he thought about Extraterrestrials and was alerted to the extent that the look in his wide eyes was enough to pass on the whole message and the question to the woman, who was on the computer and blasting the music which wasn’t familiar to the man. She stared straight into his eyes, smiled widely, and shook her head.
"No Heavenly Warlords here," she said.
The man let all the air escape from the deepest parts of his lungs, he was so relieved, and he gave her a nasty scolding look.
"Wha-at?!" the woman exclaimed cheerfully and walked to him.
"Things aren’t that bad!"
"You murdered a man," he exclaimed and sounded like an Irish priest: that deep was his expression of strong disapproval.
"No, I didn’t!" she answered and was deeply hurt.
"If a guy tries to punch me, I duck, he trips and falls onto a sharp metal edge and cuts his own head off, then, it’s an accident and no one can blame yours truly!"
"You got to be joking, woman!" he hollered.
"I would never joke about Death," she said, bluntly, and was kind of upset with him: "You just can’t help it, Saul. You just have to blame me for everything in your life."
Saul went silent. Yes, it was true: whenever they had argued, in the past, it had been because he hadn’t believed Jesus the Woman. Women are deceitful, the voices of the elderly priests, the bishop, and the archbishop echoed in the back of his memory: Whenever they are around, all they want to do is grab you and do the dirty with you. Whores!
Now, when Saul thought about it, how the hell had the others known "this nasty essence of all women?"
Bastards! he yelled in his mind. They were the ones who had been dirty and violated the laws of chastity and celibacy, not to mention the sacrament of Marriage! He felt like he wanted to vomit. He also looked like he was about to, but then, he understood that there was nothing in his stomach. It almost felt like some force had cleaned his core.
"So, no Heavenly Warlords, eh?" he asked, rubbing his tummy. She shook her head, smiling: "Well, not here, anywayz."
He shook his head. His mouth could only create a vague smirk, and he thought to himself: Sometimes the truth with Jesus is that there is no truth.
"You have been so bitter," said the woman suddenly, "to me because I sent you home and let Father Tuomo stay. You thought that it was because I didn’t love you, but it’s quite the opposite. You, also, thought that I loved him, but it’s quite the opposite. I knew you, how you wanted to own somebody, and you would’ve been destroyed because the work with New Jerusalem and Lord Suhtahn was always priority number one. It was HaShem’s priority number one. Do you remember The Book of Job, Chapter 2? Again there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them to present himself before the Lord..."
"Oh, yes, wait!" the man exclaimed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead – Third Eye – gently: "Satan was Father’s trusted one from whom He could ask concerning His servant Job…"
"Yes! Satan is the One, Daddy’s favorite, and he has been working for Him all the time," said the woman and thumped her buttocks on the bed, nearly on his right thigh, and whilst she was sitting there, she turned her head left, now facing him, and smirked gently: "How does it make you feel?" "Scared," he answered.
"You are almost seventy years old," said Jesus the Woman and was suddenly very serious, staring vaguely at his juicy lower lip, "and it was only now that you learned to be afraid."
"I-I studied the Word," the man suddenly stammered and lowered his head, "and it was written everywhere that only the perfect couples, the perfect matches, will go to New Jerusalem!"
"Yes, Father likes to keep things simple," said the woman and smiled, "and if it worked in Noah’s Ark it will work when Mommy’s Fire, the Dark Sun, will consume everything we know. There will be lots of space in Heaven, you know… Her Fire will totally execute majority of the souls. Some people say that ignorance is bliss, but I don’t know… It’s kind of cool to know, right?"
"Well, no! Yes! Oh, I don’t know!" he pondered out loud and, suddenly, flung his arms around her. Even Jesus the Woman herself was astonished!
"I can’t go anywhere!" he sounded scared and clinched her body, which was hidden with the black hooded monk’s uniform, against his olive-toned, lean, body.
"Well, you have to go somewhere," said the woman and began to count to ten in her head.
"Save me!" he exclaimed and looked straight into her eyes: his face had such a beautiful fair Reptilian-style bone structure, his eyes were big and brown, and his mop-styled harsh hair had a few gray stripes already.
