And love is not a victory march. --Leonard Cohen
Even if I did an about face and eradicated every anti-homosexual remark from this account, and had never experienced what the butch league had subjected me to, k.d. lang would make me lunge with disgust, wretch on my own bile. I could try pity beneath the strength of that revulsion, and do feel slight traces for what feels like a putrid masculinity on the compact bullish solidarity of her physique, but in her mouth Cohen's mildly disillusioned struggle and celebration of faith, as it is tied together through the humility and majesty of love, is a sacrilege. What is she trying to prove by appropriating how divine sentiment reveals itself to those who fight for their faith? I have other concerns at the moment, but if Trump could be tongue in cheek with gun owners about Hillary Clinton, then I find scope mounts an appeasing temptation. Get out of Christianity if you cannot accept what was revealed as an abominable offense before the very God Cohen wrestles in celebration.
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