Saturday, April 11, 2009


Sometimes I used to go to St. Mary’s church in the Hague. When the junkies would come out, line their shiny objects on the ground. That’s where I went. When there was no service, it was empty. And I’d take my little dog with me. Put my little dog in my sweatshirt, tucked away in my sweatshirt. And I’d splash holy water on my face, and then splash holy water on my dogs face. And sit in the back, and think of home, or not think at all. Faith, faith is a tricky thing. I fought faith a lot, and people of ‘faith’ fought me. You just ever do so much stuff that you don’t know what you want to be forgiven for? Wrong is relative, cause you’re just trying to live, survive.
I went to catholic school growing up. I’m Irish-Catholic. First generation. My mom wanted me so badly to be an altarboy and I couldn’t cut it. All I had to do was just stand there. And sometimes I try really hard to remember the first thing. The first thing I did where it started. I don’t know maybe it was playing with myself or something. Lookin at men. Mouthed off to my parents. I don’t know. And if I could remember that first thing, if I could ask for forgiveness for that first thing, and gotten it, then maybe I wouldn’t have done everything else. Maybe I wouldn’t be here.
But sitting there in the back, 17 years old, with my little dog tucked in my shirt, dirty, just sitting there I belonged, I was forgiven. Cause people didn’t get in the way.

No comments: