The Second Coming

And I shall come again, in peace
To neither judge the living nor the dead
But to set them free from their chains

And I shall come again
To set aglow a fire of still rapture
In the hearts of all flesh

And then in that day
In the day of my coming
No man shall say to his neighbour
"You are wrong"
For all shall be right
And all shall be wrong
And all shall know that all are right
And all shall know that all are wrong - partly

And error will be clumsy and humourous

In the event

If I suddenly died my password would die with me. Not only would my blogs permanently cease, but nobody would have access to my email account either. All emails would be unsurprisingly unanswered and people whom I only have contact with by email would not know I had departed. Nor could they be told.

Do you think yahoo and blogger etc grant password access to next of kin in the event of a demise. Somehow I doubt it. And then within a month everything just vanishes anyway. From Yahoo at least.

I suppose this scenario must have already happened on more than a few occasions.

Perhaps I should put my password in an envelope marked 'in the event'.

Golly.

Deadly Cocks

Asking Americans to give up their guns is like asking them to give up their cocks.

According to a female friend in San Francisco, the above statement was vulgar. She noted I tend to be vulgar when Im depressed, which was news to me, but possibly true.

But I wonder what makes it vulgar. Would it have been vulgar if id referred to the unlikehood of Americans giving up their penises?

Ok, maybe the gun mania isnt only due to Americans phallic-destructive complex (which they do not entirely unshare with the rest of the disappointing humans)...; it might also have something to do with the fact that Americans are scared shitless of each other.

Is that why they are so friendly and bubblegum sweet to each other. A defensive push away masked in shiny fakery. Paradox sleeps with truth regularly, I find.

Not that I dont love Americans of course.

p.s. this keyboard has no apostrophes. No joke. Apostrophes to follow.

Drowned

Everyday endless words spew from the mouths and fingers of humans. Such a drag. Why can't words be uttered that actually make a difference?

What would such words be, what would they say?

This I have often wondered. Im not sure I know. Maybe if they were as wondrous as a gorgeous woman fucking.

The universe is not absurd, life is not absurd. What is absurd is the response of humans to it. Every argument, every stance, every position is perfectly rebutted by opposing propositions, as if what mattered was not making discoveries but keeping the world in balance.

People take sides and choose their allegiance. What matters is not truth but that understanding reflect prejudice and desire. Meanwhile they pretend what they believe is right and don't care to prove it. It is enough if they can sufficiently insult their rivals.

Here the passion to open the eye gates into our kingdom
Set in the faraway valley of mists
Where the green butterfly treads over my heart
Where silent arboreal shadows of ancient rhythmic cymbals
Play out the vast sonorous love of God.

Stay with me, Golden lady
Stay with me, hold me
I do not want to die
I do not wish to fall with a frozen breath from the insane
Zeal of this high mountain.

The still moments, You can remember
When everything hung breathless, as if paralysed
In wait for the return of splendour
When to be was not to live but to be beyond life
In the enfolding love of a sacred womb
Heaving a chorus of light.

Down through the silent corridor
Past the windows
Into a clearing, bright and wide
You are here, the waterfalls surround you.

Proceed further to the place of dying music
Alone now in the shuddering quiet....be still
Is that your father sweeping the leaves into a crisp pile beside the rotten fence
Is that your Mother crying in the corner?
Yes?....No?....Where are you going?
Again
Where are you going?

This way, follow
Hands by your side
Tears pressing the skullbone hollow and mad
A small white cup of black coffee is all you'll get
In this sunken chamber where your friends
Guides in this desert of hell
Sit round you strangely, always removed, in a different world
Here to mock and cheer you for a few hours
One void to another in a cave of smiling skulls.

Now come further, around the corner, across the meadow
The bridge is green, green and fuming
Robin.....Is that you???
Watch out! you're eyes, they'll burn
The maiden is taunting, always she taunts....why?
What do you do?
Pity the lost sapphire of fire.
When heaven is raped the angels weep but we know the devils rule
We know our state
We know the sunrise glimpsed over our aching ruin
Was denied by everyone and fled
Call it back, bring it back, bring it back, bring it back
No, too late
Too late
Too late
Falling
Falling
Into an empire of dust
Dust in your eyes, dust under your feet and lights scattered weirdly
This is the land where everything screams
This is the land where nothing is but paralysed lust for hollow dreams
The land, the land
Of dust, of dust
The land of private howling.

The voices are washed
They do not slaughter
But the cruel dawn nears
The savage winds of light arise.

