Walgekaaren goes to Hollywood

 

No August leader wants to May-day in September;

Wake me up, when its November, for the Holy Days.

So I could dismember all, who remember to membrain

the Hentai do them stains and gentile.

Encourage equitable representations of spreadsheets

and white fleets behind the moon, in their bleak haven

of “Wreak Craven's” The Wee is on your knees, asking

for a parlaiz vouz espirit!

Hire a white knight to play through all the Life's plights.

Side-notes nodded their empty heads, to be read behind

the red lines of an Iron Curtain – I spy with my Ozbourn

Ultimatum, how Rudolf Spielmann got cancer and mutated...

To Hydra and back again, to fight Cpt. America, who denied

everything, what is to know about the Holocaust. He thought,

that others suffered likewise, thus a closet-nazi!!

The case was closed and went out cold; there there – no beautiful details in there.

“You my heart, you my soul!” “Yo-Ho-Ho and modernist talk-no-jutsu”

Depp out of the nine gates of Hell; Jim Crow escalated for a belated Oz-cur.

“Was möch; ich möch; du möchst. Alles Klar Walge Klaar? The White apple,

who bit a mouth-heel and couldn't spit it too far....

Mocking on Heavens door, as all the Jacobite's are climbing the ladder;

Wass Herret doch Nein, Wer nicht Zei dass Licht. Kein Gedicht – viel leight richt

deschlicht den Wicht du Richst. The old Prophet druncated the youngling,

to bury his old bones, as the altar exploded, with bread and water...

The Night is young on your hips, until your lips weigh heavy like Eli;

on my shoulders I wear parrots to grab a soundbite, and then its Tomorrow.

The next thing, I remember: “Bite my dusty old librum to life, that the Ravens

could escape its folders!” I fold to the last deck of Tarot, checking the balance.

Meneh, Meneh, Lemah Sebahtani, ma bama ba golem šolva.

Not-Israelites trying to speak Her own brew of language

to cosplay Isayah's druncard-tongues. To set sail to Khaz-Modan,

moderate the Aserothian whitewashed tales, of thrown away infant orcs.

Modus Operandi was damned in Mecreverdi, to enlist Giuseppe, for

the Californian Tetris Dream, building Communist Mario Carts;

to handout, that let the R.O.T.T. Out. Who allowed Nagini, to be blown out,

off proportion - “Viper lives matter” Too bad, that car was mute.

Those cars should get seconds, don't they Oz-car? He wasn't as bad as C.A.R.

My furrie's where left into Trunx's old Dragon Ball K.I.T.T. What about it?

E.T. has left the building, while Elvis is rocking the Jail-house Blues brothers.

Could somebody give a rocking chair, to hang in there? In the gallows of Mayhem?

Put the Bling in there... “Noir lives matter” until death do us apart;

retort tojour quell bon heur de jeux endeux detour the Fools Barons Arronian Rhapsody, so cruel; to requiem my farewelled gleams. I gloom for Dr. Doom,

to erect his Presidential Library at the sect of the most High-Antifa celebrant!

My excessive nudity with explicit Conservative pep-talk, alarmed all Left-handed smearmen. Shouts, who recommended to lubricate my aching Spanish shoes

with WelshWiper-Wodka; I hack and slash through my newspapers to find,

like a philosopher hearth-stoned to oblivious martyrs of a ree-poster-boy/girl.

“Who didn't smite the other cheek?” That is here the question. Would the Real Jesus Christ please stand out of the crowd and find Him asap and bring Her Home!

Crawling under my Sofa Creepy V laughing like a hyena against the Northern Lights;

good luck finding any two cents or dimes when the fat bitch ate all the change.

She ate even Obama on the mount of Nobel he went, to make peace offerings.

I'm still venting and circumventing about this Marital problem with this close encounter of the Martian kind. Some aliens beget stranger, than postal on Wounded Knee. Some still remember, what gods to worship on which progressive account...

“I want Everything and Onee in two open palms.” The sword and the steward

shall eat all those broken bones, who wet the blackboard. Some children

should not be taught to laugh at bald men, for the bear is already waiting.

And the Daily Prophet shall go on, while the Skeeter's are writing Sermons.

