Play it again, Sam …
TYB
Sometimes it seems as if the animals know more. Tell me about your suffering. Your righteousness is ours for the taking, but your peril, what of that? Do you nurture the memory as something wholly your own? Do you protect creation from ever knowing what you withstood? Is that off limits to mankind? I wonder what you carry with you, what you shoulder at your right-hand throne. Tell me. I want to know you, perhaps differently than anyone you’ve yet created. Dearest, I sit at your feet like a psychopath awaiting your every move. Taking it into myself. I am here for you. You need nothing I have to offer and yet I hope I make you proud.
Holy, holy, holy, read all about it. Behold the thing presented from a very early age against a backdrop of emptiness in its own nakedness. I’ve got to take this all in. I am not ashamed to soak it up. The man who stands before me is a holy ghost. Take me away into the night on your magic space ship and take me to a place where I can feel full and reconstructed and not gasping for breath but full and true. I want all this like a drug I’ve taken before but forget when but know to be true and so I muscle on and shush the thoughts that tell me I’m chasing a fantasy. My mind is bigger than all that. I get away with so much more so why can’t I get away with this? Believing something is stronger than me and therefore willing to pursue it like it’s a truth worth believing and holding to and hoping in and devoid of all faith but simple confidence in what is real and what isn’t. I get to come to this place every day when I’m alone now that I’m alone and beginning to falter.
No one gets to tell me I’m a lost soul because I’m here to tell you I already understand that and I have been living it for longer than you’ve been around. I get to tell you all about myself and I hope you listen because you are the listener and I’m the talker and I pray to you because you listen real good again and again even though I say the stupid thing and the stupid things all over again and change my mind again. How it gets to get this way is I get to come home and see you sitting having made a delicious dinner for two and we sit and eat and talk and look at each other and laugh at jokes I tell and you tell too and then we get to make love together even though we’re both boys.
I suspect that if I’m a boy and you love me because you created me then you can get to be a girl and make it work or since you’re in charge and get to do things your way you can tell me if it is wrong or right or do what you want to make it right and whatever you decide I will go ahead and do that and you just need to tell me what you want and I’ll do it and do it as best I can and make you happy and that’s what I want is to make you happy even though I can’t make you happy because I just do the same bad things over and over again. I know you said you don’t love me because of what I do but I understand that you care about what I do so I think you care and want the best from me and I don’t think I can even do that, which I guess means I’m doing my best, fooling myself if I think I can do different. I guess the truth is I’m doing nothing but my best at all times and that’s that.
ready when you are, [unborn chicken voices in my head]
Many symbols can be resurrected. Look at the old rugged Cross, itself. The system of symbols is being replaced, and all those who repent are welcome.
The mystery schools are entirely corrupt fronts for Luciferian worship. Good men, awaken and come out!
we are the alphabet now