The Second Coming? Rapture?
The first coming was fake too. Of course it was fake. Please! I know you believed it, and it kept you focused, trying to do your best, so I let you go. But really, fake. And it doesn’t matter anyway. The sun still came up, but let’s get a few things out of the way.
First, stop talking about all the amazing things you think you can do. Earthquakes? Fire? Please! It’s time for a new approach – under promise, over deliver. You just sound like a braggart and a blowhard with all your “destroy the world” talk. I know you think it makes you sound powerful. It doesn’t.
And while we’re talking about overkill – 12 horsemen? Really? Honestly, when I see a guy who has to haul out 12 Horsemen just to make his point, I think, “really small penis.” Sorry. I know you think you’re cool with all that horsepower, but to the rest of us, it looks like insecurity and overcompensation. A single horse in decent shape will easily take you from one fire pit to another to check out your accomplishments.
And really, why ALL the locusts. It’s like you’re just spraying all over the place in the random hopes that something happens. It’s just plain weak to hedge your bets like that. Do you even know who you’re trying to nail? Believers? Non believers? Red heads? Figure out what you want, narrow your focus, and commit. But this “go after anything I can hit” thing really just makes you look like you have no idea what you want. It’s not exactly awe-inspiring. Why would you expect anyone to revere (much less fear and obey) someone who doesn’t even know what he wants and have enough faith in himself to actually commit?
And please, stop whining. Ya, maybe I should have fessed up that I felt this way all along, but really, what would it accomplish.
If you knew that I was faking any of it, you’d get all pouty. It’s like you need the gold star in order to feel all manly and powerful, so I gave it to you. Co-dependent? Maybe, but our life is just easier when you believe you’re all powerful.
Besides, when I tell you things that seem really obvious (like, 12 horses make a lot of shit and are a lot of work,) you tell me I’m being controlling and passive-aggressive and trying to shoot you down. Frankly, it’s easier just to shovel shit and put it on the garden to fertilize things. Horse shit is easier to deal with than bullshit. But then, I let you spin, and look where we are. I’m sorry about that.
You’ll notice, hopefully, that there is still food on the table. The sun is still out. I’m still here with you, despite the whole, “ooops it was all bullshit, I was never actually gonna do it” thing.
So now that the whole rapture thing didn’t happen, and we’re still here, we’re changing the rules.
1. Get Real. Stop thinking that you need to be the biggest, bestest, fastest, richest, most powerfulest, coolest thing in the universe. Set reasonable goals for yourself, and you may not feel the need to erupt in a fiery rage when you can’t handle it anymore. Let’s try for stable, kind, honest, generous, considerate and fun. Notice the absence of “-est” at the end. This isn’t a competition. Chill.
2. Stop telling me what to do. You do not have the answer to everything, and I am not you anyway. I do it differently than you do. I think differently, talk differently, love differently, learn differently and it’s ok. If you want a relationship with yourself, go for it. But if you want one with me, I get to be me, not you. You have too many rules and ridiculous expectations. I look past the stupid things you say and do (burning bush? Really?) and accept the whole package even though parts of it don’t make a lick of sense. So after you promised me all this rapture, and no one came, it’s time for you to cut me some slack.
3. Stop telling everyone else what to do. Same as above. But dude, why do you care how everyone else is living their life? All that time you spend judging other people is time you could spend playing with me. That sounds more fun
There, that’s all. 3 simple rules.
Now, about that fig tree you said you’d grow for me. Now that we have more time on our hands because you’re not all ragey and end-the-worldy all-powerful, we can hang in the garden. I do want the fig tree. Remember the whole leaf thing? Hot. You used to be playful and fun, early on. I want that guy back. I never wanted anything more than that, the rest of this universe crap was your idea. I just wanted to hang with you. Naked, in the shade of the tree, squeezing our fingers into the soft ripe fruit to open it and see it’s flesh glisten, getting our skin all sticky. You would feed me with your fingers, in my mouth. Rapture. The real kind.