todays fkin bullshitt

 man is by nature
and by vocation
a religious seeker.

man seeks the spiritual
augmentation
of being-here.

when man fails to yield
to the common delirium
he is doing God's work.

man is only full
when he lives freely in tune
with his God.

and without this reality,
man is the seat of sickness,
a twitcher in spiritual cramps.

man consists of powers
we otherwise only see
in thunderstorms.

he is by temperament
and by essence
a machinery of anxiety.

and only in salvific embrace
of God's various realities
it can be redeemed.

beware of those who turn their back
on transcendence
and pursue wealth and class
as some pathetic means
of compensation

salute those who turn their back
on the simple complaints
of existential peasants
in pursuit
of stronger ideals

man must find himself some times at no point of reference
and stumble across landscapes of ambiguous truths and deceptions
to find there a sense of adventure and a sense of unlocking,
and of spiritual achievement, in order to appreciate
the inconsistencies and ambiguities of fate

peace and equilibrium bores man to despair,
and predictability is a close false friend.
scorn adventure and dismiss risk all you want;
it is nevertheless the totem
by which you worship humanity as a positive.

man is a deep gorge,
an abyss.

and man is fond
of exploring
abysses.

on terraces of love and light
we overlook
a reality far down below
which is dark and monstrous.

there is bliss in labor and struggle,
and discipline makes freedom
no matter what the hedonists
and the self-lovers
would suggest.

personal singularity is a delusion
if life is not lived fiercely
in the breath of the living God.

only in spiritual warfare
God grants uniqueness,
character, distinction, true selfhood.

in religious radicalization
the individual is forged.

away from God in the cold wastes
we are all but mechanic parts, bolts and screws,
in a hopeless industry of conformity!

without God, every story of every human being
is but another chapter or episode
in an ever sequence of cyclical collapse
flourishing through a grinding, boring repitition

and it can simply not be that simple.
i refuse belief in it.

should matter be but some dense concentration
of meaningless existence, with human life
and its tremendous suffering as epiphenomena?

is there an elemental nullity in value
burning absently at the core of the human experience?

i repudiate these ideas since it indirectly kills the soul.

but perishability and disappointment are ghosts
haunting me without stopping :

is the existential invariability
and genetic and biological predeterminisms
of human nature so constricting
as to be called a prison?

and are even our faiths and beliefs regulated
by dull, worldly mechanisms,
our emotions, our values, our dreams,
some static on some frequency somewhere?
our hearts, mere muscles pumping fluid;
our souls, illusions of consciousness?

no - i can not entertain the silly reductionism
that the world and its constituencies
is but a transitory, wholly meaningless
sort of assemblage of random elements and parts.

but a thirst for doubt
i can not quench,
parching my tongue
with the ash of belief

 i command my evil thoughts to cease
  but they do not

 i try to abdicate i crown and spire
  but my throne has no pretenders.

 my mind and my flesh and my thoughts
  are all melted together

 my cape and my purple shirt
  are coal in the fire of my homestead.

God is the dissolving agent i long for,
and i beware the lecherous traps and pitfalls
which comes when orienting life
in the fleshly reality of a lustful, sinful creature.

but i persist in prayer.
i persist in faith.

i am remembered:

it is not evolutionarily intuitive to seek the otherworld;
man does it nevertheless.