RELIGIOUS MEDITATIONS AMENDED I was sitting side saddle on the sofa contemplating all the stones thrown at police, priests, professors and politicians from then until now. All those wonderful People who told you how very, very precious you are -- I'm sorry, did I say "precious"? I meant stupid and worthless. Yes, I mean I was thinking of that day when sorrow settled down like a sunset and broke the heart of the world and you first came to realize: "Jesus Hates You." That I can take. The mistake in all this is that I hate me too. All of us do. Hate ourselves, that is. That's why I don't own a gun. I think shooting people would be too fun. "Suck on this!" Bam, bam, bam. Ah, yes, how easy being right could be. I don't blame Jesus for hating me. I hate me too. I hate me for not having the guts to be as mean as I wish I could be. But Jesus, he was God he should have known how to build a Kalashnikov and mow down all those sword and spear, short-skirted soldiers of Rome -- (did they wear underwear, I wonder? -- bet not). Even two thousand or so years later the Italians, the later-day Romans, the titular Jesusians knew how to be monstrous shooting down spear-armed Ethiopians from their airplanes and bombing them with poison gas. Hey! what's a little phosgene among friends? Jesus shouldn't have to learn from the Italians: Just do whacha gotta do, goddamnit, and don't look back. I hate Jesus, because I know he hates me. And with good reason. Mike Geary Memphis Memphis