Wednesday, January 11, 2006


what is truth? pontius pilate asks, staring back into ordinary brown eyes. i think hes terrified. because his lower left eyelid twitches at the thought of all that blood. (fingers picking at nails. being soggy. or something unpleasant like that.) terrified because he had baldhead, stone, law power and a breakfast only half-eaten and now cold on the table behind him. because those eyes were, so, ordinary. terrified or just tired of it all. all the haunting. all the times he had almost believed, cried himself to sleep, tried not waking his wife over it. all the (god, maybe true) prophecies. the never really hungry feeling. maybeyesno. screw it. tired or maybe he hits the mark with his question and knows it. jesus, with all toes moving along the grained and polished corridor floor. funny feeling. sinking feeling. between the wood slats there. in his stomach too.

pilate stopped asking questions after that. he could have said nevermind, hurry up, stop mumbling, look me in the face( i want to see those eyes again so very badly). but didn't. i want to know what happened after that. alone in the corridor with the smooth floorboards and half-eaten breakfast. good question pilate. breatholding, heart in your fingers, kind of good question. what's in all that weighted silence between the corridor and the moment pilate turns away, speaks to the foot-tapping rabbis and townspeople, hanging around for a good show and primetime begging. maybe jesus makes the silence his answer. maybe he just decides its best to keep quiet and enjoy the wood grain against his toes...long story.

*photograph by daniela stumpfl, Bubbles, more at


At 8:18 AM, Blogger SilverGryphon said...



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