I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
---Poe, Tell Tale Heart
http://www.pbs.org/wnet/aaworld/referen ... _basie.jpg
Theology
for release 08-25-06
Washington D.C.
This is the premise of my new religion: God hates us.
Oh, this world and this life are not just a veil of tears, but an immense practical joke.
Just look what He's done for us. First He gave us the war between the sexes. By the simple act of removing a rib, He created polarity in the universe.
Yes, He's jealous of his own creation and is now visiting us with strife, wars, plagues, pestilence and such horrors as Ann Coulter and Nancy Grace.
Oh, He's having fun up there in heaven, heaving thunderbolts and laughing like a maniac earthquake.
He hates us. He gives us natural disasters conjured up by his whore, Mother Nature. He gives us Republicans and Democrats and Good and Evil and Christians and Muslims and brown skin and white skin and black skin. He gives us nothing but conflict. He hates us.
If he loved us, we would all be born rich and blonde and healthy and wise. If he loved us, would he have given us AIDS and the wars surrounding Israel or global warming?
You might say that these things are the result of Man being willful and defiant. You are probably right. But if God is so smart, how come he didn't make us all Republicans?
But God is the Absolute. He's the way things are. That's why we should hate him back. Yes, we should hate him back and then, just to teach him a lesson, we should forgive him.
He bore us into a world where death is inevitable. No one here gets out alive.
As I write, I'm watching a cicada dying on the deck. He's done what he came to do. Made noise. Reproduced. And now he dies. There is no heaven for cicadas, no paradise, no Valhalla, no life after death, only those eggs placed in a hole in the ground. In seventeen years he will rise again. He doesn't care about art or literature or God.
But God loves insects. He blesses them with no minds and short lives and many offspring, just like bureaucrats.
What God hates is the creature that he made in his own image. It's an indication of His own low self-esteem.
What He hates about us is that we are reminders of a critical error in judgement on His part. The error was relinquishing His positiion as the sole Creator in the universe by giving Man free will and the ability to invent.
And what's up with this mysterious and invisible thing? If God really loved us, He would reveal Himself to everybody instead of just to a few mystics and whack-jobs whose brains were burned by the desert sun.
If God loved us, he would visit our homes and greet us with an avuncular embrazzo and share a bottle of single malt with us.
The Poet's Eye has never seen God. Just lucky, I guess. If I ever meet him, I'll have a lotta 'splainin' to do. Until then, I'm starting my own church. No God. No dogmas. Only the collection plate.
God imagines Himself as Count Basie
And God, being a political God
Always imagines Himself behind in the polls
nothing beats the charm of an
underdog
So, Count Basie slowly & dramatically
rises out of the stage mounted on his white piano
right in the middle of the band
and only God
could imagine Himself as Count Basie
with such splendor
The trombone section
Thunders like saints gone crazy
but it must have been the saxophone
that made God think he was Count Basie
because Heaven is about as soft
as the throat of a saxophone
Angels like
TILTED SWANS OF BRASS.
--Lightning Rod
God is really Uncle Remus
and he drives either an orange or a yellow Cadillac
It doesn't run on gasoline, no.
Because in the tank are
Many Happy Minnows
Each one's last name is Perpetual Motion.
--Joseph Lemming
