Tuesday, May 27, 2008


June 30th, 2007

The dream is dead, but my loins are purring. My eyes are tired, but my mind is swimming. I don't know what I am here for anymore. But then I saw her standing there…and God be praised, even as He is betrayed.

And it came to pass that upon coming, I would come to pass on for countless twitching hours a great and terrible Peace I felt from her name and my ignorance: it was that I knew her name, and it was Jezebel; and that I knew nothing else at all about her, other than she did not know me, either. Great and terrible indeed was this piece of Peace, and of ass--it was a piece that passes all understanding.

I knew not her faith or creed, yet knew the name of every god she called for when she screamed. And so it was, that God knew the number of hairs upon her head; and that I would know the number and location of every birthmark, and the shapes that each would make when squeezed from an infinity of angles. And as I ravaged as reprobate the image of God among the Godless, I swiftly and with Heaven's hellfire would eat the flesh of a perfect sacrifice--as the lips of the devoted shook and shivered from the gift of tongues… It was here that nipples were erect and temples were defiled, where dreams and visions of pale steeds and scarlet whores gave sight to the blind and bound, and soothing aloe to the handcuffed... Where the erect Elect took up their cross as handmaidens took off their clothes… Where the knees of those who knelt were ground to thin stigmata while the master gnawed on any ears that were to hear, all that I would whisper here--sweet nothings, precious else and the lonely now. For, by grace, the Lonely Now was yesterday.

And sometimes, I need to be reminded why I can never get attached. Such pleasures of the flesh and those beneath the chest...creature comforts, comforted creatures...damsels in distress, undressed; paradise by dashboard fright. It all makes you write stupid things. At the end of the night, it was a fleeting glimmer of hope, and an epic smear across the sheets. In the end, I am unredeemable; I'm not even worth ten cents in Minnesota. I am resigned to fate, or fatality.

But still...Love just sits there, gawking at you…peering creepily through the blinds.

Bah. It probably has bugs in it, anyway.


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