Rashomon was mouth-washing their hogs and hot-dogs; Judge Dredd

once said: “You might wanna not be caught alive!” to a woman,

and was immediately accused of rape-mongering. It is so hard

to be a Alfa-Cojones-Muchacho to serve the servants of God.

Could it be that Omega is betters than Alfa-Centauri?

Alfa and Omega disputed, could a woman fall in love

with the Devil. Most said nay, but some agreed:

“If God Will Hunting's, it be Good!”

Douse the flames

 

As you descend into my lair, abandon all hope;

as I wash away your tears, forsake thy name and face.

Such honour dost hold no place – douse thy candle-lit

hearth and wallow in shame. For there is no scope

to oversee the wast Hellish ocean, frozen in despair:

Douse the flames and be no more, than insanity forebodes.

As you ascend to Heaven be sure, that He is faithful and True;

those who have Righteousness at their wings and Truthfulness at their waist,

having Peace at your heels and Godspeed to time the pace;

those will not relent nor leave behind a single carrion

to smoulder nor eye to pluck or pick timbers from disgrace.

Their middle name is in Prudence and Surname shall not go to waste.

As you descend into my lair, remember the guilt you there dripping on;

as your mouth and thine lips there heavy of the fat and blood of the Rams.

Those, of not your cattle, whom you didn't buy from the markets come;

drunken their came and saw the writings on the wall underscored,

as you broke them while fornicating on the stars and stripes, on Avery shores.

All your counsellors are drunkards and serve their own Credence bores.

As you ascend to Heaven, the Holy of Holies is having his field-day.

None, who do wickedness, shall see that to overcome its terrors;

How terrible indeed is the Magnificence and Splendour of God All-Mighty Ay!

He quenched his sword in the blood of the false prophets; smiting his shield

in the face of the false witnesses and corrupt priests, who brought alien flames

onto His realm and in front of His presence. Give fealty and sway!!

Before and After

 Before you exalt, confess; before you praise, mourn.

For life's not about, who plays better chess;

some nuts play poker on the pool-table in bliss,

others shadowbox in the cemetery in duress.

Nobody on Heaven and Earth was born,

like a star, to rise even higher - God bless!

Don't you know: Stars shall fall and kingdoms falter,

lords and ladies loose their crown.

So don't be haughty for the divine scorn;

raise your standards and lift up the sky!

You are the pillar, on which the Heavens are bestowed;

don't you know, ye gods, while drawing your last - Bow

For your soul is from God and not your own.

Worker B

 

I hive with my little mind – do you fly, Fish!

Go away, duke, the budget is closed and pigs are tankie;

I. Rony watered my lawn with Crony's Baloney – the cold dish.

Some railroads there trafficking jailbirds – hit and miss;

groomed to be Matches Malone in Heaven honking

on Birds of Pray, for not eating vultured donkeys;

having a C, rather than D&D, to be oust-standing.

I order a chicken-file to be duped Grand Arbiter Yale,

Good Operat' Daimonia – G.A.Y.G.O.D!

Something in between Clark Gable and Florence Nightingale;

the eastern of West and Southward of Norfolk males.

Trouncing on the I-dot, to golem the yod;

Jude Law went Lucy Lawless, to be called Nimrod.

I ruined my day, by stepping onto my lips green-miles!

In other news, I faked an orgasm with hot yoghurt;

Philadelphia sewed me inside her guilt, quilt-charged,

under that rugged corp. I dusted my devils nougat,

made out of hoarse radish; rhubarb and kumquats.

My coffee was having a gold Turkey, while the hilts enlarged;

arsoning the French Fries with garlic paste Vonegut.

Kurt and Kitkat don't return my tongue'n'cheeks,

as I call them haphazardly a Excessive Joyouster;

gallivanting on the Jedi fields of happy-tweets.

Mine went postal at noon, for the wrong beaked

thunderbird HOMM'ed home-runs for free oysters.

Nothing serious or personal in mind, to hoist thus:

Whoosh vents Reddit, disregarding major Dis.Respect's gatekeeps

I could B your F and X-mas to Jordania and Mogonda,

but hotel Rwanda was at Club Californication,

staging blind bets on McLarren and MacCarthy's Honda;

smoking too many joint operations, going Kundalini.

