'do you hear? i'm consoling you.'you had this image of God the beneficent creator living in a city in the sky like lando in the empire strikes back. you used to rent the tape from the library. the essence of religion was father's distaste for the term 'x-mas' and jesus, mary and joseph like mother always said, and once when you were little she talked to you about heaven. you talked to God until you were seventeen, then you started talking to chaucer. neither talked back, but you found you had more to say to God, the god who became more and more distant as the years went by, guarded by absurdity in a way roughly analogous to the funny uniforms of the swiss guard around the pope. it became easier to be more hands-off, to relate more to the one you had less to say to. why would you want to know god once you've seen some of the world you used to think was good? the hat is the pope's last line of defence, really. if you weren't thrown by the guards that would get you. no way to take this guy seriously now.
-- jöns, the seventh seal
-- michelle tea, the chelsea whistle
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