this will be the last instalment of this series (another will begin next year). happy new year!
* dreams can come through sometimes i get carried away and think i'm being brought back i try to keep it short, alway not all branches can be grafted into all root stocks. a botanical as well as a theological fact. AI is not taking over, it's taking under they say the mind is like an umbrella, useful when it's open, but this is only when it's raining, and even then, sometimes i like to get wet the fact that mormons seem so very enamoured of AI is a terrible sign that they don't understand or take seriously their own theology here's a piece of advice: go get the other pieces yourself the world is my oyster bar, but it's out of oysters against what catholic dogma teaches, most of humanity is not guilty at all of original sin, but of something worse: unoriginal sin modesty really isn't about how you dress, it's about how you undress God is my favorite of all of them the hidden God is hiding from theologians esoterism is too exotic, exoterism not esotic enough the collective unconscious is very dull compared to the individual superconscious inside me there are more than two wolves but they are all lone ones it's true that i created my own religion, but i always declined to join it. too crowded. madness is the most lucid part of me before we were married i told my wife i loved her. it was engagement bait. hellish hordes of unmen unleashed, upon the headless shepherdless herds of the uncaring and unfeeling leaps of fate will stop mountains from moving few learn from their misgivings if there is any hope it is most definitely not in the proles, and Orwell knows nothing about it don't play the part, be serious and play the whole i like to stand before mirrors and reflect. they always see it coming justification by fate church, the one true crutch so much attention paid to the news by people who are already broke the will of God is the might be of man i live for today, but only tomorrow. i love returning to my tiny village almost as much as i hate leaving it despite their many superficial disagreements, in their depths and at their cores, all religious traditions the world over and across the ages, share the same lies and shun the same truths. every river stone or mossy patch is a religion, and i am devout. christ is a title, meaning anointed. hence it makes as much sense to say, without any article, 'christ did this' or 'christ does that' as it would to say 'anointed did this' or 'anointed does that'. bad linguistics yields bad theology. the anointment of course is done with oil. no wonder the concept has proved to be so slippery. oneness, the refuge and subterfuge of the many. the higher knowledge i seek is in the canopies of trees. i may climb, or either wait for the fruit to fall. it always does. i don't care for groups. but some groups are more groupish than others. and only one has risen above groupishness consistently. i'm becoming medieval (approaching middle age) i support the separation of church and state from me i am a universalist, in the sense that i despise every kind of universalism and every breed of universalist. Jesus made us dead to rites i don't care for the washed masses either, but no doubt they are preferable to the unwashed and unwashable ones i'm taking the earth with me to heaven all i know is to go with the flow, and only if it is my own. the devil quotes, the god paraphrases the spiritual and cultural renaissance of Lusitania began when i vowed to never again write in portuguese. the question is not whether you will obey, but to whom. there are many second chances, but only one fate, and it always comes first. nature determines how far nurture can go love is conquest by surrender. and vice versa my responsibilities are proportional to my questionabilities my plan is to improvise words are sounds that paint pictures wrote a letter yesterday. an actual letter. pen and paper. will be put in an envelope. sadly, it was not in an oppium den. we used to be a real country. one of my dreams since i was a wee lad was to write letters in oppium dens to some intellectual friend in another european capital about the war or the end of the war or the approach of war and cultural renewal and existential dread. "Last night I attended the Firebird premiere. This Russian gentleman is doing unimaginable things to our musical tradition. Typical Slavic barbarism. Still, it was enjoyable" i'm in touch with my feminine side. for example, i love doilies. you must hate with sophistication the unknowable god is not so unknowable once you get to know him. have you tried introducing yourself
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The devil gives a tax break on misgivings to incentivize stupidity.
The Lusitania was a ship owned by the brits, sunk by the germans, then used as an excuse for war by america. And you're raising her from her watery grave by writing in English? Surely that's highly questionable!