5:5
brothers in arms, no homo
{AMEN}
A band of marching insignificants. Trudging forward. Hellbound and filthy. A bunch of men, unthinking, they’d had their thinking bled out or rotted out of their heads. Thoughtless. Capable of great feats, unhuman strength, for they’d become unhuman. A man is a thinking feeling nervous helpless powerful visionary. Strip him. Compress him with monotonous suffering. Boring. Hellish. A vision quest, but whose vision. To assume and assert among each elaborate scar and trapping and tool and myth that lays along history road. I’ve seen the childish right up next to the powerful. They happen to be the same thing. As a result I no longer believe in things, only in their relationships. Remove my shovel and sink its blade into the wet slogging ground beneath me. This is an exploration. And bleeding up from the silty earth underfoot comes old Christ haunting, fecal, putrid, straining up through the floodplain ground, a cold liquid movement that’ll carry us off no doubt. He won’t hesitate to murder. Over there the priest is committing atrocities. Got his head cocked back and furiously beating away with his eyes closed and his mouth pulled open and fit for a moan. He does this every day at the end of the march, like he’s got to expunge his body of all the sin he’s compiled during the darkness of our day-long march. Kneeling in the mud with his cock aimed to heaven, until it utters its humble white prayer, amen.
I pulled into Nazareth …
Anons have a pretty big set of balls if you ask me #nohomo
Do you want to say that into the microphone?