This Little Light of Mine

I am a man of passion and conviction. Eroding. I was a priest. I got defrocked for questioning the lord's wisdom at one too many services. I guess growing up into this sort of Job, you just don't realize how lonely you'll be by the time you're 28. 


At times i feel like I'm a dying man. Like time is winding up for me. I have no science, no doctor's information, or chronic health problem that suggests this to me, just an ambiance, a feeling that maybe i'm on my way out the back door. Its just a delusion, or its a a projection more likely, of amourphous turmoil, feelings and emotions I can't even name, problems I can't identify, and therefore can't rectify, maybe they're taking on a new form, a more identifiable, yet equally unrelenting, ever-present, unbeatable form. Maybe this is the transubstantiation I am 'achieving' in the absence of Christ.

In the bible, Jesus of Nazareth rose Lazarus from the dead, straight up. Walked out of the tomb. Nothing like it. Must've stank, must've had a really gross hangover. But, man, he was alive. How many times does one get resurrected?

David Koresh wanted to have his cake and eat it too; not only did he want to have a bunch of girlfriends and guns, he wanted to be a messiah. What he got was a building on fire and a martyrdom. Now, i'm not saying the government had any right to do what they did, and in fact I hope those cruel men burn for it, but, you have to understand that your actions have consequences.


Love and sex are a million daggers. I'm not getting any love, and i'm not having any sex, But there is always the white rabbit to chase around. Or the maid, or the many different oppurtunities i have squandered time and again, trying to keep things in order, deny my urges and be a good shephard. In this department, i have about a dozen lose ends to tie up, here or there, all of them giving me vertigo, none having any clear chance of surviving my madness, my indescisions, misgivings, nonsense. I want comfort, I want warmth, I want security and companionship. I want something entirely new, adventurous, romantic, strangely appealing. I want sex. Hedonistic, sweaty, teenage fantasy, stranger in the backroom sex. These are polar opposites of which, i am terrified equally.


When Jesus had his moment of doubt, nailed up to that cross, he screamed, "Father why have you forsaken me?" But his father had not forsaken him, rather Jesus was his father, and his father he. Therefore, Jesus may as well have put himself up on that cross, Judas be damned. If he is the alpha and the omega, the all seeing all knowing, omnipotent, he knew, he made it to be so. He built that cross. He placed his beaten flesh, flesh he beat near to death with hand his own. He put it up there on that cross and he himself nailed it to those boards. Martyrs, so often self made.


Jesus, where are you? You spoke to me. You came into my mind and heart and soothed me, and set me off onto a quest. But even with a bible in hand, the answers, the certainty, is not forthcoming. Am I  forever destined to philosphical and theosphical wandering? Answer me! ...Answer my prayers.



Now, I sleep in a basement. Its cold and dark. The results of these conditions are that I never want to get out of bed in the morning, cause its warm under the covers and  its dark in the basement, tricking my mind into thinking its still night.
This morning the light bulb died.