23 December 2009

koolaid is nice to have, too, but not required.

having a cult is the same as having a picnic. pick a nice, out of the way spot. lay out some blankets. bring games--the best are ones with no boards or pieces. all the rules in your head. every item you spread out has a story. talk up your jam, your pickles. this is different, see, made with hands, with love, intimate, the way it was meant to be. ordained. poor people dying in their cafeterias, queued up with their empty plastic trays, the waiting dead. why waste your life. why creep along in your wagon with the engine idling, why have your skin bleached by pool water when there's a swimming hole just over there. these bisquits are my body--already buttered. this jam is my blood, preserved for you. take and eat. you can taste how right this is. most everybody can't, they're dulled to life. babylon is so boring that folks can't see they're in it. so they wait on hold to get their lashing, and soon enough scars cover all their senses...blind their tongues, amputate their eyes. not you, though. you're different, lucky--you're here with me now. we see the truth, feel the truth, eat the truth. we're having a picnic.