C.H.R.I.S.T.I.A.N.I.T.Y.: it’s not so much the thing itself, but the side effects that kill you – the opportunistic infections of misinterpretation and politics – and the parasites that come with it.

My emotions were like a crowd. Give ’em what they want. Barabbas or the J-man. There’s gonna be a crucifixion. Well, more or less. Because if you ask me, purveyor of useless facts, the promise...

I felt my heart crack slowly like a pomegranate, spilling its seeds.

Lives here, in each of us.

How many of these children would one day be queer? How many would be felled by the acronym? How many by something else? How many would forget the circus? How many would never see it...

I figured in the modern world, considering, Jesus himself would have likely been born in a frat house.

Consequently, any boy who appeared at such a time was bound to carry a certain weight, a sort of saving grace, a fateful gravity.

Don’t focus on outward means of satisfaction if you want to be happy.

Love was actually more like calculus or physics. What was the half-life of love? Did it have cosigns and slopes, or quarks that morphed from wave to particle faster than you could say, please don’t...