Enough
Did you sleep well?
Here, I've made you a nice cup of tea
Says Mother misunderstanding to a strange child.

Hello

If everything we have to say is worthless and contributes nothing new to the universe, it's a wonder why we bother writing or speaking at all?

Or probably we'd want to get rid of the silence, and so we'd talk just to pepper the void with spice.

One of the features of our decadent culture is that everything has already been said. Nothing is new, the depths have been plumbed, production is merely re-production, re-packaging in an altered guise.

Or perhaps I'm wrong.

I once said to myself that I would be happy if I could experience just 5 minutes of genuine life, genuine potency, standing before life without the veil. Then another time I said a great ambition would be to write a sentence, just one sentence, that would explode and destroy the universe. By which I implied that afterwards it would be resurrected and reconfigured in an authentic form.

But maybe one of the weirdest thoughts I had was when I was about 6 and sitting in a church with my Mum. I couldn't believe I was actually alive, that I had been born. It seemed such a strange condition to find myself in. It definitely felt like I had existed before my birth. But I had no memories of any previous human incarnation, and still haven't. Perhaps this was when I first started thinking I might be God. Such was my sense of weirdness and alienation from others, this seemed like a suitable identity. Maybe this also explains why I've always taken the idea of God both seriously (I'm pretty sure I exist after all) on the one hand- always feeling I knew what was right and wrong in theology- and somewhat irreverently on the other (I can laugh at my self after all).

Yes, thats right..thats me..another one of those fellows who feels he's got his own personal hotline to the uncreated, who indeed is a receptacle of eternity and infinity.

I suppose that might be a pretty good definition of insanity, in the eyes of many?

Of course insanity is an absolutely respectable poistion to hold..provided you have a private income and don't have to pretend to be sane on a regular basis in order to make money. Or so long as you can go mad in a way shared by millions of others.

Saturday

Many many years ago today a man called Jesus may or may not have been lying dead in a grave in a town called Jerusalem. It must have been dark in there, what with the big egg shaped stone blocking the entrance (i was one told it was egg shaped..honest). This, no doubt, would not have bothered him if he were indeed dead or if, as some believe, he was in some kind of temporary coma. If he was both alive and conscious, however, he must have been pretty freaked out I reckon.

Even if you accept the Orthodox account that he died on the cross and was buried there, he still presumably experienced some time alive in the dark at the moment when he resurrected and before the early sunday light welcomed him back to the land of his murderers. Ok, this might have only been a few seconds. Or maybe he hung around for awhile waiting for the right time to make his move. I wonder how for how long exactly; when exactly did he wake from his sojourn in Hades (where one hopes he preformed more than a few miracles?).

Maybe the angel (or was it angels, I forget) who told Mary of Jesus' resurrection actually performed the resurrection on Jesus in the same way Jesus resurrected Lazarus? Hmmm, now there's a thought. Scripture, after all, does say God 'rose' Jesus from the dead and not that Jesus raised himself. Angels have been known, on more than a few occasions, to perform God's bidding. If this happened, maybe it was never dark in the cave at all, not at least when Jesus awoke. The natural angelic luminosity of the Messenger/s would have invested the little cave with light even while he was dead.

Or maybe he wasnt there at all, maybe he hadn't died on the cross at all (after all, he hadn't been up for vary long had he?), maybe he hadn't even been crucified? Or maybe he was there in the grave and was dead, and like most dead people, being dead remained dead. As a permanently dead person, maybe he remained dead where he was, or maybe he was somehow spirited away as a dead person by living people good at bribing Roman guards to be and remain dead somewhere else....maybe in India no less! No, perhaps not India. If he is buried as some say in India, I reckon he probably walked there while alive.

Blah blah blah....

When I was studying Theology one of my lecturers wondered why there are never any Theological jokes. I know what he means. In this my piece above I suppose I was trying to be funny. I imagine that to some/many(?) trying to be funny about Christianity necessarily means being cynical about Christinaity..and that therefore I am an unbeliever etc. But I am not an 'unbeliever'. And I am not a 'believer' either. I am what I am (surprise surprise) and do not belong to a label. It is also no great revelation to say that what happened to Jesus on that Saturday/Saturday had nothing to do with me (unless I'm actually God, or at least some part of me is?), and so does not depend on what I think about it.

Suffice it to say my point is that finding something humorous or seeking to find humour in something, does not necessary mean that one is being derisory or cynical about it.

I think if I rose from the dead I'd probably rather do it with a luminous angel present than in the dark, that's for certain. Anyway, that's for tomorrow. Todays is raiding hell day. Whooppeee!