anon_j_anon (anon_j_anon) wrote,

The Gospel According to Alejandro, pt. 2

  Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

They answered him, We be Abraham's seed, and were never in bondage to any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free?


John 8: 31-33



His name is not Alejandro.

That was not the name given him at birth.  That name was John, for God is gracious, and John was beloved of God.  They wanted him to be named after for one of the Faithful, and who better than the man of the Word, writer of God, written in God.

But his name was not John.

His fate lay not in word, but in speech, and he should not have been named John the disciple but John the Baptist, roaring in the desert to squeeze water out of sand.

For a prophet among locusts and wild honey may scream, but John lived with soybean fields like thick mounds of clover and swallowed his name.  There was nothing blasted that choked the air with crushing heat and forced the Word of God to come out in shouts.  The weight of water in the air forced him to ingurgitate all his words, suck in the sounds he knew he should know but had somehow forgotten or never learned.  The name held him, anchored him underwater until he stood like all the others.

He was John all the years of his childhood to everyone he knew.

(Alejandro) John.

John (Alejandro).

And it was almost impossible, in the voices that kept tugging his collar, to find the name that was really his.

(Alejandro), John.  John, (Alejandro).  (Alejandro), John.  John, (Alejandro).

(Alejandro), John.  Ioan, (Alejandro).  (Aleyandro), Yoan.  Yonah, (Aleiandro).

Sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t John and thought that maybe he was.  Maybe he was John, maybe his name was one of those things he had to grow into.

(Aleiandro), Yohan.  Johann, (Aleihanndro).  (Aleyjohandro), Johannes.  Juan, (Alejohndro).

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

(Alejondro), (Aleyandro).

What truth was left for him?

(Aleihanndro), (Allehandro).

What truth, when he could not speak and couldn’t hear the beat of his own heart lost in the din of voices that called a name that was not his own.  What truth, when he could not speak the words pressing on his chest, squeezing out his lungs?  What truth was left when there were no words because he’d forgotten them, and there were only screams?

(Alehandro), (Allejandro).

And as it happens in the world, some spake many words, and few believed on them.  And he screamed one word, many recoiled from him.  And as he called a name, he believed on it.

(Alejandro), (Alejandro).

For in the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

Then said Jesus to those which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

The truth shall make you free.

Make you free.  Not set you free, but make you free.  In the beginning was the word, and the word shall set you free.  Free from sin, for verily, verily I say unto you, whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin.

And the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but the Son abideth ever.

If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.

For freedom is something bought and sold, given and taken like a deed to a house or a treasure in a field, that  man must sell everything to buy, to buy his name like a treasure in a field, which a man hideth when he hath found it, and he does not sell it for goodly pearls of great price, and he does not cast in the sea like a net for fishes, which gathered up every kind, and when it was full, they drew to shore, and stood in boats to preach to all the fishes.

No, freedom is found in truth, and the truth will make you free, and the truth is in a word, and the word is with God, and the word was God, but God gave speech unto men so that they may preach to fishes and pray to idols, so that they may build high towers and break the commandments, so that they may write the word for every season and time, for there is a time for reaping and time for sowing, a time for slaughter and a time for shaking, a time for sacrifice and an hour to cry out ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’

Freedom is found in truth, but that truth is not found in the blood of a Son, the blood of the Father, the blood of man or sheep or beast.  Freedom is found in the emptiness of the Word, the sound that cannot travel through space because there is no matter, freedom is made in the Beginning, when the dark waters of the world are churning, without form and void, the darkness surging on the face of the deep.

And God said a word, and God opened his mouth, and there was sound before there was light, there was a scream before there were shadows, there was matter before the Son knew a name, before the Son knew of stars, before the light was divided from darkness, and that sound was a word, and the word was a name to divide the light from darkness, for God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night, and so passed the first day.

Then God said another word to divide the void from the sound, and he divided the waters from the waters, from the living spring above and the still waters below, for some God leadeth beside still waters, yea when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and some drinketh from the waters of the Son and they shall never thirst again, for it shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life, and God called the waters Heaven, for fishers of men go out to sea to save the lost and lonely from drowning in waters, from forgetting in rivers, from passing through time.