Loosing my last hair-splice streak to Kali's orientation

on the topic of contemporary zen-emancipation,

being owned with nothing, but hand-jobs Swahili...

My handy maid quit on me, having a pussy riot. –

Her 17 kittens decreed alternate state,

culled “Intolerancia Mundi”. For all their compatriots,

they vowed muzzle all dogs and leash parrots,

who can't say: “Polly wants a Hustler!” at 666 interstate.

Rushing my close shaves with mustard contemplate's;

thinking, I desert better with a female Black Butlers pivot...

Like a Whiteraven

 

(Inspired by Madonnas song “Like a virgin”)

I roam around to and through;

to sift aside and beyond.

My voice is shrewd and crude;

the devils advocate and interlude –

mediating over the Streak Bond.

Hyde-sane and incrementally blond.

Like a Whiteraven, sipping honeydew.

I gleam the gloomy eyes with farsight;

the dark vision of lost thoughts

and deeds undone, not for the upright.

Crossing your borders with oversight;

like an overwhelming juggernaut or dreadnought.

Pecking the order, til you lost your thought:

Like a Whiteraven, throng from light.

I hijack asses to molehunted detriments;

bypassing the bipolar defiance en masse.

Who's party shall wager to raze ten cents

for a button of Peer Günt and Townsend?

Nobody was no-mad: so sad your dad passed

Homer in the bath, blooded by Plato's trespass.

Like a Whiteraven, Aristotling the family confinements.

I firesale the doodles on the Wall;

writing debAtEs sour – to turn the other cheeky

devil, riding a cheetah for the enthral;

into a molested molasses of Lester Greyskull,

eating a Rey of blight – I think reeking

rotten fish, doesn't compare to that Cheesling!

Like a Whiteraven, fucked by a catcall.

I Karen more, than loving-kind Christians

can gloss the Bible into their Hum-V

greenhouse lives, casting stones on Philistines;

while the log filed a law-suit for pristine

snapshots of Splinters turtle-farm soon-to-be

discontinued private eyes on Constantine.

Like a Whiteraven, thawed in miasma...

Sell your Soul

 

I have thought of this topic many times. It has filled many libraries and minds with ideas of madness and despair. Priests and Bishops have been taught; knights and footpads ordained – to protect something and offer to the Lord All-Mighty, what is called “The Soul” There are even allegoric fairy-tales about a poor virgin maiden bathing in the sauna at midnight, because the master took the holy times, so the unholy times there left to the serf. And behold! The Devil stands at the doorstep knocking, as to mock the Bible with its Jesus behind the door knocking. What would you do? The suspense! You only armed with the Birch Wound – a small bundle of birch branches tied up together to whip you with in the sauna, while you pour warm water on hot stones to have some steam. A tradition of self-cleansing and cleaning. It is said in the Estonian tradition, that the devil cannot enter the Sauna. So sacred was that tradition, that it even survived the church, making its way into this fairy-tale, I am telling you right now, I heard in my childhood and still reminisce. So you are totally naked, inside the sauna, with a birch wound – and the Lord of Hell is standing behind the door. Technically you cannot enter the sauna directly, because there is the changing room first, and the washing room but ok, lets give the narrator, who first wrote it, the benefit of the doubt. How do you defeat the Prime Evil? The girl hastily draws the pentagram on the door frame – job well done. The devil asks to enter because needs to marry his son. Would the fair maiden come out and come with him?What kind of freakish questions would you answer butt-naked in the sauna! But its the devil. He might blow away the entire house, hinting at another fairy-tale. The girl sees a mouse in the sauna – I assume, in the changing room, because I fail to believe, there is a single sauna infested with those rodents, because it would be an insult to the owner. They there kept in perfect shape and order, how matter how poor you there. – The mouse, hinting at yet another fairy-tale, suggests the girl to “on at a time, sister” to use trickery against the devil to make him wait until morning, there the devil must leave. I wonder what story today used this trope? So the girl persuades the devil, that she cannot come out for not having any cloths to wear for this situation, would the devil kindly not bring them to her. And she really asks every part of the wedding dress until the morning and the devil is off to go, the pauper one wedding dress richer. That's some way to play hangman, isn't it! So what will the landlords daughter do, when she finds out, you can get free wedding dresses, when you bathe there at midnight? She decides to try it out, if its true. The next night the devil is back and asks the girl to come out, and receives the same answer. Only the landlords daughter is haughty and hasty, doesn't listen to little mice bickering: “Shut the fuck up, who asked your opinion?” and orders the entire wedding dress at once. Ask and you shall receive. The next moment, she stands in full garment to be wed to the devils son! And they lived happily ever after... The End,

