glory bar realities

me and hitler and jesus share an apartment on the fourteenth floor of your brain. we're a funny group of artists and philosophers and jokers... defeating the day, talking to you, having very unsafe sex with your girlthought imagination. jesus is still the prankster. he's got some newspater clippings of the cross performance... he even signs fanmail sometimes with a disapproving look. he said yesterday he never had any intentions of writing a book (the bible was somebody else's idea). he just thought he'd share some pretty magic tricks for spare change. who would have thought it would transcend to a billion slaves. but jesus loves his father. so do me and hitler. we all do. we're kids. we fuck up while we climb up and now that you realize how connected me and my boys are... you might start seeing a reflection of your own bloated face in us... no, that would be crazy right? try mad...its definitely fucking mad. i know you have often doubted reincarnation but take another look in the mirror... you can see a thousand faces behind your eyes... and yesterday your soul got reinvented in a mirror and ten seconds later you were a housewife. an hour later you killed a man with your negro hands and by midnight you were four foot tall playing with six kids on an american block. need an explanation? of course you do...we all do. so here is the lovely paradox jesus was a prankster. he got it from dad. one night god was drinking vodka at the glory bar with a mess of seasons and fates. he threw down a fistful of cracked marbles, called them humans, and laughed out loud. he told the seasons to hang out with the marbleboys for a while and the fates to watch.