Confessions of Jesus Christ
November 5, 2012 in Resistance
I was a waiter at a seafood restaurant
in my early twenties
when I saw Jim Carry’s film,
Unable to tell a single lie
due to his son’s wish,
this uptight lawyer (in the movie)
suddenly becomes a modern-day Jesus
spewing honesty in every situation
he finds himself in.
I identified with the character.
I felt as if he was indoctrinating me,
especially when he shouts out the infamous
words of Jesus from the Bible,
“The Truth Shall Set You Free!”
It was a long-winded catharsis
filled with fire and a total belief
in the words
said through the animated-mouth
of a clownish soul
who’s been to hell
returned with the gratefulness
of a new life.
After the film,
I couldn’t sleep well for days.
Then I finally gave in to what was bothering me
and confessed to my wife
that I’d worn women’s clothing before
and that I had this thing
with cross dressing
and it had started when I was a boy
when my mother was sick
in the hospital
and it had kicked in
when she’d died
around the time I was ten years old.
She wept while sitting on the couch;
and for weeks she was in a kind of slumped daze.
But then she saw the courage
in my confession, feeling better
about her own issues,
and she came around and realized she loved me
nonetheless, despite this perverted quirk,
and she let it go
as our marriage continued with a new strength
and bizarre force.
Feeling the relief of letting this secret
out of the bag, finally, after holding it in
for all these years,
I confessed to my best buddy at the time;
he in turn confessed to having S and M
and told me stories of him
paying Mistresses (at their homes)
for forced feminization scenarios
where they’d dress him up as a bitch
and pretend to pick him up at a bar;
it was quite a night, both of us smoking a joint
and cracking up.
Then I told my older brother and his girlfriend.
And then I wrote a thirty-page
called Confessions of a Transvestite;
and gave a copy to my wife
and to the buddy I told
and to my brother and his girlfriend
and to a few restaurant co-workers
I felt were close enough friends to trust.
Well, perhaps I took that line from Carry’s movie too literally, not realizing the consequences.
After passing out copies of this manuscript
to other servers
not in my personal circle,
I began to feel the eyes on me
while waiting tables at work; word got around,
especially with caddy servers in a restaurant.
People treated me differently.
I was, in a silent way, shunned; management
eventually saw me as some kind of freakish threat.
That’s when the bouts of anxiety
began to occur.
I couldn’t handle the eyes
focusing on my sanity
even if there were no eyes
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t prepared for the mind chaos
thrown at me.
I suppose that’s how it works.
I suppose that’s what Jesus felt,
that is, what any man would face
accepting the role of Jesus, accepting
the consequences of telling the truth.
The truth shall set you free all right,
rolling a royal carpet underneath a troubled soul.
But if you’re going to go all the way,
jump all the way in, then you better be ready
to face society’s encroaching jaws;
the truth is dangerous pray
in an ocean of dutiful sharks.
Jesus found out pretty quick himself.
Betrayed by his closest friend
and then crucified on the cross,
his suffering represents
the suffering of the artist
or the truth seeker
or the person confessing his deepest sins
to the masses.
The metaphor is potent
and still vital for the honest man today.
I was aware of these things,
reading Joseph Campbell
and doing my best to face
the obstacles thrown at me.
But one doesn’t know how sharp
the tiger’s claws are
until those claws actually rip the flesh.
After passing out those copies of the manuscript,
I lasted about three months in the restaurant.
I’m not sure if it was me who’d sabotaged myself
into getting fired
or if it was management who’d had enough
of my ass; my anxiety
mixed with their unwholesome knowledge of me
came to a head.
So I found myself looking for another job
once again, which wasn’t anything new for me, even before all this had happened.
And as time passed,
I found myself isolated,
unable to relate with anyone
other than the masters,
the great comedians
joking their way through hellish confessions,
writers spilling their blood
on the pages, and even painters
wiping their guts onto canvas.
Unable to maintain any sort of normal life,
whatever life that was,
I eventually left my wife,
which had nothing to do with the cross dressing,
but a wildness in me
that just wouldn’t go away.
I was too wild for society.
The anxiety got worse, and I kept losing jobs,
and I barely made it in the end.
Over the years, I’ve managed to squeeze my way
through the cracks of the Grid
without being noticed enough
to close all doors in order to make a living.
I’m still dealing with the consequences
after watching that movie
almost fifteen years ago.
I’m 38 now, and I’ve had more jobs
and more women
and I’ve written six novels
and poetry manuscripts filled with works
like this one.
But other than a few close friends
and ex-girlfriends, at this point in the game,
know who I am or what I’m about.
I haven’t stopped;
the crucifixion continues.
If you don’t believe me,
show this piece
to your local high school superintendent
in his office
and watch his eyes squirm
with fear, rage, and doubt,
feeling the awkwardness
of a thousand elephants
charging into the room.