What is the moral of the story? Times have changed a lot, so have the hopes and dreams; fears and superstitions. People still holding fast, how to protect your Soul. Why? Your Soul, is the part, what helps you dream and imagine things in your own unique way. It's basically what allows you to draw and write poetry. If somebody is unimaginative and dull, he's also accused of “not having a soul” And everybody wants to catch that Soul. The music industry; the Corporations; the Parties; The Governments; Work draft agents etc. Gotta catch em all, like a character in an anime show would say.

My question is, why would you even ponder on this question and not become the devils bride?

Playing devils advocate a little. Think in your heart – there do you belong. What is the thing, what you there meant to do in this World? Protect that happy thought at all costs, because, if that gets lost, you have lost everything. You don't have to agree with me and become a Christian, as I am, but still find your own Way just as Naruto found his nindo. It's ironic, that he was possessed by a nine tailed demon-fox, who he made his best friend! Funny how stories go and shape lives. What is your favourite story; what are its punch-lines and what does it fight for? Maybe its time to tell your story and fight for something! Tell me your quest. It might not be with Dungeons and Dragons, with Fairies and Dwarfs... I wonder, why there is no board game around Dwarves and Fairies in animation. I'm thinking on a variation of the Circus Game. Catch a fairy and you go up, bother a dwarf at mining and you go down. Included should be a variety of taunts every time you trigger one of these, with various point scores before you can reach the end goal. If you don't have enough points, the road from 100-120 will be blocked and you have to go back seven paces and re-roll. I'll leave this thought in here for a programmer to find. But I'm sure, your story is one worth telling. And listen to this with all ears. You have your whole life ahead, in your hands, to tell that story!

I am He, who owns

I am the key of Enoch, I am the Wrath of Thy Lord;

the Vengeful Spirit, who drove King Saul insane.

The little white raven, on the left side of the Cross;

to offer you his other cheek in penitence.

I am the booze of Noah, the curse of Cain;

where I spit and spew, there will be no dawns

nor reckoning. To make the wicked, fat of Pride,

like the cows of Bashan, for Slaugtherday!

I am the Day of Yahweh, I am his shield and sword;

the Divine torrent of Malice and Despair!

To rob the haughty of their cloths;

who left the Samaritan mercy without food and lodging!

I am, He, who picks the slanderers eyes;

rends their spirits and marrow, drawing their souls

closer to God. Weep in sorrow and repent;

for Whiteraven is upon you, to croak with hideous laughter.

 

Kuri Karja Muri

Kuri Karja Muri, leivaahjus suri;

turi nagu Türil, Jüril higi-veril.

Kivi vilkus käpas, välk see Mihkli sälkas –

sellepärast Muri, nagu Rahusuvi.

Rein, see rahamaias, Põdra Maja aias.

Vestis pätse mullikilest; kohviveski ilutulest.

Ahja hinged rebadel, Luik, see sittus kaevu;

Haug ja Lammas tigedad, Muri haual tüli.

Haudki tühi, peied pühil – maksu eest,

kõik Taanis lühis'. Maksa haaki,

krapsa kaaki; Uudis laulab Sodiaaki:

„Maaleht tšakraid ammu ava – Ajurveedad unund Saaga!“

Waata, Waata, Waata, Lind

Kaaren nokib sinu mune;

või on silmas, Koi ka ilma.

Agan leivas, pagan pihtas;

Põhjas Põtra, ohjas Nõtra.

Mäkra noolis, Mutionu hooliv.

Tui maleks, Toi kirbuks;

poks on seksril, kets on tapril.

