Thursday, September 12, 2013

God Lottery

I would like to make a proposal to all the people in the world who believe in one god or another. Pray for me to receive the disease of anyone else who also believes in some god. Pray with all your might that this atheist should become afflicted with the cancer or other wasting illness of some god worshpping souls. Pray for it. And then pray again for it some more.

I would find no greater pleasure than for your friend, sister, brother, mother, child, father or other loved one to live in my place and I to die in theirs. And it would make me extremely happy to discover that the power of prayer could truly affect such a wonderous change. And that there really is a god out there listening.

I want your dad to survive his cancer. I do. I'd rather it be me that dies. I want your god to be real. Reason in an unreasonable universe of chaos is certainly welcome. I want your daughter to live. I'll gladly die in her place. If only your god were listening he'd know this. he'd kill me instead and let your child live. 

Go on. Pray for it. Really. I do hope it works.

And could someone explain to me. Cause I'm just not clear on this. What's so bad about dying if you get to go to heaven. Shouldn't it be like winning the lottery? only better.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Recipes for When

Back in ancient days they had many Gods to believe in. Who knows how that came to be. Over time poeople evolved to believe in a just a select few Gods. Some just one. Other still with several. It's not my place to judge who is on the right path. Although, in truth, I know.

I talk to them sometimes and they whisper foul truths in my ear. Like soft oranges stiff with untapped jioce.

If you live past childhood you fight. There are wars to be done. Kingdoms to defend. They can market them as democracies and free repulics. But there are still high prices to be paid.

Soldiers' blood stains many flags.

Wars don't end. They pause. Collect their poor and carry on.

It's a tall ladder slick with ice and bone. It's a small mountain. Thick with kings. It's an eager army ripe with boys. Absent men.

It's a quiet fight. fought with broken flowers and creased maps. So many terrible treasures yet to be claimed.

Seldom armies negotiating with blunt swords.the future like butterflies and matchsticks.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Cautious Contempt

God comes to her in chokes and sobs. He is orphans and mobs. God draws on her. In scribbles and stabs. He is both artist and canvas. The pigment all we are. Pale hues in  a fever of bone.

God tells her she is dying, but He doesn't know how.

All those cliffs gnawing on the clouds. instinct prevails in the absence of reason.

God is soft. A deflating pillow. As she rests her head. the numbers worry. While the words give chase. a quiet war seizes the word. in crippling increments.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Pilate Judgements

this is hell and we were wrong. i died that night. i took those pills and woke up in this awekward world. of hollow mountains. and bent knives. the tremor of god resonating. . like club music long after everyone has stopped dancing.

i was mistaken. dying is not freedom.

constipated gods shit us out. at their leisure. and the whim of fleshy laxatives. the stench of faith is acrid and ambivalent. like lonely dogs left to their soil in the darkness. all shadows. no light..

god she assumes must be something grand. more than fraying dresses or half solved jogsaw puzzles can quantify. god surely must be a whisper. the tickle of breath that wakens her throat to live. god surely must be, the panic of skin that urges her to touch him. and cautious her to forget.

the hours like needles. the moments like thread. orphans sewing. with bricks. a parable of victims erupting in her chest. small lies ripening beyond her intent. a fever of touch speculating. pm jjoles already dug.

the end of the world in fractured fangs and bitten tongues. skin like a portal. send us back..

Monday, January 28, 2013

Pious Moments of Scorn

what if i'm wrong and god is real? but that couldn't be. nothing is all we are. nothing is everywhere. everything.

and how could god ever be nothing?

what if the world began with a whimper. and the big bang is now. what once was soft and gentle and quiet became harsh and ugly and loud.

we all find our heavens. here, there and in so many different ways. what happens afterward is hardly of consequence.

i dream about paradise every time i close my eyes. what doesn't exist when i'm awake haunts me when i'm unconscious. it's not real, but it's close enough. there are no gods. just moments. a cascade of wonderful moments that never cease.

there is taste and lips and fever. there and fingers and tits and touch. no shame. no want. just being. no rules. just the certainty. that the moments will keep coming.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Arrogant Pendulums

sugar and wit. like dough and candles. stilted fires burn with insolence. piglets and porcupines ferret out the places. where it was. long ropes stiff with useless knots. tepid skin eager for colors. the small houses. the open back doors. beckon. like grim invitations. to be destroyed.

the clouds stutter. dense with an urgent world. the sky pauses. to greet gravity. assure it that things still fall. are falling. always will be.

the ledge dances. to invisible music. the mountain chokes on climbers. the world manifests in whispers. the impotent rage of the powerless.

little dolls discarding their panties in favor of freedom. soft plastic fists frozen in their weak graps of happiness.

Bits of flesh like swaying pendulums. Spoiling in the dense topography of lost.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Army Stilts

God knows it's hard lost in this putrid camouflage. The world like faded rings. Disappearing outward. Corpses in battle dress aim their guns. The child and the soldier share a singular bed. They are the same man. The same victim.

God talks, but I can't understand his language. I listen anyway. Confident there is more to his message than the words.

Lonely battle fields beckon. Dirty hookers with too many munitions. A surplus of skin and disease as tempting as it is infectious.

God listens. Bored with our petty complaints. More meat than grain. More gravy than sugar. The end of the world is swimming in numbers. It's up to us to keep counting.

That's what I am. A broken army with too many graves to dig. That's what we are. A war without purpose.