I am at church you understand, and sitting in the seats next to this old, loud, boozy sot, and I turn to him and say, “I’m getting out of here. This is the fucking People’s Temple all over again.”
So I go outside and the traffic is bad. I’m in Texas, dig, and there must be some sort of festival going on because the streets are full of people milling about, moving slowly, an Exodus of worshippers perhaps. And so I follow the crowd, but I begin to understand they are headed to a Catholic church, and I’m not Catholic, so I blow and go back inside.
My family is at the Catholic church, I understand.
Someone tells me this.
I’m not sure why I believe them.
***
I’m hungry, I notice.
I’m looking for that free meal.
So this preacher, who is some young cult leader wired like Jim Jones and all these guys, is sitting behind a desk, and the room is filled with his thugs. This guy is some sort of major criminal. He has a jar with a python in it.
He holds the jar against my face, but I sit there and take it. What else can I do? He unscrews the lid, slowly, and the damn thing shoots out, biting him on the back.
He pulls the serpent away from him, fondling it lovingly in his hands. The mouth of this serpent is enormous. It could swallow infants whole. He suddenly thrusts the thing between his legs, and now he has an enormous, writhing snake-cock. It might be dripping semen, or poison, for all I know, but I don’t want to stick around and find out. I make a run for it. Outside, I join a procession of mendicants all trudging toward the great Catholic cathedral that is somewhere in the hot bowels of the city.
Next thing I know I’m on stage. Writhing around, unleashing my serpent power. Bestial, I bite into my microphone. I pull back my hand and taste a mouthful of wires. Someone yells something insulting. The lights go up. The world spins on.
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