Blood, when associated with God’s only begotten son, is considered a cleanser of sin. “If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin,” as written in 1 John 1:7-10.
On December 22, a mere 72 hours before the 1998 Christmas celebration, holiday shoppers — at the least — looked upon the cover of DMX’s newly released sophomore album, Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood.
That they just glanced is unlikely; the cover demands a prolonged gaze. How could it not when blood — a lot of blood — drips from the man’s body as if he replaced bath water with the vital fluid of slain enemies. Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood is visually striking in ways Christmas isn’t. Striking in ways most album covers fail to be. There’s no sense of cleansing in DMX’s body language, and the presence of Jesus isn’t apparent in his cold stare. He doesn’t appear as a symbol of purity or innocence, or without sin. DMX is something else entirely, beyond the definition of ordinary.
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