Dear diary,
Creating art is exactly the same as producing a combustion engine. Nature was manufactured by God for the purpose of luring apes to construct engines: this we know for a fact; and therefore the best apes (the ones who weren’t interested in sinning) looked at Nature long & hard, and eventually they discerned what Nature was trying to say. So they invented the phenomenon of controlled explosion, by meticulously copying the pattern that Nature laid out for them. Thus was born the combustion engine. And then they began to make art; and art was invented the exact same way: by copying a pattern. The apes found a Picasso exhibit, and they studied it until a light bulb ignited inside their collective ape-mind: “We need to copy the style of these works of Picasso, as we did last Tuesday with the engine that we invented.” So, you see, it’s all about following a blueprint: you just gaze down into the world and observe what’s there; and then, when it’s time to act, you invest your genius into furthering the agendas that managed to sorta jolt you out of your lethargy.
I like churches. I like organized religion.
But I wish we would stop building roofs with shingles. I think we should change to some smoother, neater structure that’s easier to install. I think that roofs should consist of yuge ‘V’-shaped sheets of lightweight vinyl. You should be able to attach them to the top of your house, using giant screws. And I’d prefer if the companies that die-cast these roof-screws would start making designer models in all colors, like neon sunglasses.
And if you’re living in the United States in the 21st century, you have to ask yourself: Why did we build this great nation upon the firm foundation of slavery, but then at a certain point we got cold feet and half-stopped the process, and yet we decided to allow the shades of skin to continue to fight each other? There are two shades of skin: pure white and pure black. (The rest is grayscale.) Now, I don’t care if it’s the whites enslaving the blacks, or the blacks enslaving the whites, but somebody needs to bring back the institution of slavery; cuz, otherwise, soon, nobody’s gonna remember why we all need to keep up the good fight. Don’t let the dream die.
Also we need to redefine the brand name “woman”. Right now, it means basically “anyone who can work in retail”. I say we should burn every dictionary and then publish our own rules of language, where the term “woman” is a noun that means “one who gives birth to warriors”. That way, you’re not entitled to label yourself with this word until you’ve brought forth, FROM YOUR OWN WOMB AND NOT THE WOMB OF SOME NEARBY PET TURKEY, at least two weaponized beings. They can possess horns or shotguns, I don’t care: just let them be ruthless.
That’s one thing I love about George Washington: his childbearing hips. Just think of all the warriors you could beget upon those loins, if he would only have you. Who knows but that we could maybe even ward off Britain the Great: a country that is vehemently anti-slavery and therefore must be wriggled out from underneath of.
“A homeless person for every home” — that’s the slogan I’m running on. Since there are so many homeless people in the world, sleeping in bus stops and bothering churches for charity, my plan is that we allow these lost souls to serve the housed goons of our civilization: that way, they have a bed to sleep in. They can walk your pets, clean your baseboards, and complete all your paid professional work for you; thus you’ll have more time to enjoy your bi-day weekend. God made the world in six 24-hour periods: that’s a fact. Now, why would God work when he’s not required to? And why tell your boss: “Only allow me a single day of rest per week, please: either Saturday or Sunday — you choose; one or the other; I myself don’t care which — just don’t allow me BOTH days off.” The idea is that, if you are God, you can live like a king without ever working: you don’t have to lift a finger to do anything; all your food is microwaved for you by various demons, and your outfit that you’ll wear each day is the same one that you’ll be buried in. Nothing’s left to chance. So then why get out of bed and commute to work? Why punch the timeclock, if you’re omnipotent? Why not just create A WORLD THAT RUNS ITSELF, instead of physically sauntering out onto the earth and digging in the ground with your hands and sculpting humans and cursing them? The answer is that God approves of the labor movement. It’s actually enjoyable to work, if you like what you do. My point is that God didn’t speak the world into existence without the aid of homeless people who he gave shelter in exchange for limitless favors. That’s the tradition of domestic servants, which led to wage earners. Very different from modern slavery.
Belief. Faith. Trust. When a radio personality declares “I am a Christian,” what does he mean? Does he mean that he follows the teachings of the Apostle Paul? Which teachings? Where are these mysterious instructions actually located? If you announce into the Official State Microphone “I follow the words of a 3,000 page novel,” what exactly are you expecting your audience to make of your declaration? First, how does one follow words? Here’s a sentence:
And straightway they forsook their nets, and followed him. (Mark 1:18)
I understand how a character inside this story would follow another character — in this case, “him”, which pronoun refers to Jesus of Nazareth — but how does a person who lives in modernity follow this particular sentence? I mean, the words themselves are not asking us to do anything; thus, if we continue to do nothing, can we claim that we are true Christians? Yes we can. Now here’s another sentence:
It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak. (Romans 14:21)
This one’s easy to follow too: all you gotta do is refrain from eating or drinking, because all food is poison.
