BREAKWAY

Breakway.
Breakway the stars, Breakway the sun Breakeay the moon.
Breakway.

Reach out form within. Command Me, as He said through Isaiah. I shall reach back. To purify the soul, to cleanse the mind to heal the body. Breakway.

The end already came. The books are closed. No one alive shall make it home. The Rapture has come, and it is gone. You can keep on sinning, hating and killing.
Or you can allow a new breath in to give solace to your heart. To love, and be loved. To be redeemed.
Breakway.



Your prayer is dead. Your churches relics. I heed not your sorrows, nor take your requests. Your bodies are foreign to me, your faces alien. Your language is corrupt, your speech defiled. I curse your weddings, for you are sinful when the day of the blessing arrives.
Your friends are dogs, and your enemies your neighbors.

Your religion is theatre, your worship is athleticism. Your spirit skewed by cinema. Wiping you out is akin to doing away the fly that has landed on My shoulder.

But here we are.


Thirteen generations. Through wars and upheavals, victory and boring disdain. Through your children the dead shall rise. Your children shall never be alone, for they shall sit in them like birds on a fence.

My storm comes. Your world, this Super Nova that gives no love, shall be vanquished. I shall dwell in the mountains of Colorado, where no money shall change hands.
In a cup you may pour your water or wine. It shall be My blood. And the morsel of food My flesh. No priest shall come between us.

Breakway







A Day, And A Name

Tuesday night comes. A rest, and for a few hours till the following afternoon: nothing, focused, on nothing.

Whatever lies filled my mind and whatever thoughts to escape, just go. Nowhere to fly to this day.

It is the least corrupt of the days; except the stuff with the ashes but that's not a whole year thing.

That it falls in the middle of the workweek is just one more separation.

The girl at the refugee camp was a lie. The other who woke me up is a bit crazy but all the more reason to

I stand one who shines for no one, save for an angry and demented deity who relishes in His death and glorifies at the thought of your imminent destruction.

All I want's another can of Schlitz.



Benjamin was a great man who lived in another part of the world that crumbles and where at this moment someone near where he was born is eating a cheeseburger.

When the trumpet blares he well stand, after his name is called. Anyone with that name will too stand and they will walk away in shame and with an embarrassment. That half of South America names their kid Jesus...Trying not think of where they're going.

Punishment is handed out by someone in a black robe whose breath reeks of cognac. Heaven knows no right and no wrong. It was planned this way.

Heaven knows only what smells. Good, and with tender feeling. Subtle but savage delicacy, a fantasy of flesh.

Acts of evil and betrayal, to sin, are simply venues for poisonous vexation of our Father's bile. Soul's corrupted, and is as edible as steak in the Sahara, uncooked.

"You're a great writer, now take a shower" she intoned.

My last shower was Hurricane Francis. I had some money my ma left me and it rained all night and I didn't care I knew I could buy a blanket so I just finished the fine Mexican beer

Let them read this young woman. And let them know how they smell and that all the showers in the world and they would still not get clean. And I shall continue on and with a purpose undefined and with a regard for that which is unrefined and not yet touched by sinful hands, clinging to a faint whisper of faith in this last gasp.

And that my mom was named by her mom-- Francis.




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