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Date Posted: 21:41:55 04/08/02 Mon
Author: Porthos
Subject: Losing My Religion

Losing My Religion

Looking out the window, the snow flurries
Dance lazily on the breeze like bugs
Over a stagnant pond in summer.
Sound waves erupt from my speakers,
Bludgeoning me until I feel like Tyler Durdon,
Until I feel beautiful. The lyrics pray
To me, a harsh and grating exhortation:
I am a loser.

And I am in a room with my mom,
My living room actually.
Our blue leather couch is a bulge
Against the window and the matching chair
An adjacent blob, a feeding manatee
And its baby. My mom is watching TV,
Plopped in the queer looking sea beast.
Her face admits wrinkles beneath the
Veil of Mary Kay, hidden trophies
From her trials as a mama bear.
This woman who above all else
Protected me from the dark things
In the forest, those brooding creatures
That bathed in blood and moonlight,
Those creatures called father.
This woman who always put me
First and has the limp to prove it.

The snow is a frenzy now, a riot
In full bloom. My brow furrows
And I absorb the chords like heroin
Into my throbbing veins. I sit
Motionless in my room, soaking
Up the glow of my computer monitor.
Another harsh line of praise explodes
From the CD spinning mad:
I am Satan.

Eyes closed I move to the kitchen.
My mind is clear like a cloudless summer
Night, thoughts like stars: precise and vivid.
I’ll be the first to say I am accountable.
I close my hand around a steak knife
And I feel an August breeze
On my face in my January home.
I move back to the living room,
Back to my mother’s face: a kaleidoscope
Of reflected TV-land color.
I move fast, a snake lunging, burying
My metal fang into the union of her
Clavicle and sternum. Blood tears
Its way out of her gaping wound like
An infant, my own brother, and his
Birthing cry is mixed with that of
My mother’s gasps. Her eyes widen,
Pupils seeming to tremble, and I feel
Content. For one Holy second I feel
Perfect and free: a flittering butterfly.
For one second I feel that same commanding
Peace that Judas must’ve felt right before
He returned his thirty pieces of silver.
We both know it wasn’t about the money.

Outside darkness is growing like a tumor,
My computer screen lighting the dorm room.
The music continues to rape me.
Its not quite rape since I’m consenting though,
More like violent guilty sex.
The notes penetrate me and
I feel that horrid tingling
In my back and up my neck.
Sickness comes in my stomach
As the words burst into the room
With a vile and encapsulating presence:
I am Jesus Christ.

Mama bear sits bleeding and
My hand goes limp, letting
The steel slip out and fall
Noiselessly on the carpet.
Her eyes continue to tremble
And I know it isn’t the physical
Pain that makes them dance in horror.
Yea, the euphoria is officially
Gone. I sit still on the baby
Sea elephant and my face twists.
I actually have the nerve
To feel sorry for myself.

Isaac, you worthless fuck.

One last explosion of sound:
There are no winners
In this fucked reality.

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