the love stamp.

the pope is dead.

for the next several days, it is highly improbable, but nonetheless possible, that the next pope will be from a third world nation. he might not be white. he might reform the church in the right direction. he might stress the importance of human rights more strongly. he might support the use of condoms, especially in countries being ravaged by AIDS. he might be in favour of women assuming positions of leadership. he might speak about marriages that have as much to do with love as they do with babies.

i need to get to a church. i can't stop praying. i'm terrified of what the next pope will actually be like.

i'm used to loving a church that does not like me very much. i adore the ritual, and the hierarchy, and the secrets. i like things that let me be small. but i'm used to separating the aesthetic from the social ethics.

i loved this pope. i want the head of my church to be a man who has traveled more than all of his successors combined. i want him to speak nine languages.

i miss my high school. i want to be with people who need to talk about this. i need the talking. i miss calling him a koala bear, and wanting to hug him, and referring to him only as JP2. i want to have to go to the chapel tomorrow after second period.

i hope that pittsburgh is already joking about this and almost feeling bad about it. i wish i knew what they were saying.

goodnight, JP2. thank you. you were a good man.

save it 'til the morning after.

my job is so much better than yours. we're absurdly busy for no reason we can fathom, and i'm covered in dead underwater things, and i'm exhausted, and i'm loving it. the sale numbers were already higher than they should have been for the day at five o'clock. and yesterday, i sold twenty-six pounds of fish to duran duran. that's right. i touched duran duran's cod, and they liked it. eat it, suckers.