The ordinary person's guide to understanding the world around us,
brought to you by one who sees clearly.
When two runs to five And five walks to ten And blood still flies From his ears and his eyes; Still flows down his chest And covers his groin, Races over his toes and onto the Roof of the shrine (curiously wrought in Sodomite salt) Where it pools like a fat red coin— When rents in his flesh Fresh as day one Bend you over to retch On the floor, graceless you Rise And sprint for the door. Outside In the sun, you kneel and you pray Like rabbits in bewildered surprise Understanding at last your tenuous Hope is dead as a November fly; Because ten limps to twenty, Twenty crawls to the end. And absolution is the province Of gods not crucified men. 3/1/2008 J. Piquette Jr.
"...all I really feel, when i take the time to actually think about it, is a species of smoldering hatred toward my principal antagonist which neither sharpens nor dulls with the passage of time. I have actively tried to issue forgiveness, whether or not this person deserves it, and independently of any objective entitlement to render same (if only to clear my own mind of the malignancy taking hideous residence there) but have thus far been completely unsuccessful. And now, it must be afforded, I may indeed take this creature with me to my grave, for each day leaves me further in arrears and less willing to smother the twitching violence in my heart--and that horrible prospect of an otherwise fulfilling life stained ruddy by the ichor of hatred--with the diminishing need for a lasting spiritual peace vanward of my own death."|
"Thus to answer your question frankly, good sir, there will be no reconciliation. There will be no white dove, and no olive branch. I believe the words of the poem quite speak for themselves and transport the reader with little ambiguity to one inescapable conclusion: payment has been proffered, and the transaction is complete, unalterable, final."
|(The Truth, unfortunately, doesn’t inspire bloodbaths anywhere near as well as religious conflict and is therefore not very popular among The Great Unwashed, AKA The Mob, The Flock, or... The Constituency.)|
"Just leave me alone, asshole," he seemed to say as I snapped his picture while lying flat on the floor. He was an awfully big bastard of a spider, and I found myself remembering my cousin Tom, who hated spiders, was deathly afraid of them, and how he always seemed to produce a can of raid whenever he crossed trails with one. Tom was killed on his bicycle in 1987 while riding home from campus in Ft. Collins. Some numb nuts college kid zipping too fucking fast into a left turn ended Tom's life before it even really got into high gear. It's one of those things, everyone said. Just one of those things.
Tom had this grip strengthening thing he used to squeeze all the time. Like a spring with handles, and he'd walk around the house we shared messing with it all the time. I have it, now, have kept it to this day. I put it aside after Tom died, and I'd look at it and wonder how it could be that he was simply gone. Just like that. After everything was over, and we all had trundled back to our various lives, I put it with my belongings and have kept it with me over the years, twenty-one of them now. And every so often I will take it out of the place where I keep it and I will give it a squeeze, remembering.
I imagine Tom would have wanted me to kill that huge wolf spider before he leaped onto my nose and repaid me for interrupting his day with a vicious bite. But I didn't, and the spider didn't. After I picked myself up off the floor, he sped away down the hall and under a door. Gone.
I hope he had a good life.
Make your fingers move,
If only to Feel them quake.
Make your eyelids lift,
If only to Watch your fingers
Make your tongue slither
Out between your pale lips,
If only to Taste
Briny cake blanketing your
Make your frozen mouth
Beg salvation of your God
−if only to Hear
The cold laughter of your fear−
howling down the corridor,
whipping up the dogs.
John Piquette Jr.
".......and yet it's the
pervasiveness of the evil in
humanity which drives
people away from religion.
An interesting irony."
|A fundamental truism, often overlooked and under-emphasized because of its simplicity: Ignorance is bliss.||Ignorance is bliss.|
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Very soon now we shall discuss in detail
the human invention of supernatural evil. This
discussion is of some importance if you are to understand your own nature and
your place within the cosmos. If you are a Christian and have concerns
about this material, or anything else you may read on my web site, please direct
them to your pastor. He will mislead you in the right direction.
* * *
1/9/09, J. Piquette Jr.