"OK," she said and quickly seized his lower lip with her front teeth.
THE CREATIVE WRITING SOUNDTRACK:
Old War Shirt – So Far Away
T.I. – Trauma Bond
¥$, Kanye West, Ty Dolla $ign – STARS
¥$, Kanye West, Ty Dolla $ign – DO IT
YE – FATHER (feat. TRAVIS SCOTT)
YE – THIS ONE HERE
YE – HIGHS AND LOWS
THE EDITING SOUNDTRACK:
Antiloop – In My Mind (Radio Edit)
Bassnectar – Bass Head
T.I. – Let 'Em Know
T.I. – What You Know
T.I. – Put Some On It
THE HIDDEN EXTRA TRACK:
Drake – Hotline Bling
THE DARK SUN
–
Kali’s Dance
Paula A.M. Puolakka
A not-for-sale/gift E-publication, the readers in the USA.
Edited & sent: 03/31/2026 ("Blame" John… :) )
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The Family 2026 – The Monks of the Appalachian Mountains. USA.
PAULA’S EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS, 03/30/2026:
Rita.
Dagmara K.
(Spillwords Press) for publishing my poem KALI on 03/24 and, also, giving Rita some extra good energy.
Gary L. R.
See you later, alligator. After 'while, crocodile… *heart* Thanks for the extremely beautiful shadow lessons, gorgeous! :) You’re so kind! :) Such a lovely surprise! :)
–
Kali’s Dance
Paula A.M. Puolakka
[The raw text version. The original publication came out on 03/31/2026 in the USA.
Edit & Distribution: "Blame" John. :)
The PDF is, also, available for private reading on Puolakka's LinkedIn profile.]
PREFACE
We are all going to disappear. And I’m not talking about our physical bodies: I’m talking about our energies, souls. Your soul will either go to Heaven/New Jerusalem or your soul will be shot into Nothingness, and nobody in Heaven/New Jerusalem will think about your energy (or your name) because the energies in Heaven/New Jerusalem are Next Level and without any memories (of their past lives and social connections.)
Before Heaven/New Jerusalem or Nothingness, there is The Waiting Area: this is the place where all the dead people have been waiting, are waiting, and will be waiting for the death of our Sun.
The Dark Sun, the destroyer of Earth, is the Supreme Mother and the Goddess of the Mathematicians, Kali. Even when she grins or shows her tongue, she’s more beautiful than all the tiny and insignificant women and girlies with their syrupy fake smiles and shitty tiny bitch attitude. When Kali "dances," she only stands still, flips her hips and stamps her foot, and the tiny women and girlies are dead.
The End, bitches.
And the best thing is that Daddy, Our Father in Heaven, HaShem, the Old Hebrew, loves Kali: She is the Queen He once overlooked but who is, now, treated as The Only One for Him.
This publication is dedicated to all the men who, in March 2026, told me to concentrate, again, on my Ted – Mr. Theodore John Kaczynski – and Mr. Ludwig Wittgenstein: my Mathematicians. After participating in the making of the poetry collection Honest and after reading the poetry collection Sangre de Toro, it seems, many of the younger guys found refuge in the idea that even though Ted is dead, there is still somebody who knows what to say and do to make them forget about the voids in their hearts.
Thanks guys.
Helsinki 03/28/2026,
Paula A.M. Puolakka
I
Yeshua, Jesus Christ, who in this life was a woman, was eating breakfast when a gentle clanging sound interrupted her thoughts. She walked to the door: on the floor, there was a pastel-colored picture of praying Yeshua. She picked up the picture, began to laugh, and opened the door. The dude, who had pushed the picture through the mail slot, was already walking down the stairs and was startled when the door behind him opened. He ran down the last five steps and sprinted out of the front door before The Woman had time to yell: "Oy!"
She closed the door and was kind of annoyed, now, when she looked at the beautifully drawn picture of the bearded rough-jawed man who resembled the late mathematician Theodore John Kaczynski: he had been framed, he had been slandered and ridiculed, stoned in front of the whole world, violated… You name it. He had personally known the sufferings of both the imprisoned John the Baptist and Jesus Christ, but his humiliation rituals and death had been more severe, and they had lasted unnecessarily long…
(NOTE: Ted’s V.I.P. place in Heaven/New Jerusalem had been immediately confirmed by HaShem, Lord Satan, and Jesus when Satan and Jesus had made their deal.)