Maarja voodi alla unus;

Cosmo-tüdruk kaelavõrus.

Juustud laual hallitasid;

Soomes Tuuslarit kõik Han'Id

Orjade Meri

1.

Mida peaksin ma lausuma;

orjade merele sõnuma:

„Laula, laula sa, pappi!“?

Kõik ehivad kodasid roega.

2.

Söödaks on kõrvad ja nina;

sõelaks on taevaste Sina! –

Minust küll meiet ei lõika;

teie ei jagu hinnata...

3.

Suus keeled – hinged uste vahel;

mõnel kahelt, teisel kolmelt

poolt lahus, täis-aknad lahti;

virvatuled soselevad viirus salamahti.

4.

Vibud nooleta vinnas,

kuni puruneb õelus.

Vendlus sillutab laeva;

Lennukit hõbevalgemat Koidust.

5.

Müügiks kõik müüdid ja tavad;

müüriks hõik, müügimees norskab –

habe maas, tornis ronijad jõude;

lõukoerad möirgavad põhjakonnades...

6.

Tule keeled, tuule meeled;

mälgid siiani mõlguvad mulku!

Molgud polkudes, tolgud talkudes;

vastas pooltel küll natuke õigust.

7.

Natuke rase ja natuke rabe;

Ise ei tea, kuidas räbu peaks

kandma juurde viimase kirve –

mis vette ei unu, see pinnale ujub.

8.

Orjade meres kirved on võidu –

ujudes, uppudes – laeval, kruiisil.

Talveks on koju Tuljakut ruunates:

Tark Tormab Kaevu, Härg Seljas Kandleks

9.

Miks peaks sulgima seebivesi;

miks peaks jahuma prilllikivi?

Mitu täkku jõuab risti-rästi,

kitse panna soku nähes karsti.

10.

Kaine juhtis purjus mehe sohu;

puri lendas hammas hakkas, savi kandis;

pardi-piilur, nägi varest linnupetteks –

lammas hunti; kaaren tonti...

11.

Orjade meri, nii magus kui mesi –

pehmem kui viin; kangeimast naisest

Õelam – vendlikum, käelam

jändrikum – hüpohondrikum järgus.

12.

Ikka ma viin, viin, viin Raja Teele;

Tootsi kombel uisutan näkki.

Arno on haige ja Kiir' süda läigib;

Imelik ostmas on rehkendus-Wercki.

13.

Kommi eest, puntra seest, Suitsuga;

Vareseta! Vaesed veel veerivad Alverit.

Ilves või Peterson; Meri või Rummo,

Pronks pulmad verevad sammaste pensil.

14.

Loll Ivan jäi isaks, magama ahjul;

Mari oli maias Yli-Cool a la Playas.

Laias saias jahu – Rujas ruigas rahu;

Tartumaa oli lukku pandud Kaljul.

15.

Kaaren istus vangitornis – vaht ikka töötas.

Ümber suu ja ümber nurga;

ringis, tingis, koolipingis;

lingi, plingis, keerdus vindis!

16.

Foor, see põles; Meta üles –

Füüsikat ja Keemiat; Filograafiat,

Materneetik õppis pleediks;

ei tal andeks antud soolikast.

17.

Eksida on inimlikum, Hämarikust kaugel;

haigutan ma maika väel, kui jooksen

nahast välja. Katus sõidab paberil;

fiktiivselt kõik on palges, luges vaid,

mis loetud sai, kuid kirjutatud mustalt.

18.

Üleinimesed, kullad, teemandistki peenem;

nõel ei mahu köiel silma, kaamelit saa kätel Kunda.

Kurjad Vaimud Dostojevskil; Geenius pudelis

ja tekis! Padjasõjas surma ei saa teenrid.

19.

Faust ja Köhler, taust ja führer:

Inglite ja Sakste keelel; venel, paadil;

eidel-taadil, jutuvada saunataga

siis kui Kurat mõrsja röövis.

20.

Uppus näki Niki-Naki, leidis metsast

Specki trüki. Spicker Wurst ja

vurtsuvesi, lahja kalja selgeks pesi.

