[The drawing is by my 6-year-old nephew.]
Dear diary,
I’m writing this immediately after finishing my plagiarization of The Song of Songs. Why did I do it? Because I wanted to get to know that scripture better. Was my idea successful – am I more familiar with the work? Yes, now I’ve read the composition deeper and closer than I ever had before. Was it worth the effort? Yes, it was far more rewarding than it was tedious. Now stop questioning me; I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
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Our local library discards books on the regular by offering them for sale. When you walk into the building, you will notice that you are encased by a glass arena, sort of like a foyer: look to your right and you will see several shelves – any books thereupon are for sale, and their prices are cheap. Now duck your head down and charge through the glass that separates you from this display – do NOT use the entry doors – then, if there are any other people browsing in front of the shelves, annihilate them so that you can have a better look. For you hate when people are standing in front of the bookshelf that you would like to look at. Now, run your eyes over the titles of the books that are here. You will notice a small hardcover volume called “The Wisdom of C.S. Lewis” priced at just one U.S. dollar. Buy this book and take it home and write a blog.
I just taught you how to play the role of me, in my adventure at the library, from one week ago.
Alright, so I got this foul book by this author who I despise: he is my archenemy. The volume is a collection of quotations. My first thought was to copy the quotes out here and lambaste them thoroughly; but now I dislike that plan: it’s too reactionary. I’ll put the book aside and maybe mention it now and then in future entries. That appeals to me more.
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We recently tested our house for radon. Apparently, radon is an invisible and scentless gas that can seep into your basement and give you lung cancer. – If I end up with lung cancer after spending my lifetime as a nonsmoker, I will regret not smoking.
The test results came back already – our house earned a three, with zero being the best and the “danger” score being four. (What exactly do these numbers mean? I forgot. Please forgive my vagueness, I’m just writing this from memory, and my memory doesn’t care.) So I can expect to be unhealthy sooner or later.
Sorry to comment on Mr. Lewis’s book already, but I happened to catch a glimpse of one of his “wise sayings” before I tossed the volume across the room, and I can’t stop wanting to mutter. He said something like (I’ll paraphrase, to avoid having to get up and walk over to retrieve the text that I threw):
God whispers to us in our pleasures, but shouts to us in our pains . . . Pain is God’s megaphone.
What a stupid thing to say. Pleasure is the feeling that beings experience when moving toward godhood, and pain is the feeling that beings experience when godhood further decomposes. For God is dead and we are the fragments of God’s corpse attempting to coalesce and resurrect.
Either that, or God never existed and we are the highest harmony yet achieved, and we’re striving to reach an even higher plateau, which we have already imagined waiting for us in futurity as a goal, and this upcoming attraction we label divinity.
So to claim that pain is a communication from God – that is the opposite of wisdom. For, whether such an entity lacks precedent or has existed one or more times, God is synonymous with pleasure; therefore, if anything, pain is the speech of anti-God.
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Now that I’ve had my say, I admit that I’m no better than my opponent. We both have thoughts that are worth mulling over. That is all. There’s nothing wrong with seeing pain as a message from beyond which is intended to teach us to abhor certain activities. But I still prefer my philosophy – I just need to find a pithier way to state it. For if Mr. Lewis is right, then whenever a man like Zeus torments a man like Prometheus, it’s not an injustice that humankind should stop (which is my own opinion) but rather a Masterclass in Christianity: a lesson from our Lord: a divinely inspired sermon. And this makes me think about all the Church’s Inquisitions. How could anyone not be AGAINST that!?
Normally I’m all for overthinking things, but Mr. Lewis’ logion is a type of overthinking I dislike.
Matters are often simpler than we presume. A lot of what passes as theology is risibly complicated – that’s because it’s wrong. And to find the humane path in politics is often simple too, despite the whole realm seeming convoluted:
It all comes down to people versus property. Do you value people over property, or property over people? It’s that simple. But its simplicity is its downfall: people distrust a solution that’s too easy to grasp, one that doesn’t wriggle and writhe around and attempt to slip away. Fools value the difficulty of an act, the strain of the hunt. If a woman says “I will accompany you of my own accord,” the caveman is distrustful; he would rather drag her off after clobbering her with his club. So people have hereto rejected a peacetime dividend: they assume that struggle is the prerequisite to happiness.
Do you know why all my neighbors are friendly to me? Because I have multiple cannons placed around the perimeter of my house; and these cannons are aimed at all the surrounding houses; so if a neighbor dares to be impolite to me, I will hit his house with a cannonball. It’s called “Peace through strength.” It really works!—you should test me.
I also routinely parachute into the dining rooms of random houses in my neighborhood. I land in a chair at the table and give a warm greeting to all, kissing every lady’s hand. I hold up my wine glass and say “To your health,” then I cut a slice of steak, taste it and compliment the chef. Once I’ve finished my meal, I engage in conversation with my tablemates.
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