Prose on the deific libido
Or: Prose on the bankrupt black sheep
De Sade says, in the guise of the filthy Dolmancé, “For since man fucks, he wanted his God to fuck, too…” And what a procreative impulse the deity of despotism has espoused in these last twenty centuries.
One asks, “In what position would Jesus choose to fuck,” and one answers, “The man is only celibate in daylight. Once the night arrives and the desert is quiet, the peasants are asleep, and the animals have quieted likewise, Jesus forgoes the commonplace missionary and bowls over a dusty nymph to the ground. Once prone, she says to Jesus, ‘You are fifteen again: your nose may roam anywhere.'” He sniffs the air and finds it good.
Sacrilege built the modern world, and is, indeed, the poison and the potion by which it is maintained. Jesus agrees—he winks at the transparent eyeball, and plunges nude into the nymph. He bids her adieu near Galilee and his profound myths multiply like Aubudon’s cottontails ever afterward.