The Endarkenment

Blessings from the Shrine Pit

55 blessings from the Shrine Pit You stumble in here wearing a blindfold made out of beer wrappers and ladies’ underwear with your palms out, swearing you’re looking for god, but you’re not looking for a deity, just something to hold onto, something to get you through the night, a strip of masking tape to slip over the lips of your demons. You say you got no faith ’cause you held the pillow one night and cried into it like it was one of god’s ears, then got mad the next day ’cause nothing changed, which was either proof he didn’t exist, or was treating you like one of his bitches. God will send you a signal, but it’s your job to see it. God will meet you halfway, but he’s not coming to your house and waiting out front while you fiddle in front of the mirror. God isn’t easy, the way the devil is. The devil has hounds sniffing the air, letting him know when you’re rolling around in the sheets at three a.m. like a giant blister. The devil will slither in through an air vent with a flask of whisky in his sock and an envelope of nude Polaroids of your ex. The devil will smile with a mouthful of crack rocks for teeth. God isn’t like that. You’re not gonna find god sitting on your sofa with a forty of mouthwash and a bunch of stubbed-out prayers in the ashtray. You gotta hit the street and find a god that fits you. You don’t want one of those gods with wings, 56 always fluttering around in the clouds like a ballerina. You’re not one of them pretty people. You need a god with housemaid knees so when your mind’s flopping in the gutter he can bend right quick and snap it up. A god with dirt under the fingernails so he can dig his hands into that cracked flowerpot of yours. A god with sunglasses so he can see you the way you need to be seen. * ...