"Dude," the woman said, both out loud and in her mind, to the dude who wasn’t there and had ran away, "I would’ve offered you a cup of coffee! Brother! Next time don’t run away. Okay?"
The woman sat down to finish her breakfast and thought to herself: Am I really that scary?
It was the story of her life: almost all the boys and men she had ever met had fled her presence after getting the idea that the next step would be "that funny feeling in your tummy."
Only Lord Suhtahn – Satan –, the elderly monks of John the Baptist, and the gang of youngish Ultra Catholic anti-tech city monks had not been intimidated by her: Lord Satan was LORD SATAN! – of course – and wasn’t afraid of anybody. The beautiful Super Rabbi, a.k.a. The Goat, a.k.a. the King of New Jerusalem, was busy at the moment, somewhere in the USA: he was finishing the list that would include all the (gem) stones needed in New Jerusalem.
The woman made an old-school phone call. The coolest part was that people couldn’t trace the calls because nowadays they were only able to monitor the latest gadgets and their digital prints.
"Baruch HaShem," the woman hollered to the palm-sized old smart phone. She was still in her mini length black satin nightie, and her golden grayish hair with wide black stripes looked like an over-the-shoulders nest for the little birds because she hadn’t showered, yet. On the other end, one of the elderly monks responded with enthusiasm and asked about her week. She wasn’t ready to give out any details – her life wasn’t that eventful, especially now when Satan was elsewhere and their relationship had turned from the "Earthly Lovers" scenario into the "Future King of New Jerusalem and His Heavenly Advisor" scenario – and she just said: "You know, I’ve been sleeping late and yada, yada, yada."
Then, she told him about the picture the young dude in a black hoodie had slipped through her mail slot 10 minutes earlier.
"We could make flyers and promote The Sun Cross and the Five Commandments of New Jerusalem before and after Shabbos," the monk had a sudden idea and added: "That young man restored my motivation towards art and the traditional promotion styles of my youth."
"You old wanker," the woman said, manly, and added: "You’re not THAT old. Dear Lord, you made yourself sound ancient!"
"Dear Lord," the man said, "you are ancient."
"Oh, fuck you, M!" the woman stated without any emotion.
"This is NOT going to be one of those calls," the man said, and the woman hollered with disgust. "Why would you say something like that, M?!"
She huffed and puffed a bit, annoyed as hell, and then added: "It has never been like that between you and I, and now you decided to throw in some ‘Hotline Bling’ vibes?! That’s just nasty, man. Don’t fuck with Jesus."
"I spy… with my mind’s eye… that Jesus is wearing something short, black, and silky," the Jewish monk stated bluntly.
The woman screamed, and the man started to laugh. She hung up without saying goodbye. Then, however, she sent him a telepathic message that he should plug that one white hair from his left ball, and she felt him cover his already pretty tightly covered nuts with his huge palms, heard him curse and scream, and it made her feel extremely satisfied: kind of funny in her tummy.
II
The woman woke up to the barking of a terrier. First, she thought that the dog was outside and that the voice would fade away: then, however, she opened up her eyes and realized that the dog was upstairs, inside the flat, and was barking viciously to the wall, obviously.
"Fucking bitch," she screamed because: Who wants to wake up early to this on Shabbos?
"Don’t marry but get yourself a dog!" she roared towards her roof – the neighbor’s floor – and continued: "Crazy Finns! Fucking stupid idiots!"
She flung the blanket on the floor and stood up. She walked to the side table, on which her phone was charging, and checked the time.
"5:45!" she screamed, started mimicking the dog’s voice, and understood that her next-door neighbor was probably listening to the same dog, now her, and was probably laughing his ass off. She stopped and, in her mind, she apologized from the man next-door. He was Russian, very hardworking, very quiet, and needed no extra shit from anybody.
*
It’s a bad omen, the woman thought when she was drinking hot Kiwi Bolero and listening to T.I.’s "Trauma Bond" to cover the voice of the dog. She put the tall glass of green liquid on the table and, still wearing her large white Sony headphones, walked to get the Holy Texts and the sandalwood incense. She lit the incense, in the name of HaShem and His True Queen Kali, and she read a chapter from the book to rebuke any evil spirits and to return any possible black curses to the sender. The second she finished doing so, the dog went silent. However, she heard a sharp male voice, in her mind, somewhere in the distance: it felt and sounded like a spike had just pierced the man’s side. For some reason, the woman felt uneasy.
*
In the dark cellar of the semi-molded 1970s Brutalist style church building, the Catholic Church had rented from the corrupted Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland, a black bearded slender man was on his knees on the ground and beaten up with a long wooden stick by his superior – a dark haired man with big glasses who had the face of a young evil nerd even though he was around his 50s.
"Jesus suffered, and so should you!" the big evil nerd yelled and struck the man’s left side. The man fell down on his right side but didn’t make a sound.
"Oh, still the big guy, eh," hissed his superior and gave him a little kick even though usually he was very careful not to get his polished black leather shoes filthy.
The man didn’t say a word. He knew from the light kick that the beating was over, and he felt relieved that he was still alive.
Captain Haddock needs his Tintin, the man thought silently, in his mind.
III
Father Solomon had met Jesus the Woman face-to-face three years earlier when he and his younger colleague Father Tuomo had visited her flat, a.k.a. the Monk Cave, together with the young boy named Peter who had escaped the claws of his pig of a father, bumped into Father Solomon only a few minutes after his escape, and sought shelter and protection from Father Solomon: they had sought advice from the woman, Father Solomon had quickly ended up having a bit of a mind war with her, and ended up waking a few hours later in his flat – seeing visions, like he had met Extraterrestrials, and wearing nothing else but his sperm-stained undies.
However, the journey of Father Solomon and Jesus the Woman had begun much earlier: once upon a time, Father Solomon had been "just Saul Solomon" who had floated from one social gathering to another, trying to find his place in this world. Once upon a time, Saul had floated into a bad party and gotten beaten up by a small-time drug dealer and his posse: he almost lost his life, and after he got out of the hospital, he decided to become a better person. And that was when he heard the voice of Jesus for the first time: Wassup, baby?!
After the incident, three years ago, Father Solomon had lost his capability to talk to Jesus. His head had been a mess. He had started fucking everything up – his schedule, his correspondence with other individuals, you name it – but instead of taking responsibility and trying to fix himself, he had begun to make silly excuses and trying to flex, making others feel like shit. He had ended up in arguments with his fellow priests, especially with Father Tuomo: Father Solomon found it hard to swallow that at the same time he had dreamt of being in a spaceship and ended up having a "forbidden relieve of the Sexual Chakra," Father Tuomo had stayed with Peter and Jesus and mysteriously ended up as Peter’s stepdad because Peter’s pig of a father had mysteriously died that night.
In fact! Father Solomon had been so aggravated that a week ago, when the memory of that night had briefly visited his mind without any warning, he had pushed Father Tuomo in front of everybody, and that was not good because Father Tuomo happened to be the apple of the eye of their superior who at the same time disliked Father Solomon because some random lady had told him that she would rather fuck "that old bearded Spaniard she had seen in the church cafeteria" than him.
*
"That fucking bitch," grumbled Father Solomon after his release from the cellar.
He was alone and trying to get home, and the streets of Lauttasaari, Helsinki, had never felt this windy, cold, and merciless. The whole area was bare and lifeless. The lights were bright, yes-yes, but the brightness was falsehood: Light of G-d wasn’t there.
"Why the hell did you have to do this to me?!" Father Solomon yelled to nobody at all.
*
"You poor thing," said the woman, and Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming. For a brief moment, he became surprisingly philosophical, in his own head: Isn’t life just a dream, maya, big illusion?
"I remember when you looked so fresh and clean-cut like Don Camillo," continued the woman, and the priest could not help but think how astonishingly real her silhouette looked as he looked at her from the big oval-shaped mirror that was hanging on the living room wall, on the right side from where he was lying.