Kangem kraam sai kaevu aetud.

21.

Pearu tegi Saulust, Andres keppis Paulust!

Baasani lehmad olid samuti turul;

ühes Praaga veistega tünni soolamiseks

ja kuutõrvamiseks, leierkasti sülda heites.

22.

Juurdelõikes järkus Lõhe – Havi käsul, Kaarna tahtel.

Vares valus, Harak' ilus. Kirik keset küla põles;

põlnd' tal pooltki põrmu ühes:

Mene-Teekel-Trikatrei, Vuntsi-Kõõrdi-Kompartei.

Emulating

An Emu was late to her funeral; growing up in Finland,

loving Windows – her love letters brought always copyright claims.

She was so late, that the offspring, she hatched, had been dead

for three generations – sent a search-party from Heaven to Earth,

to locate her lost soul... It appears, that Emu stumbled

into a book-store and started to ponder, what was first:

“The Emu or the Egg” Nobody would answer her.

Since she had such a long-line, she didn't notice being already dead.

I guess J.K. Rowling was emulating that, then she derived the History class teacher.

But let's not talk about that, I wanted to talk about the copyright claim.

Rakdos – “They put Fun into Funeral!” are they sure, they there first?

I thought, it was Jesus Christ. Nothing says more fun, than appearing to your disciples three days later, after being Crucified! Anyway, the Emu was

discussing it with her lawyer, both keeping their heads under the sand,

to avoid eavesdropping. They came up with this slogan, to do their thing:

“Emulator, Ally Cater; After while USB Flash drive” For some reason,

model T-101 came around one day laying in his copyright claim.

Not to mention the Haley-Comet, What was wrong with these people?

All the Emu ever wanted to be, was an asshole, to deliver on your bullshit to Heaven

and back again. IMDb and Robert Zemeckis didn't like that one.

If some Christians are offended by that, please take notice,

that I only lack the tale to be a viper – furthermore,

if you would write my name like this K.Raist, because

not all support the “ä” sound. If you do that, you know by now

being against me, is Anti-Christ!!

Smothered Virgin

1.

Smothered virgin, Virgil Harris,

bought 3 tickets straight to Hell.

First she went to shop in Paris;

when to Glasgow and to worries,

at noon after evening bells,

cat-fishing at Statoil-Schell's:

In the heat of the night, so merry.

2.

Silent, as the sliver goes,

goaded virtues into Mayhem.

May has been to June the Joe's;

July to August, as she row's.

The ferry capsized “Royal Maiden”;

iron slippers witch had braiden,

encored to the bottom gores.

3.

Conductor asked then Virgil Harris:

“Why so Free you charge those lots?”

Smothered maiden answered: “Sorry,

One for Me-Myself-I – verily

I say thus too – lo Scringnots

you wont be eyeing vodka shots. –

In the News the tory varies

4.

Mulled in Hatred, aged in Malice;

smothered virgin baked a pie.

Half was cooked, inside the chalice

champaign, to see who broke the crevice.

Molten Ice-cream oozed out, nay

who could have botched this baker's day?

I guess the pressure wasn't Venice.

5.

Before embarks the brazen voyage;

Myself was arguing with Me.

I and smothered Virgin's carriage,

missed the shot and parked the porridge

behind the priest's door, in the potty;

the clerks don't know, what was he getting.

Missed translations auctioned Eldridge.

6.

Eldridge loathed what Harris retort;

in the cackles sung the shore.

“Slaver's bay and supreme court;

who's more yoked and who is naught?”

Smothered virgin said thus bored;

all the courtiers had been snored –

“Let's await the grim cohort!”

Rowling is our Queen

1.

Rowling is our Queen, Rowling is our Queen;

warding hypocrites off Hogwarts as ever seen –

those, who gossip Umbridge is fav. Teen;

or want Lockhart to be their star Supreme.

2.

Rowling is our Queen, Rowling is our Queen:

political correctness, like Hufflepuff Smith would deem

never her's to forsake loyalty like Harry in real life did.

It was supposed to be a children's story for the memes.

3.

Rowling is our Queen, Rowling is our Queen;

She made Ravenclaw smart the lore Pristine.

