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symbioidlj2:04 PM - A hot Sunday afternoon:
All the good little Christians are leaving their churches in their mini-vans and other assorted vehicles, and headed towards the parks for a picnic, or home to watch the big game that they're praying to their god for their favorite team to win...
12:05 PM - The same hot Sunday afternoon:
The helicopter floated overhead, it's corporate logo: CNN sprawled across the side. The videotronic eye gazed at the figure below. The figure, shining in a brilliant halo of white, standing in the midst of a median of an LA freeway. This bald headed man with a goatee stumbled back and forth, struggling to break free of his white garments. This clothing that shone as the sun, but was strangling him. Not like the robes of old. No, this damned straight-jacket bound by leather straps. Leather, like the straps that tore his flesh 2,000 years ago. Leather, like the clubs he went to 2 years ago. Before this happened. Before they caught up with him and bound him. "Father! Father! Why dost thou love me like so? What kind of love is this?" As he gazed towards heaven, into the eyes of the centurion, acting out a fantasy repressed... Master... Master... Silence. Silence was the word that was spoken. Silence, slave. They pierced his side. The murderer Longinus. The wound tore straight through his heart, his virginity taken from him, his innocence, his purity as he bleed out of the gash whence the spear penetrated. His psychic hymen pierced. The innocent one took upon himself the sins of the world, blackness, blackness, black PVC Vinyl... A ball and gag. The wooden post, the pole upon which we was stretched and laid bare. That giant phallus, straight out of the hermaphroditic ground, the mound of mother earth, Golgotha, the hill of skulls, a mountain of death, and the club. Club Golgotha... Leather and Lace. Blood and Lust. Metal tasted upon thy mouth, blood, but more... Metallic spikes on the collar. Dog.
2:06 PM - One minute later, two-thousand years ago:
His mother went to a tomb. His sepulcher. White-washed. The blood of the lamb, spilled upon the ground... Splashed across her face. He gave up the ghost. Gave up the ghost, holy, and dead. It arose, and left the body, rotting dead. And she wept. Her son, her beloved son, son of David, son of Man, son of God. Jacob, Israel, redeemer of 12 tribes. The 13th at the center of the circle. Triskaidekaphobia. The death of the head, and the head of death. Skull. Golgotha, that day would forever burn in her neural networks. Fear of the 13th, the Friday, the Good Friday, the day of his death. Now and at the hour of our death, forever and ever, Amen.
All the good little Christians are leaving their churches in their mini-vans and other assorted vehicles, and headed towards the parks for a picnic, or home to watch the big game that they're praying to their god for their favorite team to win...
12:05 PM - The same hot Sunday afternoon:
The helicopter floated overhead, it's corporate logo: CNN sprawled across the side. The videotronic eye gazed at the figure below. The figure, shining in a brilliant halo of white, standing in the midst of a median of an LA freeway. This bald headed man with a goatee stumbled back and forth, struggling to break free of his white garments. This clothing that shone as the sun, but was strangling him. Not like the robes of old. No, this damned straight-jacket bound by leather straps. Leather, like the straps that tore his flesh 2,000 years ago. Leather, like the clubs he went to 2 years ago. Before this happened. Before they caught up with him and bound him. "Father! Father! Why dost thou love me like so? What kind of love is this?" As he gazed towards heaven, into the eyes of the centurion, acting out a fantasy repressed... Master... Master... Silence. Silence was the word that was spoken. Silence, slave. They pierced his side. The murderer Longinus. The wound tore straight through his heart, his virginity taken from him, his innocence, his purity as he bleed out of the gash whence the spear penetrated. His psychic hymen pierced. The innocent one took upon himself the sins of the world, blackness, blackness, black PVC Vinyl... A ball and gag. The wooden post, the pole upon which we was stretched and laid bare. That giant phallus, straight out of the hermaphroditic ground, the mound of mother earth, Golgotha, the hill of skulls, a mountain of death, and the club. Club Golgotha... Leather and Lace. Blood and Lust. Metal tasted upon thy mouth, blood, but more... Metallic spikes on the collar. Dog.
2:06 PM - One minute later, two-thousand years ago:
His mother went to a tomb. His sepulcher. White-washed. The blood of the lamb, spilled upon the ground... Splashed across her face. He gave up the ghost. Gave up the ghost, holy, and dead. It arose, and left the body, rotting dead. And she wept. Her son, her beloved son, son of David, son of Man, son of God. Jacob, Israel, redeemer of 12 tribes. The 13th at the center of the circle. Triskaidekaphobia. The death of the head, and the head of death. Skull. Golgotha, that day would forever burn in her neural networks. Fear of the 13th, the Friday, the Good Friday, the day of his death. Now and at the hour of our death, forever and ever, Amen.
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Date: 2002-12-07 02:38 pm (UTC)I told you I liked this in person of course, but thought I'd add some more feedback here just to be obnoxious. ;)
I hope you keep working on this and can't wait for more updates, hon. :)