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

What word, and what freedom?  What sound and what slavery?  We without freedom and thirsting for waters are servants of sin to be freed as servants of virtue, but what word can have the power to make you free.  Make you free.  It is not set, but make.  Not remaking, but making.  Creating a body from the dust of the earth, from the still waters of the valley of the shadow of death, from the living waters of eternity, born into a world where God by the word gave rule to Day over Night, by the word divided the waters from themselves, and God by the word opened his mouth to say all he saw was good.

What truth do you find in freedom through the word, the word that dissolves in darkness, the sound that cannot be heard in space?  What is that word promising freedom to him, through a name like a treasure hid in a field, when his body and all his desires were named sinful, when he was constricted by conscription, when he could not scream to make a name.

For the kingdom of Heaven is like the waters in a sea, on which a man walked without fear and without condemnation, and saith unto mankind, It is I.  Be not afraid.

Then they willingly received him into the ship and immediately the storm calms, the winds die, the waves cease, and the Lord God speaks, saying,

Behold, I establish my covenant with you, and with all those gathered to witness, and your seed, and their seed after them, and with every living creature that is with you on the earth.

And I will establish my covenant with you, that neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood, and neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy your people.

And this I give as a token of the covenant which I make before you: I do set my bow in the cloud, and my son on the cross, and a word in the waters like a name whispered in secret, like prayer of desperation, saying ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me’

This is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations,

And I will remember this covenant, and I will remember you.

For the kingdom of Heaven is like a name that is bought with great price, that is exchanged between lovers, one to fight and one to flee the mob of angels that surround them, saying


I pray you, remember me.

I pray you, remember us.

For ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.



It wasn’t the angels who would kill him.

It was the silence.

The silence of a scream suppressed, a shout that should be ripped from him was simply forced down his throat until he gagged, until he choked on the sound of his own cries and he didn’t know if he was really screaming or if he was deaf.

Screams and cries of ecstasy and despair, sobs spoken to the night where no one heard, where no one wanted to hear.  It was never the angels or his Father or his Mother who would kill him, but the silence.

His silence, their silence.

Fernando died screaming, screams mixed with the rage of the crowd gathered round, shouts joined by the river of sound and angels flexing their wings, fire roaring down and crashing through his body.  Fernando knew what it was like to live unafraid, to stand for himself and make a sound no one wanted to hear, fuck them.

And Alejandro?

What did he know.

What did he know but surviving in shadows and darkness, what did he know except to suppress everything he did, silence himself for the Will of God and the Way.  What did he know but ripping out his vocal cords and offering them, warm and pulsing, on the altar of God.

Fernando was the stronger of the two, he’d had the surety of friends and family who never rejected his prodigality.

And it had frustrated him so much that Alejandro was so paranoid, that Alejandro made himself a blackbird and a shade.  There was nothing shameful in being a prodigal, there was nothing wrong with wanting a life for oneself, free from the judgment of people, free from the fear of God’s wrath and punishment.

He didn’t understand.

Alejandro never feared God’s punishment.  He wasn’t sure he still believed in an eternal soul—without the ransom, God held no power over him.

It was men.

It was angels.

Their silence, and their sight.

But why should you fear them when you have me?  Why should you fear them when you’re not there anymore? Fernando had asked.  You left.  You never have to go back.

But he did.  He had promises to keep.  He made an oath.  He made an oath.  He found his name, and in that silence she had been the only one with a song.

It was hard for Fernando to understand such a completely outdated mindset.

Do people still think like that?

He’d be surprised.

And in the silence between them, Alejandro feared that it was too late.  That despite the fact that he had found his name, he would always think “John” somewhere in there, that though he had escaped, they had clawed into him and instead of scars, he was left permanently bleeding, silence blasting through the wound, gnawing inside like gangrene.

The saints would never kill him.  Not outright.

They weren’t the type to gather pitchforks and skewer people on upside-down crosses in the middle of cornfields on hot summer nights.

It wasn’t their Way.

It was their silence.

The way he thought maybe he was just insecure, the way he thought maybe he imagined their looks and whispers, the way he thought maybe he was the one who was wrong and they were the ones in the light.

The way he thought maybe his name was John.

In that slow suffocation of a sound asphyxiated, in that polite handshake and smile and look in their eyes that pressed into him and pulled a switch and he suppressed himself.  He screamed into himself.

He never thought he would be here again.

He thought, after a lifetime of silence, he would be able to scream.  Coming.  Going.  Loving.  Fucking.  Night after night after night he would scream and it felt so good.  It felt like freedom, it felt right and true and everything he had never known.

