The Art Of Death--Part 2

 
   As always--my books:  King's Books!
   Like the mighty menthol to bacteria--religion kills the psychological trauma of death.  Krishna, adorned in the effulgent azure hue of Smurfberry Blue, shimmering colossal against the giant, this mimicking David's Goliath takedown, whether in futurity or before the mass exodus of a Torah scripted, me thinking:  Time like a curvature of SuperString Theory Forever, a perpetuity of rebirth and suffering Hellenization, agonizing at the hands of comedic gods.  And what did the Hebrews ask of Christ:  "Is he Elijah?"  As if the transmigration of souls might haunt the Abrahamic Religions, birthing a super flux of forever, or scattered atoms and gathered into the Borg Collective, though that bio-mechanical monster would not be clumsily cumbersome concerning its own self, yet athletically agile, like the liquid metal of T2 offering insight into the pulsating pectorals of Arnold Schwarzenegger. 
   Religion offers the smooth soothe of solace, especially Christianity, where bad karma can be constructed, yet a hint of Evangelical Pulpit-Pounding offers a terrific eternity through the unselfish sacrifice of Christ, that mysterious demi-god, fanatically forged for the sublimity of humility, meeting the damned devil, ignoring the tempting taunt of:  "Want all the women?  Whatta 'bout d' money?  Freak'n fame?"  The Christ Man denouncing all opulence, bowing down to the dictatorship of an awesome God--the Hebrew God, the most powerful of all the gods.
   Indeed, many a Roman Emperor, including that dude dubbed Marcus Aurelius, his auto-biography read every year by the now Vegan Bill Clinton, it offering:  "Yes, the gods do exist."  It wasn't mythology to Marcus.  His wife, hatching infancy without the aid of his spermy synergy, yet him low and modest enough to raise with intellectual copulation, mind-melding his brainiacish beatitudes upon a non-genetic lineage of love. And thus, the Vulcan prayer for the corporeally defeated:
"May you find a peace in death that you could not find in life."  Christ, Science Fiction is like reading the religious rants of Thomas Aquinas, blazing with spiritual insight into the gleaming ghost of beyond, if not then, architected into another, choosing your own adventure for a spare glimpse at the ever-turning wheel of life, Ezekiel spotting that circular craft, landing, Biblically, though obscured by modern theologians, them complaining:  The Priest of the age 30, stoned and stupid on the river Chebar, what idiocy, or concealing that Godly merge, them wanting to make it covert mysticism.  But it happened, or a crazy ass Jew was more of a modern genius than Tom Cruise himself, plugged into the symmetrical perfection of an alien religion, usurping the challenged minds of Hollywood Folk believing it to be an insidious cult that heals to thrill or some bullshit like that.
   All in all, our existence is intelligent design.  The atheist being the universal dolt in lack of imagination, at least, fabricating fiction where there is God.  Carl Sagan, in all his visionary coolness could not ensnare or wrangle the idea of an alien species traveling over such-many-a-light-year, yet modern physicists of today know that space can be folded; hence, wormhole availability for the Grays who are prone to anally probe the human rectum; plus, slaughter cows, like celestial cow tipping for those blessed with over-sized craniums full of space brains.  Look, it's all real.  Get sick--go to the doctor.  Get in trouble--go to the lawyer.  Get interrogative--go to a Priest, Rabbi, or Caliph.  And this is for a reason.  At least the Muslims conceal some of their women's curvaceous cunning, showcasing a sensitivity towards the beauty of creation--nothing is all bad, Islam meaning SUBMISSION, and Christ getting deadly for salvation--what is more unearthly, and real, than that?  So forget the art of modern proof, as through the Spanish Mystic Saint John of the Cross, scribbling a theological equation for ascetic entry beyond the Pearly Plush Of Always--it like:  Purgation +Illumination=Union.  The 3 Ways.  So don't just adjust yourself to the lengthy lectures of college professors, but find the counter-culture, going deep into mystical texts like THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL or THE EGYPTIAN BOOK OF THE DEAD, being brave enough to hopefully not be cursed for observing such radioactive material, your face maybe glowing, like Moses from down the mountain, having clearly communicated with the atomic elements of a technological God.
   Sincerely, Mark David King