It's Easter. This weekend I had wanted to write something thoughtful about Jesus, and how much I actually dig the New Testament (at least the gospels anyway), from a secular/atheists perspective.
But here I am in the middle of it, hungover 3 days in a row now on a train on my way into the city to do something illegal a small group of friends who don't know my name, having had a conversation with my lady-friend this morning about how that wasn't someone's cock in my mouth and trying to read Hunter S Thompson (Generation of Swine) but can't pull my crash-scene gored aftermath of a brain together enough to turn these yellowed pages or hold a thought.
As far as Christianity goes, I made my lady-friend watch Matrix 2 with me a pointed out how much correlation Keuno Reeves is given to Jesus.
This was a few days after some joke references I made in a poem about the road to Damascus. But my name isn't Saul and I've never fallen off a horse. Or gotten on one. And no one gets these references. Because they haven't watched Ben Hur. Or that Max Von Syndow one.
One day I want to ride a donkey into Jerusalem though. But only if I can wear a stupid T shirt or a dress. Singing Tool lyrics. Hunter would approve, I know he would. I'm still thirty-three years old for another week.
Thought about converting to Islam when I was nineteen. But right now I just want more chocolate. Fuck The Pope.
Jesus, for a sinner like me, it comes down to this. I think you're a cool guy. I just don't like the company you keep.