Later, the high would fade and the screams were different, but at least he could.  At least he could hear himself.

Now he was home, prodigal son returned, surviving the only way he knew how.

And night after night after night he fantasizes about screaming.

Screaming with Fernando, screaming to the multitude gathered round.  Screaming at God.

The silence and the sound, the silence and ground, the silence and the grave, the mute and the depraved.

Alejandro, called.

Alejandro, he called.

Alejandro, she called.

A name and an impound, amen uttered profound, the silence and insane, suppression and the pain.




Don’t call my name.

Whoever you are, don’t call my name.

Don’t call my name.

In the silence and the sound, in the silence and the tomb, fuck the silence of the womb, fuck the silence and the room.

Who is he.

That’s what they take away.

They take away the sound and in taking away the sound remove his reflection in the mirror so he can’t see himself and can’t watch his back.  There is only shadow and shade, condemnation in darkness.  When there’s no room to be your own person, when they ask you to deny your own name—they’ll never deny your name for you, they’ll never force you to deny your name, but they won’t give you a choice either—when they ask you to deny your own name and tell you it’s for your own good, when they chide you to take the knife and plunge it into your own throat, offer the vocal chords to God and the tongue to angels, when you watch them devour it with such tender devotion and prayers and songs, can you be sure you’re the monster?  Can you be sure you don’t have a soul when they sing, and they smile and assure you that the song is so much better than your primal screams.  They smile and say it sounds so much better, to sing to God than sing for self.  Self can only produce ugliness and force, brutal cries and grunts.  Self can never make that heavenly music that God loves that humans learn to love, self can never be anything but ugly, monstrous.  Isn’t this better, holier, cleaner, lovelier.  Isn’t this better, lighter, healthier, happier.  Isn’t it.  Isn’t it.

Is that a question?  Is there a choice?

Isn’t it.  Isn’t it.  The Lord gives all His creatures free will, else there would be no such thing as sincere worship.  We must choose to cut our vocal cords, have them replaced with His divine voice, have the Holy Spirit sing through us.  Isn’t it magnificent.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing to hear the Lord’s people in complete unison, singing the same song, knowing the words to the same tune.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing to see a life glorifying God with a new voice, but a unique voice, but a Godly and goodly voice.  Isn’t it.

Is that a question?  Is there a choice?

Isn’t it.  Isn’t it.  Isn’t it.  Isn’t is a beautiful thing.  Isn’t it a glorious thing.  Isn’t it the Hand of God.  Isn’t it the Will of God.  Isn’t it a wondrous thing.  Isn’t it a wonderful thing.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing.  The blade in your hand, the knife to your throat, your tongue cut and bleeding, the blood running from your mouth on your lips, the blood of the Lamb and the blood of Christ and the blood washing you and the blood drowning you and the blood cleansing your voice of all the impurities until all that is left is holy and sanctified.  Isn’t it a beautiful thing.  Isn’t it.

And the horror and the pain is eased away by the comfort and peace of the God, your worldly desires placed on the altar of His will, His way, our Will, our Way.

And there are no screams, there is no pain, the flesh is washed away in blood.

There are no screams, there are no screams, there are no screams.

It was never the angels who would kill him.

It was never, it was never, it was never.

Can he remember?

His name, his face, his voice, his life.

His love.

His name.

Jesus renamed Simon to Peter, Saul renamed to Paul.  A new life, a new face, a new voice, a new love.


Fernando would scream on cool nights with sweat and semen between them and his voice was hoarse coarse force but he’d never heard such a beautiful sound.

Die to self.  Die to self.  Die to self.  Give up your voice to God and Jesus, give up your screams to the cross.  Kill the unholy and your desires and the sound of your silence will be beautiful.

They could all sing the same sound with the same voice because they had no song and they had no voice except the sound of silence except the silence of sound.

Fernando would scream his name and he would scream Fernando’s in the silence of darkness, in the whispers of light, and their voices weren’t the same and it was never a song but he’d never heard such a beautiful thing.

But he was afraid it was too late, that he wouldn’t remember his name, his face, their voices, their screams.

It was never God he feared, the silence he felt in prayer, the silence he saw was his soul.

It was men.

They would kill him into silence.

“I pray you, remember me.”

