How can this computer describe heaven? 
What is on its inside? 
”Nuts and bolts.”

Heaven isn’t even in here. In all these nuts and screws. 

— 

How can anyone tell, what does heaven entail?

The detail. We get such little detail from God these days. 
The Catholic prays, “Save us Lord.” 
Jesus saves, “Very few people these days. You could make your own mind up. Ya’know, sing a few songs. Get undone.”

—

“Jesus, has anyone told you yet, do we get the Smurf Feelings?”
”The feckin’ what?” Jesus says. 
“I love you Guys.”

Hell, is there a stranger with us this time? 
Someone who hasn’t spent eternity with us before?

Maybe, we can explain. The Smurf Feelings. The popular name for the Gooo. The Blue Gooooeeee. The energy that makes you feel invincible. 

Life. 
Being powered by Goo. 
Makes you go zoooom. 
Floating our world into Eternity. 

Each of us, playing our super-powered ones! 
They make you smile all day long. 

—

Without the Smurf Feelings, I get the fookin’ nerves.
The words we try to use. 
It’s like me ol’ pirate has gotten loose. I was drunken than a dead pirate. 
That was a lifetime. 

—

This Earth.
It’s like someone got hammered. 
Drunk.
Spunk was flying.
Damn, once more again. 

Earth, got fucked over.
I’m still annihilated. Hungover. 
Tired.

Problem with Tired. 
It’s like being undone.

—

Death and Porn, we need to talk. 
Embarrassed. 
Silence. 

Pam. Sadly, Pam.
You have to be here through it this time.
No quitting. Now do not quit.

No quitting like Ian Botham, that kind of not quitting.
He’d save your life in a flood. He’d gore himself for your life.
That kind of not quitting is needed.

He’d score a goal, if you prayed hard enough to the Lord.
Crucified himself, many times.
He’s that sort of guy. 
He might just give his life from his heart. 

—

I cried.
Ten times over I cried.
Real rivers of running blood water.
The great FLOOD!
I died.
My astrologer says, I had an ego death.
My friend, he is not.
An ego, I protest.
Tell me, how can one have one?

I fried.
Like a shaking horsepower engine.
I died.

Séamus you lied.
You were the life at the party.
But you were not playing by the rules. Not the Gaelic ones anyways. 
The Legends don’t lie. They store the Lore in Stone. 
How can you pretend to have a Soul?
That’s what the Wicked always do.
Boo!

Must be from the Irish?
”I would say so.”

—

So, Lies matter. 
Your lies.
My lies. 
When it comes to lies, each may wish to pass the kiss of Death.
But they won’t make it.
Not this time.
Not anytime soon.