sacrilegious against God or sacred things; profane
an expression of praise, thanks, or rejoicing
(especially in a religious context)
we are an entire generation with the broken pieces of our religion scattered on the floor around us.
slowly, carefully, are are trying to separate the truth from the lies.
what the fuck am i to do with the God i once believed in?
to simply unbelieve seems, at times, too good for Him.
his hands are full of blood.
Time is meaningless, and so is existence, but
I am ensnared in both,
god in skin trapped in meaningless time and
meaningless existence and
craving meaning I make it myself.
don’t you see?
the craving of meaning is the beginning of meaning,
the desire for a story drives my pen
so i write stories.
I write meaning into the meaningless,
I call into the void and the voice
I hear echo across the chasm is my own, but
we are alive and it is enough.
this is bullshit.
I’m writing bullshit.
it doesn’t matter.
do you feel that? do you feel the pen in your hand moving?
your ligaments and finger-bones given over to vesslehood,
given in service to the river of words, the words become flesh
and possess my skin and finger bones and
my brain is quiet,
ego has no say here, he
only watches and provides spelling advice
while the hand and the river of words commune,
i slip my fingers into her and make myself one with her,
give myself completely to the attention of her every breadth and curve,
the river and whisper of desire,
desire to be known,
desire to exist,
desire to be once again connected to all things
I am the point of connection,
my fingertips are the locus of alchemy.
I make magic,
I make love,
I make meaning out of
I make the river sing.
acrylic, deconstructed king james bible, ash
please don't go
corkboard, duct tape, spray paint, large paper clip, push pins, sticky note, found print media
deconstructed church pew, found sacred objects
deconstructed church pew
weep for your children
acrylic / spray paint, king james bible, laser printer toner, found bible dictionary
i am (called)
I have seen heaven empty,
and the earth full of glory.
I have seen freedom outside
the walls of orthodoxy.
I have seen divinity dancing
in the shadow of God’s absence.
I am a witness to existence itself;
I cannot be anything else.
I am a prophet long abandoned
by his God, still
I am a voice crying in the void.
the universe (in human skin)
the god i believed in
stole from me
a thousand moments of
you are the universe
giving back all that was lost.
a thousand thousand pleasures
in human skin.
God did not speak to me
God did not speak to me.
I spoke and my voice was
I was unaware
that all the
“god” i seek is not
something, someone, an
entity bearing being somewhere
beyond the universe.
god has only always been
everything, and I
i am (god / nothing)
i am God.
i am nothing.
neither i nor God exist.
we are both
the emptiness that remains
when ego and idol
finally are shattered
and with them all
illusion of separation.
i said to you the other day
I said to you the other day
I don’t believe in god
and in the strictest sense
but i believe in
the sunlight on the trees
outside my window,
I believe in the half-eaten plate of nachos
my son offered me for lunch,
I believe in the plants grown in
vases and jars and assorted
vessels on my windowsill,
nurtured by the hands of the woman I love,
hands trained to save lives by
scalpel and injection in emergency room bays
but which prefer small leaves
and new roots these days
once upon a time i
robbed the universe of her glory
and gave it to another,
gave glory to God for
the beauty of the earth, i
looked in vain for the supernatural
and in doing so blasphemed
our untamed galaxies, i
allowed Trinity to colonize the wind,
all for the sake of
a man in the sky with a beard
who never loved me back.
but God is gone and i am
free and full of wonder.
i fall silent before
the river and the trees
and the moon and the birds
and all the empty space inside molecules
and the silence is a
here in the shadow of the absence of God
all I can say is holy holy holy