SATURNALIA AT THE BASILICA
SATURNALIA AT THE BASILICA
by Unknown
While it may be freezing cold, farmers come skipping from their fields in the pillowy white dawn thick as snowflakes in the headlights or as monks tumbling from their cots for morning mass laden with produce and prayer, singing, chanting their hearts out in a flurry of ducklings and goslings, droves of still-to-be-milked moocows, and clutches of rosaries, gorging the streets pouring with royalty through the portico into the nave out to the aisles setting up tables, chopping blocks, and pails, relics displays and confessionals, all the time texting each other to find out who’s arrived or on their way, the hearth-stoking, back-scratching, urinating, baby-nursing, genuflecting, wine-uncorking crowd, if they haven’t already, getting out guitars and plugging them into amplifiers, picking and resonating a reverberating jam of foot-stomping, hip-swinging, dug-pulling relief, slaughter, and carousing, while cloud-teetering God and his angels look down and keep whacking off.
Reminds me of a poem Randall wrote last August. Makes me wonder what god(s) / godess(es) may think observing the lives of humans resplendent with contradiction. Don’t know if they would envy us or be repulsed. But i do have this thought that Earth is a safe-haven “off-limits” area of the multiverse in which no aliens may declare war on and take over. Why? Because we make good music and tv–the Earth is spared because we entertain all the aliens, and they don’t want to jeopardize that.