Thu, 19 May 2005

Joyful
It was my job, in the end days, to check the harnesses of all the angels, which I was all about as it put me within touching distance of the beautiful sepharim, who were very lovely and yet very cold; there was no juice or throb to them. All things considered, however, it was a perk, in the way that hanging with meth-addled post-Russian chanteuse-ballerinas can be good for one’s self-esteem. The actual closing shop on the real didn’t seem to trouble them much; just another gig, no different from orbiting Mary in Fantima or appearing over Kansas cornfields roundabout Christmastime. The seraphim bobbed their heads to avoid hair-mussing drafts and smoked constantly, sharing bored gossip as to who will sit where at the time of revelation. The employment package for grunt-work such as this guarantees one a spot with the 14,400 ascended but beyond that it’s a crapshoot, most likely ending up in an antiseptic white duplex out in the great hosannah’d suburbs of the farthest sphere, where Beatrice is still waiting for Dante in a horrible form in the back seat of a ‘57 Chevy. Bobby Kennedy once said we live in times of danger and uncertainty, which not feeling the point was driven home by his brother, led him to make this apparent through his own actions, and the actions of those to follow his blood-line. The seraphim are constantly discussing the Kennedys. Their bones are black and hollow, polished internally to a sheen one can see through their alabaster skin, and I fear they will shatter as I lace up the corset-harnesses, whalebone and opal and lilac. JFK is in heaven, quoting from Luke, waiting for his throng of admiring angels to gather around and behind him, out on the periphery so as to fully view the earthbound spectacle ahead. I had ribbons tied around my wrists and pins in my mouth, trying to get the fitting right. The seraphim drank mochas and watched the sky.
(12:08.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #