Friday, January 30, 2009

Powder and Keg

Sleeping in her bed God awoke her with a proposition. Prove that I exist. or prove that I never have. Either way. Just convince me of something.

I will tell them. But where is the science? Thunder? Lightning? Volcanoes?

It doesn't matter how.

Then it's all right if I lie to them?

Of course it is.

I always have.

The truth is the work of Satan.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Conversations with Forever

God always speaks to her at the wrong time. When there are dead things in the walls. Looking for a pane of glass. When there are satans on the ceiling fan. Searching for their wings.

God she insists is the same as any villain. Insecure and desperate. He wants to be a hero, but isn't. He wants to be noticed, but rarely is.

He says to her that she should know. The difference. Between gods and men.

Men are humble. Gods are arrogant.

He says she should know the why the devil exists.

To make us afraid. To assure that we worship you.

He got quiet.

God she asked, why talk to me?


Because you listen.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Buttery Epiphanies

The Jesus on my toast, he spoke to me. My flesh is gone. My face remains. Look not upon the corpse of dead heavens. Within you is life everlasting. In the Earth. The green grass that grows from its pores. In the press of time upon your back as you grow old with grace.

Eat not of my flesh. When you are hungriest give your only food to someone hungrier yet. Drink not of my blood. Welcome the desert. As a means to discover your own strength.

Be not saved.

Save yourself instead.

Heaven is lost. Find yours in another place.

I will be waiting.

Saturday, January 24, 2009


She drew sketches of God in her quieter moments. Wearing her straw houses close to his fist. Poison arrows cutting the paper. Confetti for all the graves waiting to be found.

The artist with her pencil digs into the silhouette. Broken locks on empty safes. The smirk. As she draws the map. Hell much closer to heaven than she ever would've guessed.

The monkeys with their sticks. All angry at the sky. It's raining again. Their fire is dead. The switch. On. Off. The labor of skin. As it takes me off. Slithers toward a fresh set of bones.

I'm a liar and a saint. Because each are the same.

This could be heaven. It could be hell. I don't know the difference.

But God will tell me to look closer. The differences are subtle. The edges are jagged. And I'm bored with the monkeys and all their violence.

Take off those eyes that pretend to see. Try on the glass. Fractions of God if youre careful with your arithmetic.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Philosophies of God


I'm dead again and no one believes me. Why should they? The only proof I have is God. His sticky fingerprints all over my skin. But they don't show. When I take off my clothes for them it's just bruises. And missing clocks.

Alarms that never go off. Until after the fact.

He told me that the devil is just paper. He can break the skin, but he can't draw blood. He said, the devil isn't your enemy. Heaven is.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

God in the Preliminary

God had a hatchet. Blood on the blade. No surprise. We are culled from dead things. Life comes in tiny frailties too small to measure. From our thrones in heaven. God has chainsaw.

All I had was a question.

Want comes in quotients. Algebraic insomnias. Telling stories to the strange ghosts lost in my attics. I sleep because I am overcome by it. A blind threshold that reaks of deities. Only the product of fatigue. I weep for the flower that is lost. In the shadow of a house. People come in fractions of touch. Torn skirts and dirty underwear. Build their tunnel between her legs.

She sits on the edge imagining she can feel was isn't there. The pulse of strangers in a dying clock. The thrust of science in her broken heart.

God like a wet towel. under her feet. As she dries off. God at her throat squeezing hard.

Assuming she can still breathe.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Cavemen on Ararat

I was talking to the devil. He was an angel once. God forgive peoples. Angels not so much. Jesus was telling the story of the first Crucifixion. It wasn't him. Just some thief. Justice was different back then. Pain was more real. Held more power over people. Then came television and the Internet. Now nothing scare us. Except power outages.

When God finally stopped talking I told him it's wrong. That the monkey should become man. That the time machine should have both forward and reverse. How can you expect us to decide. Where we belong.

Incubating us in the heavens and birthing us into this hell. We're only children. Yours. Cavemen still poking at the fire you gave us.

Burnt and cold.

Searching for the source.

Monday, January 12, 2009

God and Bourbon

The lamb of God has big teeth. Just like the wolf did when the little girl came looking for her grandmother. The lion next to him is quiet. Empty picnic baskets are proof enough that the child has been saved.

I found God in my linen closet. He said I had too many sheets. Everything worth finding hides in obvious places. Stop looking. You will see.

Salvation travels in big knots up a long rope. Where the friction takes you closer by removing the skin. God leaned down from his throne and warned me. All kings are liars. Especially me.

You humans. You're just cardboard. Cut from the flesh of monkeys. I'm a deity, not an artist he reasoned.

You're all ugly. Weak. And arrogant. I'd start over. Obliterate the whole experiment. But I'm a scientist more than anything. It's dreadful, but I can't stop until all the rats have realized there is no cheese.

I'll drink to that.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Close to Heaven

I don't wait for God. I go to Him. Satan is so transparent.

God always speaks in riddles. Answers questions with more questions. Because we must find our own answers.

Mu conversations with God are brief. He says listen and I try. It's hard to wait for heaven when hell is so close.

I was talking to Jesus. Like he was listening. We grow old even this close to heaven. We ask God to hear us. nut he's too far away.

I lay down in my grave. Assuming the kingdom has come. I tell Jesus to be patient. I'm still learning. The consequences of this paradise.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

God Jesus Satan 1.0

I hear God. I see Jesus. Satan I feel.

Last night God said stop looking. You've already found it. Then Satan choked. The room got loud. As loud as nothing. I could see the dead. The saved. The lost. All in a great mosaic of souls. Trembling with various pleasures and torments. Pieces being broken. To create the whole. Reassemble heaven. With sharp edges and vast gaps between the truth.

When I hear God it's quiet and it is loud. Lonely men weeping in the distance. Dying children on my doorstep.

When I see Jesus I am both blind and omniscient. I see everything and nothing. An earthquake in my brain. The colors and shapes devouring my thoughts to make space for the truth.

When I feel Satan I am lonely and euphoric. Naked infant on a hospital floor. Being stepped over by a steady stream of visitors. Resolved to remember what I've heard and what I've seen. God talks. It falls upon us to listen. Jesus comes often. Our only burden is to open our eyes.