"I shall tear down the obscene edifices of religion. And if humanity should suffer by my hand, so be it; for Mine is the kingdom."
I SIT in a high-backed rattan chair, staring at the ceiling of a dingy 10 x 10 room in a state-sponsored Church bordello. It sickens me. Sister Claire kneels before me. She bathes me. Washes the scum of our sex from my penis. She is young and blonde, and devoted to both her religion and her profession. She sickens me. To ensure the prosperity of her church she offers up her flesh to any who will have her; can pay for her; buy her. Her diary is always full. The religion for whose cause she sells her filthy meat sickens me.
Sitting in a rattan chair in a dingy room I close my eyes but do not sleep.
WHEN I SLEEP I DREAM of the place where the roads cross. A signpost reads: Golgotha. It indicates no particular direction, and yet points in every direction. To my left stands a vagrant. He is a stereotype. He carries a placard, its timber shaft angled across his right shoulder as if he carries The Cross. The legend on his placard reads: REPENT, THE END IS NIGH. It is just another headline. The “End” is an oversimplified conception, repentance a painless option.