So I buy a Bible...you know a friend of mine has an idea, some sort of photo shoot, involving me and a Bible--I don't ask questions. I buy the Bible on my lunch break, I took a really long time deciding between cover colors, a black pleather or a mahogany pleather; "what would god choose?" I think to myself and go with the black. Now I feel a bit strange as I purchase this $6.99 Bible, King James' Version. As I walk out of Shakespeare and Co. onto Broadway, this was just the preview, this was when the Bible still had the plastic wrap, the condom if you will. We all know God with a condom is no God. After work I strip the cover from out its protection and take down Lafayette with one hand in my pocket and the other swinging the Bible. Something strange occurred after a few moments.
Before I get into it, I should now mention that I looked like a mormon, in dark gray viscose pants with a striped collared tucked in and covered by a light, almost heather gray v-neck. Its breezy enough that I can get away with my gray skully, not because of its color but because others tend to take too personal another person's apparel.
Anyway, as I'm crossing Astor, northern bound to 14 St, I suddenly become reached, held, proposed by this overwhelming sensation. Its almost as if the Bible beside me with the words, "Holy Bible" thick and gold on the pleather cover, were a weapon not a book. A pistol, some sort of side arm, phallic and making up for some need within me to extend my manhood through the power of a weapon. I feel as if I could control, fear, excite people, shape their minds with whatever I feel they should interpret as relevant. For whatever reason, as I walked up Lafayette, I felt a legacy of murder, conquest, violence, and prejudice surge through my palm and like a bribe, slipping in, I savored the imagined taste of taking apart a human brain and reconstructing the pieces as I saw fit. This was strange, perhaps even uncomfortable but not frightening. Not frightening in the slightest bit.