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Ace of Spades

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Ace of Spades

I found an ace of spades on the sidewalk. I am always finding things on the sidewalk.

“The ace of spades, the death card.” A mobster was found shot with the death card in his “bejeweled paw.” The US troops rained them down upon the superstitious Viet Cong, psychological warfare by the Bicycle Secret Weapon. “The ace of spades, the death card.” I found it on the sidewalk, rained on and trampled, and put it in my bag.

“All I do is wait in silence and dread,” Maggie said. What a poetic turn of phrase. I do not wait anymore. Because I do not want anymore, maybe. I am going places but I do not have any plans. I will take life as it comes, maybe. Patient and observing. Perhaps I will put down roots.

So let’s just talk about it. I am buying a house. Maybe. It was built 129 years ago. It is white and cream. It has original wood floors and an exposed brick interior wall. It has lead paint and needs new wiring. I love it.

I am terrified. To go about this venture all on my own. To pour a lot of money into fixing up an old dwelling. To have to work the yard! All for the sake of hexagonal yellow ottomans and maybe a pet crow? It is never enough/it is always too much. Easily bored and easily overwhelmed. I refuse to sit around and wait for things to happen but at the same time I do not like doing things on my own.

Do you remember when I went to Paris? All alone. I was terrified. Never having left the country before. Jet-lagged out of my mind in a big unfriendly city. Easily traumatized? Obviously.

But I wasn’t going to wait for anybody. I had things to do so I was going to do them. The same applies here. I cried outside of church for half an hour because this is a very scary thing to do when you’re alone and unsure of it.

Patient and observant? I don’t know. How can you be patient and observant when you also try to be moving? Maybe I am a tree, put down roots after all and let the branches move freely. I’m in no rush here. Perfectly content to eat Rockwell’s ice cream and think about blood sacrifice and religion.

And that’s it, you know—everything has a price. For mankind to live the sinless Man had to die. Is it wrong to say I wish we practiced animal sacrifice in modern religion? The intense tangibility of ending one life so another can keep on living. I can imagine myself sobbing at the altar of our God. I can imagine the endless red.

Everything has a price. Everything has two sides. I choose what I choose, and I must pay.

“Ace of spades—Port of Morrow—Life is death is life."

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Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

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Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

I crack my scriptures open and in my head I hear the phrase

"...their barbaric religion"

spoken like it's a line from some book, or movie;

the way someone in the future describes (now-defunct) Christianity.

 

 

I have fallen on the page where Jesus tells the Twelve to drink his blood and eat his body

"...their barbaric religion" the voice said.

 

 

The 21st century LDS part of me tried to twist it, tried to tell me to see it as beautiful, as not troublesome at all—

But then another part said "no, embrace it."

And so I did.

I thought of the violence of it. The violence of eating flesh and drinking blood. Of Christ being torn and beaten. Of a hundred thousand lambs with their throats cut on the tabernacle floor. Of door posts smeared with red, of armies being crushed under the pounding sea.

Why is it necessary, this violence? Why must  there be violence, bodily violence, so mankind can return to God?

I thought of death as a door. Of the hundred thousand lambs opening it. Of the One Lamb opening it. I do not know why death has to be so violent. Why it needs to be so violent as we return to our God.

Indeed, "their barbaric religion."

 

 

I am tired of living a sanitized version of the gospel.

I want to be lit on fire. To see it as mythology. To stare the darkness straight in the face and see that it's ablaze.

To watch it burn with blood and bone and holy holy holy fire.

 

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