Sunday, May 22, 2011

I Hope You Remembered the Kool-aid, Brother, Cuz Your Congregation is Going to be Pissed on Sunday

Disclaimer:This is the only thing I have somewhat salvaged from the car wreck that is yesterday's post. You can see that if this was point number 5 in my list (which it was), that the post was inherently lengthy. I wrote this yesterday along with all the other missing points. But, I had this saved in a word doc. (the lucky bastard) If only I had done the same to the rest. Sigh again..

I wonder what this guy is doing right now. This Prophet, that
thinks the world will end today, May 21, 2011
at approximately 6:00 pm. Though
the actual time zone seems to be a bit unclear.

I wonder if this man is married and has a family.

I wonder if  they are  sitting in their living room, holding
hands in their bubble-wrap suits, trying to be still
as their neighborhood bustles with cars and children.

Do they listen to the clink of a metal bat
hitting something of value? The yelling
and cheering from some light-hearted sand-lot ball? The Whir of
the fire-truck's mating call echoing throughout the canyon?
I'm sure that cat won't jump without blaming you first.

Are they all trying to scratch the itch on their
upper thighs, shuffling uncomfortably
 in their sealed suits, while they wait for the rocket-ship
to take them to Uranus? They will probably need helmet’s too
if they are preparing to enter the Lord’s bowels.

And possibly ear-plugs.

Do they think they are like Noah?
The way he was, ridiculed, laughed at
for warning the people the flood would consume them.

For mocking him while he constructed his ark. One beam
at a time.

One son at a time.

It is ten minutes until the Lord comes for his people
the sky is quiet, but blanketed, thick
like a dark sheath, waiting for the knife to unhinge
and strike the earth.

or it's just Bon Qui Qui with a steak knife.

The clouds move slowly, with holes spreading
in the underbelly of it’s thicket

The bluest sky swims behind it.  It’s subtle but you know it’s there.
It’s light is akin to looking into the opposite end
of a telescope.

The trees are erect, their leaves
pointing toward heaven, in hallelujah fashion, waiting
to welcome something.

or it’s just going to storm soon.

If I am going to leave the earth in five minutes,
I am going to write my way into heaven.
And possibly take a bathroom break sometime soon.
It’s not polite to enter His presence full of shit.

The breeze ruffles my hair softly, and yet
everything is still
like hushed breathes
during an asthma attack.

The Lord is everywhere.

He doesn’t need billboards, radio, and television publicity
to announce his exact return.

He will catch you off-guard:
while you are reading on the toilet,
while you are shaking the baby like a magic 8-ball
while you are watching an episode of Jersey Shore.

The Lord is funny that way.

We are a trashy reality show that
the Lord can’t stop watching
because the angels broke His Tivo.


"Girl, I will CUT you."

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