Solo

I paint Spinoza’s portrait with a faithful brush. I am not indifferent. I am aware that in some languages I love is just a verb, pronoun understood. Which language is better in bed? The Verb is a good beginning. I play iTunes, love songs and sacred music, sometimes I need to hear others pray. I’ve been knocked off my axis by the Gods in places of worship. Respect, admiration is not devotion. I’ve forsaken all the Gods. I listen to Bach’s Saint John and Saint Matthew Passions. Saint John’s Christ died on the cross knowing His resurrection would redeem mankind. Saint John’s opening chorus, ‘Come you daughters help me mourn.’ Saint Matthew’s Passion has less foreknowledge, Christ died a Jew, the first words of Psalm 22 on his lips, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me...’ Martin Luther On the Jews and Their Lies: ‘Burn their homes and synagogues!’ I watch the flaming Horse of the Apocalypse leap from later-on back to the present that is ‘eternal transition, perpetual crisis.’ The earth is covered with tears and blood. God is the wish to live.