Monday, March 30, 2009

Search Parties for God

She thought hell might be someplace not unlike where she was. A little quieter perhaps. More gods maybe. With bigger fists. Smaller heads. Loud trucks. And bright light bulbs that never go off. People toiling. To live. To work another day. And so on and so forth.

Not so different from heaven she surmised. Hollow pussies. Big breasts. Scores of crying children. Wondering where their mothers have went.

When she talked to God she always imagined Him listening, but had trouble with how he could hear her. Everyone talking at once. Dying. Lost in the rush. The intricate diseases of this stubborn flesh.

She'd say God wants us to stop asking. To live like he's not there. We don't need to find him. He was never lost.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Dust to Dust

Some devils are worthwhile I've found. Some devils teach us more than Gods would wish. Things we need to know to manage the life before paradise.

I thought he was joking when he said he believed in the plan. That we should suffer. Slouch our way toward Bethlehem. Dance on our pins and needles. Until every stitch is undone. I thought he was lying. But even Satan is truthful if you're an atheist.

It's just letters written in skin I insisted as his claws sneaked through the blood. Grim fairy tales. Of arrogant apes with big sticks. Billions of fingernails on an infinite chalkboard. No one hears.

Ashes to ashes. Life on Mars. And all the elaborate dreams dying men offer to their gods.

In exchange for dust.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Vanity of Deities

With the blood on her lips she began to draw. Make me bleed some more she demanded of God. I'm not finished.

Coloring in all these sparse utopias with which you've infected our skin. Barren is all we are. Flaccid puppets on strings made of your wasted semen. Helpless cockroaches. With their prickly legs to heaven. At the mercy of gods too squeamish to step on us once and for all.

I'm not done. She screeched as the blood began to congeal in her cuts. You're weak God. Weaker than all of us. A stick blind men poke at the darkness with.

You're sad. God. Much sadder than us. An old man with his wrinkled penis in his fist. Coddling an erection that doesn't keep.

You're a small god. Too petty for us. That you should need something so fragile as us. That you would condemn us to live. So long after we mean nothing to this world.

Saturday, March 14, 2009


God asked her to dance. I don't know how she said. It's easy. Satan grinned. Just stick out your tongue and wait for someone to bite it.

We were walking. Through empty streets. He and I. Children with our rocks. Searching for some water to break.

But the oceans were all so far away. And I asked Him why that would be. He said, before I can take you there, you must first learn how to swim.

Remove that flesh I've painted upon your tender bones. Admit. I'm not the only God you worship.

Only then I can forgive you. Your many sins.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Embracing the Morlock

God was on her shoulder. In sporadic whims. She referred to as sobriety. She always warned me that the devil was clever. His noose as subtle as a necktie around your throat. I almost believe her.

I caught a glimpse of the mother Mary in the syrup on my scrambled eggs. She was whispering to God about the Neanderthals he'd left to govern Earth.

The screen door Jesus was weeping as I scraped the ice from my car's windshield. He pleaded. I am the winter. I am trying to make you stronger. But your electricity defeats me at every turn.

Turn off your lights. Quiet your turbines. The church is in your pocket. Heaven is buried in the harshest of earths.

Your savior is yourself. I am just an equation. Meant to lead you to the result. Your salvation is buried in the numbers. Your greatest minds struggle to make sense of. Each of you are pennies thrown into a deep well.

Vagrant wishes. Bought, not paid for yet.

Be patient. Take off your clothes. Search the creases in the fabric. For better Gods. Wy I asked Him. Because He said.

Sunday, March 1, 2009


He said hell was in my head. And so was heaven. That he is close to the flesh, but far from the skin. Nothing to grab. Something to touch. Too far away to see his eyes. Too near to notice the frown on his face.

As we stumble. From our clothes. Hungry for milky tits.

I drew a picture. When God was looking at me. I drew a picture in old crayons. But he took all those colors away.