qwe
Bluelight Crew
read when you're in a tldr mood.
Slowly, the gate opened, slowly, with a great clanking of chains and a grinding and protesting of wooden and ironclad gears, and as soon as I entered, the ambiance changed dramatically, for what surrounded the walls was a great, vast, treeless desert, stretching beyond the horizon to a distant point at which the sky melted evenly with the sands.
And there, inside, I found myself in a garden setting where birds were singing and perfumed fountains flowed. I was in an oasis, in the desert. And I had come here in order to speak with God. I wanted to ask him the questions that many of us ponder. I needed to know where we go when we close our eyes, and whose idea was it for the word "lisp" to have an 's' in it. And if one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the rest drown too? And is there another word for synonym? And if the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
Actually, what had brought me this great distance to meet God, was my obsession with watching National Geographic Wild Kingdom specials on television. I was obsessed, addicted to the heirarchy of predators. Lions stalking their prey, moving silently through the tall grass, and bringing down a gazelle. One lion holding the dying animal by the throat in its jaws, while another is disemboweling it, and you see the wild, desperate look on the face of the gazelle, suffocating, being devoured. Or a zebra crossing a river, and a crocodile launching itself out of the water, and clamping the helpless zebra in its huge jaws, the zebra dragged into the water, screaming, and then drowned, and eaten by the crocodile. And then, there's the python: falling from the tree, quickly wrapping itself around the wild boar in the embrace of death. Everytime the boar breathes out, the snake contracts, squeezing it until the boar can no longer breathe in, asphyxiating.
I'd entertain guests, hang pictures on my wall, drink glasses of expensive champagne, watch television, read books, listen to classical music, bathe, cook, make love to my girlfriend, while at the very same time, underneath the very house I live in, there is a dark, soulless world of insects and microbial life hunting, and eating each other; the living beings in the soil beneath my house are disembowling the smaller creatures, who seek even smaller prey with voracious abandon. And when I replace a lightbulb in my garden, I go outside and reach up to unscrew the dead bulb, and my hand passes through a spider web, and there are maybe twenty different little flies and moths that have been trapped and killed and sucked dry by the spider.
And I want to talk to God about this, I want to say to God, "you created the universe, you created this whole system of survival of the fittest, this... heirarchy of murder. And how am I supposed to go to the church or the synagogue and pray and worship you, and talk about the perfection of your creation, and the beauty of all your works, and yet here I see them, as a vast and hopeless display of violence and death from which there is, for the animals involved, no escape? I want to love you, to give myself over to you, to find solace in you, and comfort in you, but I keep turning on the National Geographic specials on the Discovery Channel, and frankly, it's very disturbing."
And eventually, I come to a room, where God is sitting. And he sits in a canvas director's chair by the water, and he's wearing a pair of balloon pants with a velvet sash drawn at the waist, his legs crossed, he's got a single diamond stud in his left earlobe, his feet in a gorgeous pair of Italian sandals, his eyes hidden behind a pair of very expensive Oakleys sunglasses made of titanium, and he's sipping from a cool glass of perier jouer. But before I can speak, he reaches forward and draws a deck of playing cards from behind my ear, and then a gold coin, and then a ping pong paddle, and I realize that coming here was a mistake.
by Joe Frank. he has some amazing audio narrations...
Slowly, the gate opened, slowly, with a great clanking of chains and a grinding and protesting of wooden and ironclad gears, and as soon as I entered, the ambiance changed dramatically, for what surrounded the walls was a great, vast, treeless desert, stretching beyond the horizon to a distant point at which the sky melted evenly with the sands.
And there, inside, I found myself in a garden setting where birds were singing and perfumed fountains flowed. I was in an oasis, in the desert. And I had come here in order to speak with God. I wanted to ask him the questions that many of us ponder. I needed to know where we go when we close our eyes, and whose idea was it for the word "lisp" to have an 's' in it. And if one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the rest drown too? And is there another word for synonym? And if the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
Actually, what had brought me this great distance to meet God, was my obsession with watching National Geographic Wild Kingdom specials on television. I was obsessed, addicted to the heirarchy of predators. Lions stalking their prey, moving silently through the tall grass, and bringing down a gazelle. One lion holding the dying animal by the throat in its jaws, while another is disemboweling it, and you see the wild, desperate look on the face of the gazelle, suffocating, being devoured. Or a zebra crossing a river, and a crocodile launching itself out of the water, and clamping the helpless zebra in its huge jaws, the zebra dragged into the water, screaming, and then drowned, and eaten by the crocodile. And then, there's the python: falling from the tree, quickly wrapping itself around the wild boar in the embrace of death. Everytime the boar breathes out, the snake contracts, squeezing it until the boar can no longer breathe in, asphyxiating.
I'd entertain guests, hang pictures on my wall, drink glasses of expensive champagne, watch television, read books, listen to classical music, bathe, cook, make love to my girlfriend, while at the very same time, underneath the very house I live in, there is a dark, soulless world of insects and microbial life hunting, and eating each other; the living beings in the soil beneath my house are disembowling the smaller creatures, who seek even smaller prey with voracious abandon. And when I replace a lightbulb in my garden, I go outside and reach up to unscrew the dead bulb, and my hand passes through a spider web, and there are maybe twenty different little flies and moths that have been trapped and killed and sucked dry by the spider.
And I want to talk to God about this, I want to say to God, "you created the universe, you created this whole system of survival of the fittest, this... heirarchy of murder. And how am I supposed to go to the church or the synagogue and pray and worship you, and talk about the perfection of your creation, and the beauty of all your works, and yet here I see them, as a vast and hopeless display of violence and death from which there is, for the animals involved, no escape? I want to love you, to give myself over to you, to find solace in you, and comfort in you, but I keep turning on the National Geographic specials on the Discovery Channel, and frankly, it's very disturbing."
And eventually, I come to a room, where God is sitting. And he sits in a canvas director's chair by the water, and he's wearing a pair of balloon pants with a velvet sash drawn at the waist, his legs crossed, he's got a single diamond stud in his left earlobe, his feet in a gorgeous pair of Italian sandals, his eyes hidden behind a pair of very expensive Oakleys sunglasses made of titanium, and he's sipping from a cool glass of perier jouer. But before I can speak, he reaches forward and draws a deck of playing cards from behind my ear, and then a gold coin, and then a ping pong paddle, and I realize that coming here was a mistake.
by Joe Frank. he has some amazing audio narrations...
