I’m tired of Jesus. Bored is apt; please sir, may I have another savior? I’ve been practicing Jesus a long time. I know the years; I number them, only two offspring in my heaven. I feel like a sap. Abram must’ve been a sap, just sayin’.
I don’t believe in heaven. I want cremation; too much dust and grit and little bitty bone, even if my ashes are facing east, to me it’s anachronistically ridiculous, rising from dust while buried with my ashes facing east. I don’t believe I’ll rise from dead. Pour half my dust into a Cherokee mountain stream headwater and put other half in St. James Memorial Garden.
A Memorial Garden. That’s ridiculous too. It’s locked because homeless peeps sleep and poop there. What a bunch of idiots; they don’t care. Just lock it. I mean, I get it, but, really? Poopin’ on the dead? Yep, lock the dead dust-peeps in and lock the living homeless peeps out. Homeless can sleep and poop somewhere else. Nobody cares anyway. I mean people the church pays to care, care, but, anyone else, hmmm, I don’t think so. An other might easily offer opinion, say like me, but opinions are cheap.
Really and in our collective everydayness nobody cares. There isn’t even an “our”. Well, so, I guess there’s some “our” hanging on the cross waiting to exhale. Whatever…I want part of my dust in the garden. In 200 years no one will know what “our” meant or was. I don’t care. Well, unless dust is really reconstituted and I rise up. Reconstitution must be some kinda hell.I don’t believe in hell either. But sometimes living is goddamn difficult. It feels like despair. So sometimes in the bosom of the buckle of the bible belt, Knoxville, TN., America’s #1 Bible Minded City, God Bless the U.S.A., living despair feels hellish. I’m trying to understand my being looking back and I’m trying to live my being going forward. Why am I a Christian? Oy veh, I’m bored. I’m tired of Jesus; please Jesus, may I have another savior? I’m whining. Never talk about religion. Why are you reading this. Nobody cares.