THE CONCLUSION OF CONCLUSIONS
I side with religious believers over scientists, because believers have more style than infidels. Scientists wear only white smocks while lurking in laboratories. Sure, their beakers are filled with colorful liquids, and they keep devising better bombs for our Holy Wars, but they’re ultimately boring. They talk in acronyms and numerical prefixes. I like the Christian brothers & sisters: they don’t wear white smocks, they only wear black robes. Now THAT’s straight gangsta. “Let the Priests, in deadly black, with hoarse note curse the sons of joy.” THAT’s what I’M talkin’ ’bout.
Just think what had to happen, throughout the history of all time, for scientists to end up white-smockt while the rest of us believers got to become priests. As it is written (Blake’s “Proverbs of Hell”):
The crow wish’d every thing was black; the owl, that every thing was white.
First, Science Itself tricked all the imaginative folk (the folk who possess imagination and are not strictly connect-the-dots dullards) to work in the fields. That’s outdoor work. Now what lives outdoors? — think about it: the sun. Now the sun in heaven burns the skin of its attendees until they need to take shelter: & hence the black robes. (Black contains the entire rainbow and absorbs all light-rays.) Meanwhile, the scientists remain comfortable within their climate-conditioned laboratories, which have no windows… or rather, they do have large windows installed — bay windows, in fact: very beautiful; and the servants keep them clean — but the drapes are always drawn: because, like Jack McKay from Dogville (2003), they’re all stark blind; altho they never wanna admit it.
So when you work indoors, your skin doesn’t suffer the evil effects of the sunlight; thus you turn pale like a ghost, and you even almost begin to glow at night, and you like to haunt graveyards. This is true: scientists dig up their own mother’s corpses from the cemetery, in hopes of finding a cure for the disease that slew her. (If your mother died from fright, then you yourself have a 90% chance of dying from fright as well, because you share her exact genealogy: that’s why asexual reproduction was prohibited by the first Immortal Onanist, whose name was Jehovah: therefore one should mix and mingle with the rest of creation, in order to fend off disease; otherwise germs and viruses discover the secret of your success, and they can infiltrate your security system without tripping the alarm, up there in the clouds, where you never leave your lab-room.)
To review: the working-class people grow darker & darker, as they’re exposed to the harmful rays of God’s sun; whereas the scientists of the Ruling Class become lighter & lighter, as they reside where the sun don’t shine; and this anti-tanning process continues until they reach Peak Science. Then, as certified masters, they are issued their very own lab coats, known as smocks:
And one of the elders inquired of me, “What are these which are arrayed in white robes?” And I said unto him, “Sir, thou knowest that these are the saints in heaven. These are they which washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” (Revelation 7:13-14)
Now there’s two things wrong with this. First, it is implied that the scientists are at rest in the afterlife, since R.I.P. stands for “Sleep in Heavenly Peace”; but they are not allowed naps much more than once per week: the truth is that they are constantly at work, jotting down figures and developing theories; fanning warfare’s flames and weaponizing new diseases for the U.S. military.
And the second misconception is that the smocks can be whitened by simply dipping them in lamb’s blood. In reality, if you wash your clothes in any type of bodily fluid, rather than becoming pure & clean, they will acquire further stains. So the robes from the above quotation should have ended up purple or burgundy, if they really did use lamb’s blood for detergent — they would never grow white (that’d be closer to the color of goat’s milk). But I understand your intention in writing this passage: I know that you’re on our side, and that you wish to place the Scientific Class upon a pedestal, so that the other classes may behold them and say “Ooh.” Thus I’ll let you go with just a warning — I won’t issue you a citation. But don’t let it happen again: we’re planning on using this book to justify much mayhem.
P.S.
I wonder what I’ll think, when I’m on my deathbed: Will I regret wasting my life writing stupid entries like this one? The thing is, if I do end up possessing the luxury of a regret, I wanna remind my future self that it was hard to wake up & face each awful day, back in 2019. I didn’t always desire to contribute to the sum harmonization. For humans cannot live by do-gooding alone.
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