Saturday 7th April 2012

India held over yet again. The Crucifixion this time.

On this Saturday of Christ’s death, the only Saturday of his death as it turned out, we meditate upon the Cross. Poor Little Rich Gays, here and throughout the world, were asked ‘What does the Crucifixion mean to you?’

Most were too busy to respond.

The Gay Mother and I were riding westward, in my official car with Xenon driving lights, after Aunt Lavinia’s 80th Birthday Party at Shoreditch House.

But Poor Little Rich Gays embrace suffering, we’re not too grand for it, unlike the Earl’s Court Gays with their bleached teeth and muscles. I have been suffering for 27 months now, kept perpetually in non-speakers Abu Ghraib by Anthony Mottram, ‘consultant’ of Prague. It is a classic Poor Little Rich Gay falling out – essentially a battle of wills, a fearsome deadlock until wipe-out victory is gained.

Christ endured only 40 days and 40 nights in the desert, then 3 hours on the Cross. So I’ve done longer.

Christ at once emblazoned in glory, gilded to the rafters in Heaven yet nailed roughly to the Cross – it’s the Poor Little Rich Gay story.

The Photo Multi sees the Cross as an absolute indication that funding for political parties should not be provided by the State. Smaller parties would be crucified.