This is for Jimmy Swaggart:
I’m a murderer. If corpses could suck breath eleven would tell you that it is so.
Why? For the joy of a righteous cause. Whilst their eyes leap with fear, mine do a burgeoning dance of orgasmic pleasure. Raping them and gargling their blood is the only way to conquer arbitrariness and its snotty producers.
I’m a Messiah. I happened to compensate for those that have already failed; that dickhead Levi, his arrogance inflated dog, Fat Crowley, and that wimpy, street trick dude … what’s his name? Jeez something, I think it was.
I’ll succeed because no one can harm me. Nothing can stop me. I AM. I’ll read history books about myself. The city will bow to me [a thirty-six wheeler truck winds around the corner at an ooh-too-fast speed]. I’ll rule the world [the driver fights the wheel desperately]. Planets will tremble in my presence. God will step aside! [Messiah # 45 323 steps into the road, blinded by his wisdom and deafened to the half-screamed warning of a passing vagrant]. I will ru-URGH!
S P L A T !
NB: This is an audacious parable (as related by a scribbler drinking Black Label) to be heeded by psychopaths, killers, gods, rapists, lead singers of house and acid bands, and, especially (dear Rowan), bank managers.
NB2: Think that i wrote this in 1991. It was against that hypocritical, enormously popular, evangelist, Jimmy Swaggart, who got caught twice with prostitutes. He and his family are still making millions selling the word of god. Read about that idiot at Wikipedia.
