December 3, 2007

age: 32

location: New York City

I don’t think paying your bills gets you into heaven because I never paid mine. I left my mortgage payment and my credit card debt on my kitchen table when I was grabbed by my bare arm and pulled into a New York alley where men raped me of my consciousness and didn’t stop at anything else.


And in that moment when I realized my last breaths were surfacing in my lungs, and I was on the verge of entering either a black abyss or some sort of afterlife, I started panicking about the unpaid bills on the table. Good thing the golden gates open to those with poor money management.


I felt an immense amount of relief, as if I had been skin and bones starving in the desert and then came upon crisp water and floating around in it, were big salmon. I had died and gone to heaven.


There wasn’t a line. Or a day of judgment but there was oh so much silence. We walk on clouds up here, so whether tiptoeing or stomping, footsteps are muted. New York was it for me – always buzzing, honking, whistling. I need so much more than to live in the presence of others. I need to hear it knocking at my door or breathing down my neck.


Many days, I would nomadically search for noise, wandering amongst the stark, naked, and natural bodies. We are absent of clothes and somehow, absent of lust. We are absent of argument and opinion. We are absent of clatter and petty insults and cries that last all night we end up with a damp pillow in the morning.


I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I guess Jesus has high expectations. Everyday, I’m forced to awake and stare into the depths of Hell, while everyone walks around with no fuckin’ idea

 

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