Then, suddenly, he understood: she was there! He turned his head back to where she was and was physically alarmed when he understood that she was only 5 inches away, on her knees on his bed. "Get away from me, you devil!" he blurted out, sounding and looking weak, but didn’t do much to "safe himself."
She stared at him with a -_- face.
"Okay, so, you’re Captain Haddock these days," she made a remark, then.
"What you know about that?" he said, and her face lit up.
"I love that song, too!" she said, merrily, and added: "Have you heard T.I.’s latest single? It’s so good."
"What are you talking about?" he grunted and tried to lift himself onto a sitting position, but his ribs were on fire and he just sounded and looked like a depressed bagpipe when he tried his best. She looked at him silently, and there was something familiar in her expression than on that unfortunate night three years ago: she looked dead serious. He made a final attempt to sit up but ended up passing out on the bed.
*
"You poor thing," said the woman, and Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming. For a brief moment, he became surprisingly philosophical, in his own head: Isn’t life just a dream, maya, big illusion?
"This is called Kali’s dance," the shadow figure of the woman, standing next to his bed, said.
Father Solomon wasn’t sure if he was just seeing hallucinations through his squinted eyelids, or if he was dreaming: he watched as the woman slowly straightened her body into a bold stick, sharply flipped her hips towards the priest, slamming then her right foot on the ground and throwing the cut off head of his superior on his lap. The priest screamed – he was a sensitive Catholic, for crying out loud! – and he tossed the head like a softball on the ground.
"Wassup, baby?!" the woman laughed out lightly and picked up the head of the dead nerd. He still had his big glasses on, and his long purple tongue was sticking out of his mouth.
"You… you…" the priest couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, and as he looked at the face of the man who had just three hours earlier joyfully beaten the shit out of him, he had to make the sign of the cross, and he started praying and sobbing heavily.
"Really?" the woman was genuinely surprised and looked at the face of the loose head, smiling sweetly.
"I think he looks better like this. I wonder if he would still crack jokes about my beautiful John," she pondered, and the name of the Baptist made her disappear into some soft memory, for a moment.
"May the Lord bless the memory of Yochanan ben Zechariah," the priest started wailing loudly, shit scared.
"Good! That sounds so beautiful!" the woman was immediately boosted up with extra energy, and her eyes lit up like two silvery stars.
"I will get rid of this," she said pointing at the head, and as she turned around to walk out of the room, he felt some hidden inner tension letting go of his soul and escaping with her, making him pass out on the bed, again.
*
Ye’s song "Father" woke Father Solomon up when the metallic tearing beat begun to rip apart the gentle melody. He anticipated to feel a painful nudge or a poke between each rib bone but was astonished when he could sit up and feel nothing else but pure relaxation. Immediately, he thought about Extraterrestrials and was alerted to the extent that the look in his wide eyes was enough to pass on the whole message and the question to the woman, who was on the computer and blasting the music which wasn’t familiar to the man. She stared straight into his eyes, smiled widely, and shook her head.
"No Heavenly Warlords here," she said.
The man let all the air escape from the deepest parts of his lungs, he was so relieved, and he gave her a nasty scolding look.
"Wha-at?!" the woman exclaimed cheerfully and walked to him.
"Things aren’t that bad!"
"You murdered a man," he exclaimed and sounded like an Irish priest: that deep was his expression of strong disapproval.
"No, I didn’t!" she answered and was deeply hurt.
"If a guy tries to punch me, I duck, he trips and falls onto a sharp metal edge and cuts his own head off, then, it’s an accident and no one can blame yours truly!"
"You got to be joking, woman!" he hollered.
"I would never joke about Death," she said, bluntly, and was kind of upset with him: "You just can’t help it, Saul. You just have to blame me for everything in your life."
Saul went silent. Yes, it was true: whenever they had argued, in the past, it had been because he hadn’t believed Jesus the Woman. Women are deceitful, the voices of the elderly priests, the bishop, and the archbishop echoed in the back of his memory: Whenever they are around, all they want to do is grab you and do the dirty with you. Whores!
Now, when Saul thought about it, how the hell had the others known "this nasty essence of all women?"
