Ode to Pennsylvania or...
Nov. 14th, 2005 11:10 pmto Pat Robertson:
how fucking dare you
sit there like you think
you are God's private and personal messenger
playing pretend with your so-called celestial speed dial
thinking that you can keep in touch with some psychotic angel
rowing with you back and forth
assuming that said angel had something to say
from the proper heavenly throne
and in the unmoved bowels of your imagination
you envision that the post-mortem choir
singing you to your reward
you are like Jack the Ripper
killing innocents like Herod
because you were fulfilling a mandate from God
you are the embodiment of pride
all your holy blessed silly superstitions
are falling one by one by one
and there is no other imagining you can hold onto
like a flame in a candle already snuffed out
you are an embarrassment to religion in general
and an insult to people who can breathe
you would have excommunicated Galileo
you would have put Joan on the fire
you would have Coton Mather hung for not being passionate enough
you would have secretly fucked J Edgar Hoover in the ass
while planning another raid on a bathhouse
the biggest hypocrite and damage to Jesus good name
stares back at you in the mirror
while you're shaving
trying hard not to cut yourself
so as not blaspheme the holy myth
and fantasize your bathroom faucet
be mistaken for the holy grail
I will not pray for you
rather I will wait
as your feeble mind begins its recesses into madness
imagining your reception on white clouds
crossing white gates
to be greeted by a white god
to don you with a white robe
and white, white, white people cheering
in bold heterosexual exultations
"well done thou faithful servant"
while our lord prepares a feast of crow and hat
waiting for your to gaze in shock and awe
a rainbow of people
freed from want,
slavery,
false judgement,
dishounour,
fear
and your reward as you dine
on those tough tamales
force fed by the same demons you created
chained to a rock
and ripped open bloody by your own sadness
reincarnation
as a gay black woman
and God will not hear your pleas for mercy
how fucking dare you
sit there like you think
you are God's private and personal messenger
playing pretend with your so-called celestial speed dial
thinking that you can keep in touch with some psychotic angel
rowing with you back and forth
assuming that said angel had something to say
from the proper heavenly throne
and in the unmoved bowels of your imagination
you envision that the post-mortem choir
singing you to your reward
you are like Jack the Ripper
killing innocents like Herod
because you were fulfilling a mandate from God
you are the embodiment of pride
all your holy blessed silly superstitions
are falling one by one by one
and there is no other imagining you can hold onto
like a flame in a candle already snuffed out
you are an embarrassment to religion in general
and an insult to people who can breathe
you would have excommunicated Galileo
you would have put Joan on the fire
you would have Coton Mather hung for not being passionate enough
you would have secretly fucked J Edgar Hoover in the ass
while planning another raid on a bathhouse
the biggest hypocrite and damage to Jesus good name
stares back at you in the mirror
while you're shaving
trying hard not to cut yourself
so as not blaspheme the holy myth
and fantasize your bathroom faucet
be mistaken for the holy grail
I will not pray for you
rather I will wait
as your feeble mind begins its recesses into madness
imagining your reception on white clouds
crossing white gates
to be greeted by a white god
to don you with a white robe
and white, white, white people cheering
in bold heterosexual exultations
"well done thou faithful servant"
while our lord prepares a feast of crow and hat
waiting for your to gaze in shock and awe
a rainbow of people
freed from want,
slavery,
false judgement,
dishounour,
fear
and your reward as you dine
on those tough tamales
force fed by the same demons you created
chained to a rock
and ripped open bloody by your own sadness
reincarnation
as a gay black woman
and God will not hear your pleas for mercy