Giotto, Judgement Day
If you wanted a song to listen to, for the vibes. SPEED LIMIT 60 BUT WE GO 69.
I never thought I would encounter a protestant in the flesh (and enjoy it too). In December I rolled over in my bed and saw James lying peacefully on his back. You're a catholic, aren't you? That is not a question I ever would have thought of answering first thing in the morning. My "faith" was being put on the spot like never before. We had committed a sin that neither God nor Glasgow could ever forgive.
This poem belongs to my series of love letters to the UK, this unlawful, unfaithful, shameful, unruly bastard of a country and its bloody, senseless religious divisions. I am an atheist now and even when I was Catholic I wouldn't have cared what god your blood belongs to. However, since I moved to Glasgow where sectarianism (the division between Catholics and Proddies) gets quite bloody, I knew I had committed a crime and cast a shadow on my soul. Could God ever forgive me? Could Glasgow ever forgive me? Could I ever go and see a Celtics game ever again? I guess this will just have to remain my dirty proddy sin.
However, I've come to realise that I might have stumbled upon one of sectarianism's most spicy secrets.
Just a few days ago I was walking through the park and tuned in to a shouting match on the playground. A man in his 30s was yelling at a woman a few feet away: ye shag weeans, ye proddy cunt.
She proceeded to yell back at him: cum fight me ye prick.
30 minutes later they were tangled up in each other snogging forcefully on a bench. Awe, love is just too complex for it to have limits. And if it does, breaking them makes it more fun.
Here is On no, I shagged a proddy. An ironic poem about god sex and sin.
Oh no, I shagged a proddy
Oh God, forgive me for I have sinned,
Unwillingly I let my guard down,
I let the devil in.
No brother of Pope Francis
I found him on a bar stool,
he studied English Litt.
What you doin' this Saturday darlin'?
I was busy quite a bit.
What you doin' in two weeks?
I know I let the devil in.
Follower of Henry the Eight,
the fuck boy of the church,
you smother me with your weight,
we were enemies since birth.
Yes, I ate the body of Christ,
and now yours as well.
When you opened me up
so did the gates of hell.
Saint Ambroise forgive me.
Against heaven I rebelled
For the pleasure I felt
for one bloody night
He sneaked into my bed,
this fuckin proddy parasite.
I have had other Gods
and sometimes none at all;
Jesus' name I've said in vain
when my laptop got soaked,
in the goddamn rain.
I dishonoured my father,
insulted my mother.
I have desired the partners of others,
their sisters and their brothers.
I missed out on prayer, on Sunday mass.
You should fuckin hope I don't murder.
I've lied. Cursed. Stolen.
I am our lord and saviour's burden.
But nothing I've done comes close to this,
the sin of bloody blue eyes, our inter-religious bliss.
Sweet Jesus forgive me. I let the devil in.
And it was worth it, going to hell for a kiss.
May 2024
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