Bastards! he yelled in his mind. They were the ones who had been dirty and violated the laws of chastity and celibacy, not to mention the sacrament of Marriage! He felt like he wanted to vomit. He also looked like he was about to, but then, he understood that there was nothing in his stomach. It almost felt like some force had cleaned his core.
"So, no Heavenly Warlords, eh?" he asked, rubbing his tummy. She shook her head, smiling: "Well, not here, anywayz."
He shook his head. His mouth could only create a vague smirk, and he thought to himself: Sometimes the truth with Jesus is that there is no truth.
"You have been so bitter," said the woman suddenly, "to me because I sent you home and let Father Tuomo stay. You thought that it was because I didn’t love you, but it’s quite the opposite. You, also, thought that I loved him, but it’s quite the opposite. I knew you, how you wanted to own somebody, and you would’ve been destroyed because the work with New Jerusalem and Lord Suhtahn was always priority number one. It was HaShem’s priority number one. Do you remember The Book of Job, Chapter 2? Again there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them to present himself before the Lord..."
"Oh, yes, wait!" the man exclaimed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead – Third Eye – gently: "Satan was Father’s trusted one from whom He could ask concerning His servant Job…"
"Yes! Satan is the One, Daddy’s favorite, and he has been working for Him all the time," said the woman and thumped her buttocks on the bed, nearly on his right thigh, and whilst she was sitting there, she turned her head left, now facing him, and smirked gently: "How does it make you feel?" "Scared," he answered.
"You are almost seventy years old," said Jesus the Woman and was suddenly very serious, staring vaguely at his juicy lower lip, "and it was only now that you learned to be afraid."
"I-I studied the Word," the man suddenly stammered and lowered his head, "and it was written everywhere that only the perfect couples, the perfect matches, will go to New Jerusalem!"
"Yes, Father likes to keep things simple," said the woman and smiled, "and if it worked in Noah’s Ark it will work when Mommy’s Fire, the Dark Sun, will consume everything we know. There will be lots of space in Heaven, you know… Her Fire will totally execute majority of the souls. Some people say that ignorance is bliss, but I don’t know… It’s kind of cool to know, right?"
"Well, no! Yes! Oh, I don’t know!" he pondered out loud and, suddenly, flung his arms around her. Even Jesus the Woman herself was astonished!
"I can’t go anywhere!" he sounded scared and clinched her body, which was hidden with the black hooded monk’s uniform, against his olive-toned, lean, body.
"Well, you have to go somewhere," said the woman and began to count to ten in her head.
"Save me!" he exclaimed and looked straight into her eyes: his face had such a beautiful fair Reptilian-style bone structure, his eyes were big and brown, and his mop-styled harsh hair had a few gray stripes already.
"OK," she said and quickly seized his lower lip with her front teeth.
THE CREATIVE WRITING SOUNDTRACK:
Old War Shirt – So Far Away
T.I. – Trauma Bond
¥$, Kanye West, Ty Dolla $ign – STARS
¥$, Kanye West, Ty Dolla $ign – DO IT
YE – FATHER (feat. TRAVIS SCOTT)
YE – THIS ONE HERE
YE – HIGHS AND LOWS
THE EDITING SOUNDTRACK:
Antiloop – In My Mind (Radio Edit)
Bassnectar – Bass Head
T.I. – Let 'Em Know
T.I. – What You Know
T.I. – Put Some On It
THE HIDDEN EXTRA TRACK:
Drake – Hotline Bling
THE DARK SUN
–
Kali’s Dance
Paula A.M. Puolakka
A not-for-sale/gift E-publication, the readers in the USA.
Edited & sent: 03/31/2026 ("Blame" John… :) )
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The Family 2026 – The Monks of the Appalachian Mountains. USA.
PAULA’S EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS, 03/30/2026:
Rita.
Dagmara K.
(Spillwords Press) for publishing my poem KALI on 03/24 and, also, giving Rita some extra good energy.
Gary L. R.
See you later, alligator. After 'while, crocodile… *heart* Thanks for the extremely beautiful shadow lessons, gorgeous! :) You’re so kind! :) Such a lovely surprise! :)
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