Rumblitis--Chapter Twelve

  
   As always--my books:  King's Books! 
  
   TWELVE:
  
   Ray was not yet defeated; specifically, he had yet to engage in the totality of an intoxicated destruction, for the sheer hell of it, loving God.  Still, knowing tangible enlightenment is an impossibility, the British philosopher, mathematician, and social critic, Lord Bertrand Russell announcing:
   "I will not die for my beliefs, because I may be wrong."
   Nonetheless, Ray had hope.  It didn't matter that no supersymmetric particles have been overwhelmingly discovered, for SuperSymmetric String Theory outshines its own self, offering a forever function of everything--though the more Ray studied it, the more he didn't understand it.  Regardless, in its own way, everything is connected, such as:  Time, space, the crude matter of an indecent Luke Skywalker and his robotic, masturbating hand, him disgustingly having hopes for creamy copulation with his own sister--and Darth Vader was a sinner (WTF).  Indeed, everything has already happened, yet everything will rear its rancorous head again.  And Ray was wickedly wise concerning his personal ignorance, knowing he wouldn't have casually snorted cinnamon years ago in a clumsy attempt to usurp the Drug War and find personal elation due to the crises of his protracted humanity.  Alas, he reflected:  (KJV, Hebrews 12:2):  "Looking unto Jesus, the author . . . "
   Yep, God has clearly, already, written the novel of existence.  We have been born, died, resurrected, everything--it has all cosmically happened already, and will again.  There is no Free Will, for we are crafted characters in God's literary, somewhat Pantheistic masterpiece.  Thus, Ray felt better.  Drank the cold flow of bull piss, it being over-processed American beer.  Next, he cranked on the cancerous mystery of his menthol E-Cigarette, thinking about going for a jog to embrace the beauty of life, having the reverie of remembering Gregory Widen's storyline of HIGHLANDER (1986)--the best of the sci-fi drama being:
   "Feel the Moose Highlander!"
   Yup.  And as he poured his package and somewhat muscular thighs into a pair of neon spandex, he sang, praising God and the Best of Men:
   Rob Roy--
   The Highland Rogue . . .