Bible

The theory of evolution of liberal christians

Christians laugh when I read them the Bible
“Such a thing God never said!”, they say.
“And if he did – he didn’t mean it like that!”, they add.
“But if he meant it like that, then you’re taking it out of context!” they scoff.
“Well, if it’s in context, the Bible isn’t literal!”, they mock.
But they only mock the Lord God who said it.


The church of the Holy Trinity

(Uppsala, 16th century)

In worn and warm lutheran wooden pews
Inside of windows nailed shut with boards
So that they might not spot the dignity pass by
On their way to the cathedral next door
In mid-winter darkness with only
The flickering light of living candles 
Caressing the walls of hewd stone and paintings
Bible stories and devils and Eden
Sat peasants tucked in like hens in their nests
Coughing mumbling buzzing night
Before the elderly gesticulating priest
Loudly reading the sermon on the mount
From a leather bound King Charles XII Bible
Like a prophet on the walls of Jericho
As snow fell outside
Pure as righteousness from on high

Nomad

The written word is all I have
If I had anything else I would give it to you
Although this desert is cold during nights
-then i take off the chameleon skin and talk to the planets-
Still the ether burns in the daytime
Like wild geeze in airplane engines
Like how sanity of exile
Whispers away as conscience
Of adulterous eyes
And the weariness of being exhausts me
And how would I know how to deal with that?
Since my psychologist retired on the third visit
And left me hanging like lynched ideals from imaginary trees of life
Worn out as beggar shoes I reside in these sand storms
Feeding of the cactuses like camels in Arabia
Then I scribble subjective universal truth on worthless papyrus pieces 
Found in some back alley monastary of heretical desert fathers
And leave it for the sheep to digest
Or to ignore like thorns and thickets
In the pastures of their mind’s oasis
As my mind is all over the place
It is wandering like driftwood on the oceans
I am not yet domesticated
But the universe rocks us to sleep in the cradle of societies
We get spun together by merchant plots behind the set
Only to jog in our hamster wheels of misfortune
And revel in melancholy as do as Nordic folks and speak mundanely about the weather
Yet you don’t have to surrender 
To the passing of time
And let the desert heat make you weak and disillusioned 
So that you wander off for forty years
Awaiting unrepentant death of your murmering flesh
Just lift your eyes and elevate your trail
And I will write you the map to your ports by the ocean
Past the prisons of Gaza
Where we can all drink of the saltwater
And become the light of the world
Once and for all

Religious wars

life is is a growing process

like river and forest

the scenic landscape of past atrocities

like running jumping baby goats in the corral of the psyche

and people are unsocialised dogs

barking their ears of on podcasts for deaf minds

wasting space and time

staying concerned by stupid questions

mostly rumors of war and environmental lies fabricated by the headquarters

of Orwellian self-fullfilled prophecies

sanskrit screenshots of enlightenment

that cost more than mammon’s materia and will seduce the feeble minds

that wander the earth like Kipling’s Kim

joining their cult of preference

because dancing around the tulasi tree is the same ritual of idolatry

as bowing to the pastoral authority of someone elses pastor

in oxymoronic doctrinal wars

instead of saying “I cannot tell” and proceeding to read your Bible