Through my torment I cried out for a God I did not believe in. Hallucinated radio noise and whispered murmurs were unquieted with auriclar compression. And my diagnosis of pure obsessive OCD rang true as unwanted thoughts of suicide silently rang in my head.
An angel appeared before my open and closed eyes and said “do you want me to show you heaven? The land of the dead?”
“Of course.” I said, through gritted teeth and a smile that couldn’t fool.
She took my hand and we disappeared into nothing.
“If you are good and pure in life, you will arrive. If you push away your thoughts and keep them inside.”
Through unmoving mouth the word yes came aloud. We arrived without a sound, there and not there, conjoined on a hallucinated cloud.
As I looked around me I could see, the vast machine, the majority. The secret after church adulteress. The babe that gained entry because he was dipped in a bowl of dirty water, by the pedophilic priest proclaimed holy with a dillusional wave of his magic fingers.
They were here as in life, moving about with unfooling smiles because they were supposed to be happy.
They paid to be here with cold metal and paper dropped in a weekly bowl, and whispered confessions in a nailed wooden box to the man behind the red curtain, the barred window. They had done what they were told, what they were supposed to do. Suppressed pleasure and love, need and sin. They had kept it all in, for the hope of paradise in heaven.
“But what about life? The pleasures of skin?”
“You’re not right!” She proclaimed. “Your earthly skin, your borrowed suit, don’t tarnish it, otherwise they won’t let you in!”
But is this the place I want to be? Free of sin and ecstasy? Free of thought? Of time? Of taste? Free of human bodies? Souls in their place?
“It must be so.” She answered my unspoken words,
“You think too much, you must converge. Unthinking you must live, unthinking as dead, silence the sinful thoughts in your head.”
“But what is sin?” I say. “The words of dead men? Of history? Of a time of less human connectivity?
“Of words spoken to no one with folded hands before sleep? while we lay dreaming, becoming a sheep?
“And we drink the red sugar drink, and say it is blood, and pretend it is normal, all out of fake love?
“But what about love for me? For fantasy? For tasting blood of a lover at the point of pure ecstasy?
“For the unpopular comedic release of words dubbed swear? Of lies and actions while my mind despair?
“What of joy? Of exploration? Of freedom and drugs? Of truth and lies told without fear? The life I live on Earth, not here.”
She said, “If it is done, you will come to hell. With sinners like you as well.”
“To be with those like me? feeling and energy? Angel, your perception of Hell is flawed, I suffer on Earth, because I exist in truth, unlike the human, that holds himself aloof, who lives in fear of future regret, of pleasure repents.
“And if Hell is to be with others as me, then it is not Hell I see.
“You delusional devil!” I cried, “we live and live and live until we die, and after death, no more dying to be done.
“I think of suicide, almost every day, but after I kill myself, there will be nothing and that is how I will stay.”
And the angel faded and I felt the pendulum sway. From bright white lights to the awful grey.
The sounds of life came roaring in, that fan, that dog, and sounds of sin.
And blinking my eyes, I awoke in a state of undress, next to a beautiful woman whom I was obsessed.
I had fallen back to life, away from the spiritual strife. And I thought;
“The angel of nothing is a ghostly shell, because life exists in both heaven and hell.”