The Gospels of Peckinpah and Tarantino
I had a very strange dream last night. It was, essentially, the Gospels, as they might have been done by Peckinpah or Tarantino. I was Jesus (of course), the most enlightened, wise and quick-drawing, crack-shooting philosopher-gunfighter of the Wild Judea. I had a band of rough, tough disciples and we roamed the land, speaking parables and casting out demons, usually with incredible amounts of slow-motion rendered gunfights. Sometimes the Romans or the Sanhedrin would interfere, usually with either men in black hats or Men in Black. They were no match for our two-fisted, lead-spitting brand of frontier prophecy.
Fortunately, I awoke before the inevitable Showdown at the Golgotha Corral.
Was that weird, or what? The strangest thing is that I'm not making this up ...
Fortunately, I awoke before the inevitable Showdown at the Golgotha Corral.
Was that weird, or what? The strangest thing is that I'm not making this up ...