You keep begging but I’m pretty sure whatever God you’re on your knees for is changing its hearing aid. Use the dying breath you twist your screws into. Perhaps you’re doing it wrong? Like, your kneeling posture is wrong, or perhaps you’re not saying it correctly. You may want to go ahead and double check the manual, just to be on the safe side. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
The priests with their promises of eternal bliss and lecherous eyes; they’re the real bullet kings. The strong armed weapons of mass blindfolds. As long as it ends with the promise of riches and gold and milk and honey and everything nice and comfy. Worldly possessions left at the feet of a demigod tortured just for you. Don’t you feel so special? None of it matters until you give to the congregation. Make them understand they feel extra special to you. Do it. Do it. Do it.
A hollowed apple, rotten and green and black on the underside yet bright and red and crisp and glowing in the sun. Just drink the Kool Aid already. Shut the fuck up and sit down, everything’s taken care of. Worries? Pishaw, good sir. Pishaw. There are no worries past the pearly gates! No religion or rape or maim or torture or jealousy. Well, except for the God who’s digs you’re crashing in. Dude only likes his whores turned out for him and no one else.
Only your religion is correct. Unless you switch religions and then that new religion is correct. Unless you’re married to someone with a different religion than yours, and then it’s okay to switch. Probably. But no, ya, only one is correct and it’s yours.
Get ’em young, and the possibilities are endless. English accent. Loved that movie. Reprogramming to believe magic is real and actual but only in the correct context. Got a question? Mysterious ways. Got a faith issue? Only need to have faith in “Him”. But why wouldn’t a God be a woman? That’s more likely but I bet it didn’t do well in the demographics way back when.
Red is bad and so is the night. Yellow is good and so is the day. Black and White. Up and Down. Ebb and Flow. If you’re not there for the low’s then you don’t deserve to be there for the high’s. I know you couldn’t see it but I was clapping my hands together for emphasis on each word. I was also using my pouty face and gyrating my head on my neck. I swear if I had a third hand it would’ve been on my hip. Sad face. Tear. Just like when Jesus wept.
Oh but there’s the tradition of it! The Old Junk Lady has all the trash on her back, why don’t you have yours? Sorry, it’s already there. Perhaps you can’t see it because every time you swing around to look at your back it’s behind you. It’s there. Pinky swear. That scene gave me nightmares for years, just like the one I heard about as a kid where this guy gets sold for money and then he’s tortured to death over the span of several days in as horrifying a manner as one could conceive thousands of years ago.