I’ve observed the placebo group;

Those proverbial pill poppers enthused by scriptural salt tablets that promise immortality.

They are drinking from a communal cup, claiming wine is blood and bread is flesh.


I’ve seen their veneration of symbols of death;

Kneeling before headstones and instruments of torture.

They are morbid and rejoicing, kissing crypts and corpses that emit myrrh from…elsewhere.

Under their influence an ego becomes suicidal.

Death is the way to life, they sing and make “jubilation”.

Religion: an opiate for the humbled collective desperate to be high on more than life, as it’s advertised by pop culture, or whomever’s in the power seat at any given time in history.

They make appeals to a heavenly court for justice and don’t let their souls flinch when divinity deems it necessary to be detached from body.  

Life is more than physical.

Is it though?

They exist to be more spiritual.

And never stop believing in ghosts.

Holy fools.

The whole lot of them.

From AD ‘til the world’s end.

Yet, when human existence gets flipped on its head, it’s mostly the crazy ones who make the most sense.

Now Jesus is becoming my best dead friend.

So please, priest, extend the mysteries and make me, a blind man, see.

The miracle’s made visible to those who believe.

I believe! I believe!

So opiate, make me high on love that outlives death.

Take my body, but free my soul.


I want in.