Colostomy John

Leviticus met Genesis in the Walgreens at the southeast corner of North Highland Ave and Santa Monica Blvd.

They bought their own blood. Christ was there in spirit. Ezekiel bought his own blood and raised the issue of eternal redemption. I told them I only deal with dead mechanisms … not gods. Mindless engines and plasma cannons. Colostomy John scratches … stabs my skin. Shallow waters beneath the cracking ozone. My bony shoulders and skull fractures. Phone camera footage of a subterranean cavern. Matthew infected Peter with revelatory blood. A bluish sun covered with green dust. Mountain tops covered with a neon blaze. Colostomy John speaks for the thousandth time … laughter beneath his shadowy nose. Precious blood in exchange for sexual immorality. Colostomy John told Jesus that he thought eternal life was a put-on. Colostomy John didn’t feel like his old self … he felt like some futile way … like some perishable thing. The high priest performed his ritual duties. Ugly eyes on hairy bodies. Colostomy John has strong arms … a red mouth. A gold band around his right wrist. Orange plastic scattered on the beachhead. Colostomy John undertook various washings of his body. I ate blood and bitter herbs. I entered the inner parts of Passover … the peace offerings of the new covenant … the open fields of clean birds … the scarlet yarn around my neck. Golden lights throughout Los Angeles. A tangy odour from Pershing Square subway entrance. Colostomy John with a cigarette in his left hand. He flicks ash with a delicate gesture. He blows smoke into my face. Colostomy John believes in the steady work of being an asshole. Fresh water and a leprous disease … burnt offerings given to me by the great shepherd. Night sounds from the yellow canal. Fresh flower scents in the warm air … an open window. Colostomy John with his cloudy eyes. I need to strengthen my aching body … my weak hands … my feeble knees … to pursue righteousness with a pure heart. Colostomy John with a wide mouth … honey and tigerish muscle. My hair is darker than Colostomy John’s. The dusky moonlight … coral filaments … ear lobes that hear the faintest ghosts. Blood as ignorant controversies … blood that breeds quarrels. Blood as understood by the Ephesians … this cup that transmutes the Lord’s death. A sunlit river. The warm air. Great insects as the moon creeps. I am in a large reception room … prismatic beams beneath me … slow music plays in an otherwise silent room. Goat demons in the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire. People ate us. They aggravated our bones with loud voices. Blood as a whole heart. Blood as a willing mind. A steady hum from the wall cavity. A dust rag tied around my ankles … some lovesick act from Colostomy John. Vicious creatures confirmed as being carnivorous. Colostomy John drinks blood. Colostomy John drinks blood in an open field. Colostomy John drinks blood as a peace offering. Being with Colostomy John is a strange mixture of painful moments and laboratory tests. Colostomy John undergoes extensive psychological treatment. Colostomy John wears a full dress suit … yellow stripes … his eyes shine. We shake hands. Colostomy John drinks blood as a baptism.

Shane Jesse Christmass is the author of the novels, Yeezus In Furs (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2018), Napalm Recipe: Volume One (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017), Police Force As A Corrupt Breeze (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2016) and Acid Shottas (The Ledatape Organisation, 2014). He was a member of the band Mattress Grave, and is currently a member in Snake Milker. An archive of his writing/artwork/music can be found at
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