Jesus, Shakespeare and the guy with searching eyes
Perhaps I should make this addendum to my last post. It sucked. It was snarky and childish. But it was adequate for what it said. The sentiment is still true. Except in hindsight I don’t really dig the way I said it. But I ain’t erasing shit. It stands. I mean hey…Even Billy Shakespeare had his off days, I can just imagine him saying “Verily doth the word before sucketh much, alack I have tainted mine quill with such verbosity. I shall prize open another keg of beer and try again for I have a yearning to speak.”…Hey man how do you think he got the inspiration for Falstaff (no I ain’t explaining the humor there, trust me. I made a funny!).
You know people always seem shocked that I am a fan of Shakespeare. And love his stuff. And I even have an active knowledge of his works….I almost named my daughter Cordelia…Damn right I am that cool!
Anyway here’s some stuff I have been thinking about.
The God thing. I’ll sort out. Really alot of my reaction is about dogma, rhetoric and unsurpassed stupidity. I don’t really give a fuck how we came to be, evolution, creationism, a celestial scratch and win ticket. And I don’t give a damn about your Rapture or you prophecy. Geez man, what makes you entitled to know what comes? If there will be an end it will come even if you have highlighted in 4 different colors all the doomsday prophesies you can find.
My loss in faith comes from the fact that right there in the middle of your holy book there is four books that talk about this great life. What he was really holds no relevance, if it does you may have missed the point. See this guy came and he was human, so human. He hurt, he wanted to give up, he got angry and he did what he thought was right. And all he said through it all is “Don’t put so much stock in what is here, but love each other. Make this trip easy for those around you and for God’s sakes people, stop being dicks!”
Unfortunately a club formed around the dude and they have lost the whole damned point. It’s like watching people starve to death while the cooks stand around arguing over the recipe.
Bah! I am a Jesus guy…You Christians can have the rest.
And I have been thinking about the things we say, in throes of passion, orgasm, love, need. Whatever your moment is.
When we promise. When we pledge and when we swear on our names, cross our heart and hope to die.
The promise of I’ll always be there, I will love you, you’ll never be alone no matter how far apart we are.
Then time comes and beats the drum and alone you both go. In that terrible lonely heartache. Does the promise still count? Are they still there? Do they see you and feel you when you lay alone and long for someone to speak, someone to soothe. Are they there in the broken heart they made?
Makes you wonder about the way we speak. Is it the rehearsed lines? Or the lust? But somehow we say these things we don’t keep.
Speaking of heartache.
I got this image of a dying God in my head. It was killed by the dagger and thrust of a broken heart. Here comes the confession. And I don’t know, maybe I am unique, but I have been so sad, so hurt and so lost after losing someone that I start talking to God, because when you’re that fucking spun ain’t no one want to be your friend. And talking to God it comes to making deals “Hey There God, listen if you bring her back I promise I’ll be good and I’ll do the things I’m suppose to” and she never comes back. Then you try to tip the deal, sweeten the holy pot I guess “Hey God, I’ll go to church an I’ll help poor folks and quit my rambling. Just make her call, make the phone ring and let her be sweet and soft again.” But the phone never rings. And you hurt more and the booze don’t cut it down and the numbness is not enough. So you try again “God, take this hurting”. And it never leaves, it gets into your bones and makes your crazy and punch-drunk.
So the idea of God himself starts to get pulled apart. thoughts about the possibility that if there is this loving God, he’d never leave you alone like that. If there was a God maybe he’d come back and tell you why it was the way it is.
The answer never comes.
You eventually grow out the hurt. But it still stings. You hide the hurt and move forward. And it only hurts on certain days of the year at certain hours of the day. Or maybe at certain intersections when you pass by and see the ghost standing there reminding you of what used to be.
You know this stuff all makes me sound so scattered and schizoid. But I am not. Honest Injun! I am nuts, I am at times spacey and I am the animal/machine. But I write this because….Well I don’t totally know. Maybe because I never have anyone around who speaks my language, maybe it’s because when I have tried to speak my truth you earthlings are either doubtful, scolding or without much understanding. I mean come on Bubba, you ever try to shoe horn in a conversation about the nature of love, sex, feathers and the nature of God when there’s talking about the weather and American Idol going on?
Sheesh…Where was I?
Never mind! What I mean is I want to fuck, fight, talk all night, get drunk, watch the world crumble around me, listen to a song that can make me cry, smell the perfume of a woman on my pillow. Someone (more than one) asked me recently “What are you looking for?” well maybe that’s it. To feel that alive again. To feel it all like I know it can be felt.
Is that too much to ask?