Buffy the medication-compliant vampire slayer
I’m looking down, well, all right, I’m looking down into the bong, because I’m hitting it, and when I swing my head back up there’s a picture of the Milky Way up on the TV, just fucking festooning some forestscape with splendor and majesty. I’m looking down, I’m looking down and wondering why my love isn’t enough for you to take care of yourself.
I prayed to Jesus for me to hold my tongue and for you to learn the error of your ways, and that’s no lie. I can’t say anything to you right now, I won’t. Because it wouldn’t come out right and because talking to you doesn’t work. Somehow it’s an unfair expectation…fuck, argle bargle, boundaries.
You don’t make anything simple. Fuck, man, if you’re an independent agent or what the fuck ever, then why do I have to buy half your air conditioner. No question mark. Why, why I gotta whazz in the sink while you’re throwing up bile if we’re all adults responsible for our own actions. Why I gotta hold your hand all night and yell at doctors to take better care of you if you literally don’t give a fuck.
No question mark.
The only boundaries you need…Lord Jesus, let me hold my tongue! My mouth is the portal to something righteous and ornery, ornery is the 100% correct word, no better translation exists, my mouth is the portal to something righteous and ornery right now and we wouldn’t either of us get nowhere if I said bo fuckin peep to you right now.
Lord Jesus, hold me in your hand. Lord Jesus takes care of me. I went on a walk today and I didn’t break out in an anxious sweat or nothin, just normal it’s 95 degrees out sweat. Gotta remember if I feel that tension to stick out my gut, especially at work. Someday God willing I’ll know how to stand right.
You don’t make anything easy. I love you. Feel like I was supposed to Google the meaning of something…
Read today about St. Michael’s sword, the perfect line of monasteries stretching from Ireland to Israel famed to be the site of St. Michael the Archangel blowing Satan to almighty Hell. Or actually, uh, just Earth, but ‘to almighty Hell’ sounds way cooler. Would love to get a tattoo of St. Michael defeating Satan, I think, don’t know where, maybe my right calf?
Problem with a lot of St. Michael slaying Satan tattoos is that you can like barely see the devil. I’m a little bit high, but somethin’ bout that barely in bold looks so fuckin’ right.
Anyway, point is, most times they just look like tattoos of this serene angel-lookin’ dude and if you look closely it’s like oh right, he’s standing on the devil’s head, and most of the time there’s like no detail on the devil at all.
Like ok I get it I’m a Christian and all and maybe you don’t want to glorify the image of the fallen one or whatever, but St. Michael blows Satan and all his rebel angels out of heaven for all of time and dude’s just gonna stand there like ‘whevs’? I’m just sayin’ in my tattoo I want Satan to look fuckin scary because he is fuckin scary. And I want St. Michael to look like he at least notices what’s going on! Homeboy the archangel defeats Satan and he doesn’t crack a smile?
I’m just sayin, I would probably say yeehaw! if it were me blasting Satan literally out of this world.
Glory be to God, hallelujah!
See the thing is you just gotta get a taste for slaying your demons. Maybe I’ll think of a way to compare it to Buffy for you. That’s how I think of myself sometimes. I’m just Buffy the Vampire Slaying my demons, one by one, a dozen by a thousand. You gotta get a taste for it and then it grows on you. I was gonna say you can get addicted to getting sober like it was a good thing, but jeez, the second I thought of it, I was like, no, but that’s literally true. Uh…
Fuck, um. Shit. But do you get what I’m trying to say? Like, you’re gonna die, and you gotta think of something to relate to. Just…please. Please find something about yourself to like enough to want it not to go away.