jesus freaks and the percocet revolution part. 1

aka: the atrophy of southern sensitivity

the term: jesus freak

a bible humping and thumping individual who uses the "lords" word as a prop for their internal dilution of self. the person who cannot seem to find any other raft to cling to in the abyss of self-help and explanation other than the pulpit prostration's of a man with an inflamed prostrate gland with his impotency hanging like a mist over a magnolia, screaming about the damnation of everyone who cannot see like he has seen. the woman who is crouched with her hand over her mouth catatonically whispering catechisms and beading with pearly-white frustration. thin-white skin stretched tight exposing blue veined sorrows like reflections in a remorseful moonlight.


sunday morning: rattlesnakes and redemption

sitting here in the looming mists of a southern magnolia morning under the roof of my most controversial, yet favorite auntie i am forced to reflect on the bigotry of the post-modern, born-again, "have you been saved" Christianity. in jesus name i pray that the dual sided sword of redemption pokes a hole in their hot-headed misnomer of Christ and personal opinion.

as i sat next to my born-again auntie at her church, ensconced by 3, 25 ft x 25 ft teletrons and surround-sound Christian rock i fell into the catatonic stupor of sunday morning sobriety and southern fried redemption. 3 hours later, after i had "been saved" by walking from my stadium seating to the pulpit stage so i could be anointed with NC tap water by a disturbingly attractive preacher-man who proclaimed into his 1993 Madonna-like a prayer- headset that "we can now rejoice in the light of the lord, for you have been saved! Praise Jesus!"

"Praise Jee-sus!" erupts in the sonorous southern dialect, guided by the auditory enhancement of 1.2 million dollars worth of concrete and carpeted tithes. i reach down into my now kneeling, righteously whispering, wal-mart woven auntie's bag for a percocet in an effort to remedy the painful de-evolution of the catfish fried revolution.

3 long hours of preaching, and rocking, and AMEN, Praise JEEEE-sus' later, the congregation is finally declared worthy enough of Christs' love to plunder through another listless workweek of 8.5 hour workdays for ungodly employers, doing ungodly things. my mind cannot help but to calculate what freedom can be offered to the suffering with the tithe that created the psuedo-sanctuary these fat-bellied, red-faced, suspender wearing country folks are now rushing out of so that they can get to cracker barrel, bojangles and of course, bob evans before all the other mindless congregations do.

sausage and gravy laden biscuits flavored with the backwash of percocet laden revelry. i tip my head back with a mouthful of sweet tea in an effort to wash down the southern baptist bigotry.