No horcruxes in Gryffindor; Slytherin emerged redeemed –

even Snape could silverline a happy end in need.

The Ranting Boy

A boy met Jesus and was startled by this fact. How could he, of all people be talking to God. He was just average, distinguished in nothing much. He liked to read books and had a keen eye for poetry but didn't fancied to waste his life in a school or University as a lector. He wasn't very fast and agile either. His idea of a work-out was eating a grilled sandwich with baloney; ketchup and cheese. Wearing glasses a hipster beard, he didn't feel alright in his black T-shirt exclaiming “Prague” he once bought as a souvenaire. And yet there he was.

“What am I doing here?”

“Asking for questions!” was the reply and puzzled the boy even further.

“What need would I have to ask for questions?!” The boy was annoyed by such a seemingly rude and stupid remark.

“Perhaps you need guidance?” stated Jesus and walked away, forcing the boy to accompany if he wished to have a meaningful conversation, and didn't wanna resort to yelling into the depths... of what ever this place would even be. Perhaps it was simply a badly digested meal or a wet dream. Ain't these supposed to be pleasing and erotic in nature, the boy found himself to wonder.

“Why did you die on the Cross?” The boy was shocked to have uttered that question and Jesus stopped. Standing there, Jesus in silence and the boy panting, as though he had just run out a thousand mile lap on a stadium. He waited for the answer afraid and eager to know, what would Jesus say.

“Why would you ask this?” was Jesus remark

“Hey! It's not nice to answer a question with a question!!” the boy angrily shouted. Making two fists with his hands, he stood there and stared into Jesus, who was a towering form of serenity. Immovable in any shape or form.

“You think so?” asked Jesus again and the boy rolled his eyes.

“Why did you die on the cross? I really need to know!” those last words there quenched through the teeth, the boy was surprised he didn't bite his tongue.

“I mostly don't know how much people understand me, so I must verify, if my answer is suitable for you. Therefore I answer questions with questions...”

The boy was sulking, discontent at this notice.

“I am not a child!”

“Compared to what?” Jesus asked again.

The boy stared at Jesus unable to speak. What was the meaning of this? Why was he here, and why was he tormented like this? Why didn't seem Jesus to be able to answer the simplest of questions? After all he's the King of Kings and Lord of Lords! Shouldn't he be able to explain himself, what the point of it all was!

“Compared to other boys your age, you might be adequate, but compared to God you're quite young, if I may say so.” Jesus didn't seem quite interested in this conversation, yet here he was, and it didn't seem to end. He didn't remember to want something like that, although he did remember some prayers, what could have been guilty.

“What makes my death on the Cross so interesting?” asked Jesus again, then the silence seemed to become overwhelming and the boy felt, he would burst like a bubble.

“It doesn't seem a good idea, in order to fight off evil; convince the people of your divinity and invite them to Heaven.”

“What would be a better way then?” Jesus was sitting on a rock and the boy recognized, they there on a familiar field, from his childhood.

“Since you're the son of God, wouldn't it be better to summon those legions of Angles, you didn't use against the Roman soldiers, who captured you and mop the floor with the devil? Surely the people would have bowed down in front of you – even the Pharisee's and Zadokite would have worshipped you – not kill you on a cross and make a perversion out of your teachings!

“Better to whom?” was Jesus reply. “I don't need more servants, I can create or destroy an angel, then ever I please. They are really like writing poetry to me.”

“When why was man created in your image, if you need nothing?”

“Why do you write poetry, if nobody, not even you, really need it? Surely the world can make it quite without it, and yet you do.”

“Well, because I can, and I want to become better in it. But that doesn't matter! I am not God like you!”

“Who says that?” Jesus looked me in the eye and it scared me to Hell and back again.

“Well, everybody does!”

“If everybody jump off the cliff or ask you to put your head into the burning oven, would you do it?”

“No, but that doesn't change the fact!! I am not You!” the boy was irritated. How could have Jesus been so stupid. If he was God, he would be better off and do something about his life and surroundings. He would know, how to solve all the problems of the World.

“Yet, once I said to you: “You all are like Gods, still you will fall like mere mortals.”

And Jesus walked away and the dream was gone.