September 13: Zombie Jesus, New Poem, Mythology

I don't have a lot of time this afternoon, but I did promise to post the poem I wasn't very sure about last night.  I read it to my poet friend, and she really loved it.  It does verge on blasphemous, I think.  However, it is a dramatic monologue/prose poem.  Think of it as a character speaking in a movie or play.  This poem is my Shakespearean soliloquy.  I think.

I'm still getting ready to teach my mythology class this afternoon.  I'm not quite sure how I'm going to approach today's material.  It's a lot more of the historical background of Greek myth.  I'm not sure how to interest my students interested for an hour and a half in it.  I need to tie it closely to something they do care about.  I'm not sure what that something is, but that's what I need to do.

Anyhow, it's date night.  My wife and I can't really afford to do anything expensive.  I told her yesterday that ice cream may be our one purchase this evening.  She's fine with that, though.

Well, I have to get some kind of lesson figured out now.

Saint Marty hopes you take this poem in the spirit in which it was written.  You can figure out for yourself what that spirit was.

Jesus' Number One Fan

My favorite is the one about the son and the prostitutes, how the son ate pig slop because he was so hungry.  That kills me.  It really does.  I mean, his dad gives him all this gold and silver, and the dumb shit ends up eating pig food.  Jesus, that's a good one.  I've read all those Bible stories, even the boring ones about all that begatting.  Who cares?  I mean, really.  No offense.  But that crucifixion.  That's what I'm talking about.  You need to stick to shit like that.  Crosses and thorns and spikes and spears.  That's great, man.  You know what my favorite part is?  When You look down at everybody and say, "Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do."  That got them in their balls, Jesus.  Yeah.  Brought them right to their fucking knees.  I bet they all went home and thought, "Jesus, I am so fucked."  Then, three days later, You come back as this Holy Zombie, all full of holes and shit.  And You didn't go and eat the high priest's brains or anything.  You went around saying "I forgive you" and telling people where to go fishing.  If I'd been You, man, I'd have gone all Night of the Living Dead on them.  Blood and intestines.  Just so that, when they saw me coming, they'd have said, "Holy fucking Christ."  That's what I'm talking about.  Pigs. Prostitutes.  Nails.  Zombies.  Holy fucking Christ.  Amen, man.  Amen.

The Sacred Heart of Zombie Jesus