I Promise I Won't Say "Hoppy Easter."

As today is Easter (and because I have nothing else to do while I wait for my lady friend to come over)- and, of course, in celebration of Jesus's return to society as a ravenous and vengeful zombie- I decided to perform a little resurrection of my own: I am reanimating the rotting corpse of my fallen writing habits in the form of this brand-new (and painstakingly unoriginal) blog.

Hey, I guess I've still got it. That whole paragraph is one sentence, proving once and for all that quantity is more important than quality, despite what my lady friend says.

But I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about writing and Jesus. I write a lot about Jesus, because all the books start out by admonishing to 'write what you know,' and if there's one thing I know about, it's the similarity between Jesus and the act of writing. Both of them are in a person's life only when they are needed. When things are going well, we don't need to turn to either one. If I'm having a good day, the last thing I'm thinking about is asking old Holey-hands for guidance or writing one of my soul-scathing articles on the failings of humanity. If I'm having a good day, it usually means I'm drunk enough that I could neither write a proper sentence, nor recognize Jesus as the metaphor he actually is.

Which brings me to my next point: Jesus and writing both involve a lot of alcohol. Hell, Jesus's blood is comprised entirely of wine. I guess that makes my lady friend and I unforgivable vampires, although the last time we stepped out into the sunlight I noticed a remarkable lack of sparkling. This further encourages me to believe that Twilight was full of shit. Now, before I get a barrage of hatemail for my disdain of trendy and underage inter-species romance, I'll have it be known that I don't care what your opinion is. If you're a female in junior high, it might be forgivable that you fell into this tar trap (and my room mate might want your phone number). But if you fit virtually any other demographic in existence, you have no business reading what is essentially the shattered youth of what was once a very lonely and unattractive junior high girl. Perhaps if she were more tormented- and thus, more prone to the allures of strong liquor- she would have been a better writer with more profound ideas and, consequently, less of a lonely-heart, monosyllabic following. And her relationship with Jesus would be more notable.

Writing is an important part of my life- though it is a dying scene for most of Western civilization. This, too, is reminiscent of our Lord Jesus. While he isn't important in my life, there are enough gullible saps out there killing and hating in his name. And yet, Jesus and his cult is a diminishing presence on the earth. People are reading less books than ever- and Jesus's 15 minutes of fame came from a book only slightly less dull than Twilight. Although people aren't reading so much these days, I continue writing with the hope that someday one of my fictional characters will be taken out of figurative context and inflated into a blood idol to spark entire new Crusades and Inquisitions.

Another way that Jesus and writing are pretty much the same is that every idea from them has been done before and original thought is as obsolete a concept as vampires actually being loathsome and contemptible killers of the night rather than outrageously cute popular 15 year olds who pick the least likely girl in school in which to fall in love. Jesus appears in one form or another in every major religion in the world- and there are Baliwood copies of him in most obscure religions, as well. He's kind of like the Morgan Freeman voice-over of the religious world, but with less speculative things to say. Similarly, every concept a muse could shit out onto a writer's head has already been done in one form or another. Do a mad libs experiment: Put a bunch of nouns and verbs on scraps of paper and tape them to a wall. Now throw darts at them with your eyes closed. Once you've put the randomly selected words into any order, it's going to become a basic idea for a story- one which queerly resembles a number of films and books you've experienced, no matter how inane you try to be.

Originality is dead. And so was Jesus, before this day roughly 2,000 years ago. Just remember as you lay down to sleep, tired from a day of hunting easter eggs and imaginary friends, that the walking corpse of Jesus is out there. And he's pissed off that instead of understanding the true meaning of Christian Easter, you're running around celebrating the pagan Spring Festival.

P.S. Yes, you are. Eggs are a symbol of fertility and bunnies are a symbol of sex. What does that have to do with rolling back a stone? Zombie Jesus will have his revenge.