GOD is a white guy in his 30’s. GOD wears a royal blue Petsmart hat.  GOD has on a grey, short-sleeve button down shirt with a clip-on i.d. badge. GOD’s i.d. badge contains no letters or numbers, just a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge with a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge on it, and so on into infinity. GOD has cold sores on the corners of his mouth. GOD wears stone-washed jeans. They’re too short, but they have an elastic waist which is really comfortable, so it kinda makes up for the whole “too short” thing. GOD needs really thick “George H. W. Bush” glasses so he can open the rodent cages at work. GOD grew a mustache to hide the scarring from years of using old crusty disposable razors. GOD wears high-tops from 1998. They’re rather worn, but remarkably clean. GOD knows what to do with his hands, but not so much his fingers. GOD is in her 20’s. GOD is sad sometimes and she doesn’t know why. GOD nods. GOD once proved that the country of France does not exist. The fact that the country of France actually does exist makes the accomplishment that much more astounding! GOD is the dark and terrible Dragoyle! The first and last of his kind! GOD is a vicious, taloned beast born of the boiling pits of Borok-‘Tor! His reptilian wings expand across all of space and time and, with even the most gentle twitch, stir up a dense shear of molten flame scalding the skin of all Creation! GOD’s ancient black-diamond eyes, forged from eons of wrath and pain blast-melted in the great furnace that is his heavy heart, peer only inward, leaving him an uncompromising and limitlessly powerful but ultimately humiliating and repulsively weepy creature! GOD is All and All is king of all of All and all of He! GOD is the Unmirror. GOD is the final mathematic tragedy of what happens when we only ever try. GOD is the ghost of a dead thing that never was. GOD is the shattered, petrified shell of Pandora’s box cast down to the crackled crust of Pan’s windless desert. GOD loves you more than himself because GOD knows you are real. GOD farts on books! GOD sips on soup! GOD is a very serious actor in full make-up and costume doing an intense and superbly crafted representation of God, getting to the heart, the true reality of what it is to be God, the essence of Goddom, but in the end fears losing control and holds back, resulting in not genius but blasphemy! GOD masturbates to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! GOD caught you ******* to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! One time GOD got so drunk he forgot you were in the room! GOD invited you to the event “Max’s Karaoke Birthday Bash”! GOD knows you, but isn’t in know with you! GOD is 8,9,12,5,9,4! GOD is . . . ! -hha-hha- GOD is heard breathing. GOD breathes like you do when you’re asleep. At the start of each breath there is a very poignant yet very subtle lip-smack sound. The breathing is steady, never changing pace. Like that of Darth Vader only intentionally ridiculous. Like that of a ticking metronome only . . .  lifeful, which is a brand new word.

Will the Baul ever quit his search
Singing all through the-
Deserted land, ektara a trail of his
Existence walked him with no promises.
Will He ever listen to their bald cries?
To His realm they say beyond the blues,
Life awaits out of the tableau of massacres.
The world of assumptions tampered
By a philosopher’s fairy tale decides
Birth, death, rebirth, curse and richness?
The blind light is biting his body, heart & soul
He still needs it, his poppy tears.
The system needs it to tear him open,
His body, heart and soul in vain.
Music of the Baul has no destination
Still the voyage is essential.
Ektara has to walk with him, all through
The barren lands, villages and futility.
There’s no end to his search!

She is gone
And eternity will not soften these sorrows
Will not change the rivers
Will not alter their course
Only set in stone stupidity
Those fallacies
That justify wasting this life
In favor of the next

He is gone
Though the nightmares continue
Wars are still raging
The heavenly host are not saving
The women from ******
And the children from dying

I am dead
King of corpses
Equal, more, and less to all
The master of dirt
I did not turn away
I listened even when it caused me pain
Even when it caused me shame
Even when the bad news came

God is dead
That never was walking *******
Excuses
We used
To justify the abuse
They do not work
The only demon that exists
Persists in ill intent

Non-believer in a holy land,
Stained glass tells my favorite fairy tales,
While crypts whisper to the Angel choir,
"Gloria a Dio.. Cristo Pietà."

The street reeks of burnt things,
Incense offered to the man in the hills.
Perched above the people and nestled below the heavens,
The tranquil streets carry their own version of history.

Father says this place holds magic,
And I fear to displease him.
I'll pray for him on graves and make blood sacrifices,
But not for me, my soul is already liberated.

The streets glow bright neath the shadow of church spires,
A history that speaks for itself.
The hills will sing its praises as will I,
For the piazza of storytellers,
For the direct line to martyrdom,
Never will I fathom them.

Bible literature
Foretells the rapture
With the breaking
Of the Seventh Seal;
But there's an Eighth
That seals our mouths;
Broken
When we're laid out.
We'll never know,
That all along,
There's nothing at all
To worry about.

They claimed to have heard a voice in the sky
A voice that promised a civilization to safety and salvation
But maybe I was too deaf to realize
Or even hear that such a voice could be heard from thousands of miles up high
Maybe I was too ignorant and followed my own instincts and lies
But who are you to blame me, I was a young child
Eyes that have not yet been opened
Arms kept clean to the years to come, and counting
Skin left to reflect the admiration the moon has for its lover
And a smile kept genuine, that served as a curtain for the crooked teeth behind it
I was a young child at 9

Years passed and the moon still had a lover
The sun emanated its guidance and love for her
Yet the people still worshipped the voice above them
I heard they started building statues and churches, to which I turned the other ear
Because the only thing I believed was that they were soon to crumble
And become the origin of which is rubble,
A combination of corpses, offerings and slavery on top of one another
I refused to believe that such a voice could lead a civilization to destruction
Yet people were so deceived, their heads remained high,
Exposing their necks to a god that I called a murderer
But who are you to blame me, I was an ‘ignorant’ girl
My eyes were coated with the truth
I had stopped counting the years I was clean
And began to enumerate and name the scars I hid beneath my sleeves
Yet my skin remained warm from the radiance of two lovers I believed
The sun guided me and the moon sang me to sleep
I was an ‘ignorant’ girl at 17
The year when my genuine smile, disappeared

Now I am left with nothing else but to question
And in return receive an answer not worth my time nor the oppression,
That I experienced throughout this lifetime I chose to not believe in them
The 'them' who claimed to have heard the voice in the sky
And the 'I' that chose to turn deaf enough to realize
That there is no such thing as a perfect civilization of safety and salvation
I was not ignorant because I had my facts laid out in front of me and them
But they never believed a word I tried to verbalize,
How ironic for a nation of people to believe a non-existent voice from the sky
To which they turned their backs to the sun that kept them warm and to the moon of dimmed brightness and light

But now, I am left with nothing
So I went back to where it all started, the origin, and held my head up high
Revealed my neck to the god I believed was a lie
And for a split second, I thought my neck would cut open and blood would start coursing down my chest instead of my throat

I believed I thought I would die

n.j.