2006-04-24 - 3:05 p.m.
"Don't worry, be happy." "Just go with the flow, you know?"
The toxic byproducts of the Christians' Creed, those weaklings who sought shelter and comfort, banded together, there's power in numbers you know. They ride on the back of the dead, a way to attain a level of power they could never achieve in a society based upon merit, in the same structure of society they helped create. Unwittingly, minds twisted in the exact opposite illusion, they sustain the ligaments of opression with the bible, its shadow makes up most the weight of the world. Excluding of course, the Book of J.
The waves capsized a boat that day and their captain said the waves were depraved. And now the clerk buys her replica flowers on his credit card, later they leaf through checkout aisle style self-help books near that graveyard of red lights and incessent beepings.
The optimists answer, the slogans of their sincerity, hope-filled cliches, what about my cliche? These issues must be conscious evasion, convenient denials, not in tune with fully acknowledged pyschological consistency.
Easy to deny, difficult to admit. Herien lies identities, nervous systems, all beliefs. This thing Fourier hints at, the thing the Christians prate on about, not my heaven. If this utopian world was achieved bliss for all, where would be my sick delight, a chance to digest the misery(nutriment) of other men? Their misery sustains, perhaps creates the isolate vitality, how else would I have become so successful, eh my friends?
There's a mask behind, the mask behind, the mask behind of you. Tonight, death gives of herself with such charms and alluring scents.
