I have witnessed the distortions and the twisted morals that pass for piety in this sick world and I am not offended. But I know that times being what they are I have to hold my head up high – or drown in my own shit.
The moral majority, the self satisfied purveyors of ignorance, are cloaked in the mumbo jumbo of revelation. Those sanctimonious souls mystified and hypnotised by superstitious monotheism reverse into dingy cul de sacs and diversions of spiritual wonder. Redefined offenders of the carnal variety search for available exits in the sky. Likely intermediates in the war of the sexless they cover their modesty with the transparent fig leafs of suppressed imaginings.
Sticky capitalists hoist pirate flags and savour the taste of blood in their nine to fives and on Sundays give thanks and praises to the sky god – the CEO on high. Dealers, pimps and gangsters chant down Babylon, assured of their own place in Zion and the righteousness of their crew. Starving millions turn to HIM and comfort themselves with the thought that there shall be no hunger in heaven.
Each believes in future treasure heaped high – untarnished by time in a palace of milk and honey. Each is bound by a negotiable madness and present hazy arguments to moderate ears. None can conceive of finality. There is no surface and no dimensions to nothingness.
A man has to make his own way in this world, or be lead by the hand down the path of least resistance by the apathetic syndicate of woolly minded bead counters. I have no time for the implausible editors of reality and the awful genius of the sky god. My promised land lies straight ahead in this world, not the next. I’ll get there under my own steam, without the intervention of the mythic. Until then I’ll hold my head high; an independent being riding the contours of reality.