And the crowd was screaming and jeering and throwing stones, shaking walls.

“I pray you, remember us.”




And ye shall know the truth,
And the truth shall set you free,
Through a prayer or a curse,
A psalm offered in verse,
A word moaned in secret,
Whispered darkness of a hearse,
Angels dragging the coffin to the grave and corn tilled fields,
The field to be reborn,
In a more perfect divine heavenly unclayish bodily sacrosanct form,
The word emanating from soybeans and alfalfa and hay,
Written by a man writing in the dust before an adulteress of saltstone
Sowing the bitter fields fallow and phallow
With seeds that fell by the wayside, in the thorns, among deaf ears
Carried away by blackbirds eating mustard seeds that grew to mighty trees
That gave shelter to the fowl of the air and shade to the beasts of the earth
That anchored Noah’s lost ship in the belly of a whale of the sea
Sojourning to Ninevah Jordan Egypt through the desert of a burning bush
To sit in prison and sing praises unto the Lord
Yes, sing praises unto the Lord, the Almighty creator and unseen hand
Who stops the turn and churning of the earth so that his saints might have victory
Victory over flesh, victory over their reflection,
Flesh revealed in refleshion refashioned
The mortal coil reaching for the divine in golden calfs
In wine and jubilee, in taxes to Caesar and revelations
The beast rising with the riders of the apocalypse
The naked woman with revealed breasts staring strange into the eyes of Solomon
Screeching the songs of songs, the prophecies killing oases
Water slipping from the everlasting source deep into the sinkhole sand
Condemning those thirsting after righteousness and the good wine of water
The god time of slaughter, the baby found by pharoah’s daughter
Commandments crushed underfoot by Rome’s centennial citizen
Paul writing in disgust of Greeks worshipping an unknown god
Letters to Corinthians, Ephesians, Galatians, Romans
Admonishing, admiring, creating the new law from words
Structure from simple stories and proverbs, religion from a collection of parables
Tradition, ritual, organization, rigor
Doctrine formed through history, extrapolating canons and cannons from
The Word, with God, was God, by-for God,
Society and empire and human moral systems built
Towering in babblish reaching for order, justice, heaven on this poor phallic earth
Myths of angels demons devils hellish torments set in rings
Paradise afterlife vampiric sexually repressed diseased syphilic things
From a paltry collection of parables saying
The prodigal son, the good Samaritan, the pearl of great price, the lost sheep
A mythologized miracle of crucifixion resurrected
Making us believe in a power greater than our hands,
Tricking us into building cathedrals dedicated to God
Burning witches for the sake of scripture,
Granting holidays for the sake of levity,
When in truth, the modern atheisagnopagospiriturationalistic judeoislazenchrisddhist says
There is no God, all was built by atheisagnopagospiriturationajudeoislazenchrisddhistian hands
Only now have we defeated the great untruth that enslaved us for centuries
And so we know the truth, and the truth has made us free.
We know truth, word, and our secret prayers, and so we are truly free.

Truth, free, truth, free, truth

But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet,
And when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret;
And thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.
And if ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
For your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.
They answered him, We were never in bondage to any man:
How sayest thou, Ye shall be made free?

And he answered unto them, saying,
Can you pray your name?
Can you forgive your memories?

They answered him, saying,
How sayest thou
Ye shall be made free?
How sayest thou?
How sayest thou?

And he answered unto them, saying,
Do you know your name?
Do you scream your histories?

We were never in bondage to any man:
We were never prodigal sons.
We know our face, we speak our name
And pray not to idols of the sun.

And he answered unto them, saying,
You were not in bondage to any man, but
Do you remember me?
Alejandro—do you remember us?

For now is made manifest,
By the scriptures of the prophets,
According to the commandment of the everlasting God,
Made known to all nations for the obedience of faith:
For the nameless and prodigal say, Come.
Let they that screameth say, Come.
Let they that are athirst Come
Let them take the water of life freely
For I testify unto every prayer that readeth the words in the dust
If any seek freedom, search in plague
And if any shall take away from the words of this book a prophecy
Leave.  Search somewhere else for your revelation.
The book of life is not written here:
It was written in the dust
In the skins of our lovers, in the sins of our brothers
Blood crying out from the fields of treasure
Of fishes, of singing, of pharetic riches.
Leave.  Search somewhere else for your desire.
The book of life is not written here.

My name is not written here.




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