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Grassroots me, Jesus!
Dude’s like an abomination, a monstrosity, a freaking monstromination, he like punches babies and shit (haha, you see, this is what passes for wit and political commentary now, you asked for it), have...
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Package me, Jesus!
Wanted: pubic relations expert with an eye like a metal detector who can jingle not jangle, can help me pass a neck biopsy seeking redness and/or lymphadenopathy. Must love blogs. Understand when I...
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Immolate me, Jesus!
How about don’t call me angel of the morning until your eyes know for sure that the thick rim of light you see is just an inker’s outline in the sun’s calligraphy pen. Even gas prices being what they...
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Calibrate me, Jesus!
I carry complexes wholesale, you might say I’m very complex, American voyeur yanking his own, uh, chain to high class neurotic art, but this guy I talk to whose sports jackets look like my uncle’s...
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Dumpster Dive me, Jesus!
When the inner landscape is fecund and fertile, radiating poorly organized potential, there is nothing left for you but to plummet. Facefirst is the way to go, to wear your old forgotten playthings...
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Repulse me, Jesus!
– Jiminy Crab Cakes, what in the name of all that is good and, like, you know, fucking holy is that thing? – It’s, ah, looking right at me, the kind of stare that lays bare ones innermost...
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Offend me, Jesus!
That’s right you pussy son of a bitch, don’t fuck around with any faggot P.C. pidgin, doesn’t the motherfucking shock at least resemble truth somewhere along the line? Maybe the truth is we were damned...
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Impress me, Jesus!
can you give me some reason for faith to triumph over reason (get get get away, satan, it is written) can you turn my water into (keep the good wine til later i’ll take rum bourbon brandy vodka til I...
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404 me, Jesus!
They say you can find anything these days, and I cannot help but imagine it more classically, a romanticized web of truth in the sky or underground, light as air but dense with meaning. Is it wrong...
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Body Snatch me, Jesus!
Call it epidemic mass hysteria dripping through the “aw, shucks” futile hands that raise a barrier in prayer to the national jugular vein, a limp, frowning Jackson Pollock, classify it, deconstruct it,...
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