Pisces Iscariot

In other news, I was considering an interesting notion: A story about Lebanon, South Carolina. Isn’t that an interesting name? I think so. I am thinking of it as something like Carnival in that there’s a lot of strange supernatural stuff that Spaghetti/Speedy Atkins as a character, but what do you do with a corpse that died “70 odd years ago”?

Maybe the circus could have one and the town is unimpressed because of Spaghetti? I am thinking that there should be 2 doddering and incompetent undertakers. And there should be the typical sleazy political figure. Maybe she’s a woman though. I am basing a lot of this idea on Pandelirium by Th’ Legendary Shack Shakers. My favorite CD by them by far. I wonder what happens when you write something based on a CD? Another idea for the name of the town is Turn Key, South Carolina, but I really like Lebanon. It just came to me.

I was thinking that He could be a character as well. I was thinking that He could be someone always in the background who turns out to be some sort of mastermind genius. I give Him too much credit. I always valued His intelligence though and He has the potential if not the ambition. That makes me sad.
Getting away from the religious metaphor, all I ever wanted was for Him to be successful and happy. At this point, He doesn’t even have to be successful if I knew that He were just happy. I wanted Him to be the man that I always knew that He could be. And I couldn’t let my faith in him drag me down.

He turned out to be less Jesus Christ and more David Koresh in the end – and yet I worship my savior from afar and crave His love and His approval and drive myself as crazy as my mom has with her own faith beliefs.

Beliefs suck because they are hard to change and I always believed in Him. I had lost Santa, my dad, and my God, I needed something to cling to, and I did. I clung for dear life, my legs wrapped around His waist and His breath hot on my neck. Every breath we drew was Hallelujah. Every word from His lips was a dirge of undying love and devotion.

I hate this. I hate that I need Him – I need the memory of Him – I need the ascetic worship of Him – I need the fasting and the praying and the begging on bended knee for mercy, for love, and forgiveness. I need a holy distraction that comes in the shape of a boy who didn’t have a clue what kind of power I let Him have over me in the beginning. When He realized what He had, it all went sour. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

"I saw Him! He looked as good as dead. It was so bad I had to turn my head! I would take it all back if I could. I would save Him if I could.

Cut the confessions, forget the excuses. I don’t understand why you’re filled with remorse. Everything you said has come true with a vengeance – the mob’s turned against Him. You backed the right horse.

Christ, I know you can’t hear me. I only did what you wanted me to. Christ I know you can’t hear me, but I have been saddled with the murder of you.

I have been spattered with innocent blood. I will be drug through the slime and the mud. I have been spattered with innocent blood. I shall be drug through the slime and the slime and the slime and the mud.

I don’t know how to love Him. I don’t know why He moves me. He’s just a man like anyone I know. He scares me so . . ."

I never realized until today to what extent I relate to that oft maligned 12th disciple. It’s hard to be Judas. I am Pisces Iscariot. I take myself too seriously. I had so wanted to write about anything other than this tonight. I wonder what would have happened if had been able to speak to Him? Who knows . . .