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Separating the Sheep from the Goats
I went to our local Cathedral 'Christingle' ceremony. An offering to 'see the light of Christ'. Of course the kids get right into it. They get to tramp around the vestry with a candlelit orange festooned with sweets impaled on cocktail sticks jabbed into the peel at effective angles to produce the most injury. Not content with having your eye out with this object of worship you are handed a song sheet with its very own health warning to remind kids that when they take their lit 'tingle' for a lap of honour around the altar and aisles that they should not march to close too the child in front. Because candles at chest height may accidentally ignite the long haired girl in front and she will have a halo of a very different kind involving St John and his ambulance. She quite likely would become 'holy ghost' (toast) in the sight of God and be baptised in the font with little ceremony and then wrapped in a fireblanket for swaddling.
I felt like a nun at a singles bar for the entire hour. The throng I was uneasily attached to felt I was not so much in the presence of God but in his waiting room. I noticed a sharabang busload spill into the pews of the purple rinse brigade with a combined age of three million and the children were outnumbered by the coffin dodgers by at least three to one. A mandatory platoon of disabled people engaged me as I knew a few of the individuals through circumstances beyond my control. I stepped through the tangle of wheelchairs wishing everybody a Merry Xmas and prayed that the kissing would soon stop.
I had to sit and sing on cue throughout refraining from shouting 'Behind you' to the fish hatted operator just to see if he could fart through silk.
This lavish ceremony began with a robed minister who appeared from nowhere and had a pair of heavy black rimmed glasses that sat precariously on his most purple and bulbous nose as if by magic. His waxy grin like a vandalised cemetery and his grey shock of hair and freshly brushed beard making him look at me like a frilled lizard about to catch his prey. I expected his tongue to shoot out two feet and curl around my wallet at any moment. Instead he handed me an envelope that was almost A5 in size for myself to fill with loose change. I felt extremely pressured to donate to the cause and paradoxically the image and information on the front of the packet was a drive to stop bullying in schools. First of all. I thought that was the teachers job. Secondly, the amount I 'contributed' that was now held prisoner to the last of my loose change was roughly the price of a pint of beer and a bag of crisps almost to the penny. Not content with this I was ambushed for further donations towards the 'West wing re-furbishment' on the way out. I used to deliver Betterware magazines to the Bishops house. It's the bleeding size of Hogwarts. His drycleaning bill alone for the choirboys ruffs must cost fortune. I bet his head boy polishes up well.
I find it inconceivable that the clergy ask me, a heathen pagan savage, for money. I don't have a gold orb and sceptre and can't afford to throw away good wine every Sunday by the bottle on communion. I do not have a gift shop strapped on the side of my 'house' where the cost of a tea towel or key fob has you asking, if they do American express.
This silver haired woman the width of a buggy whip dressed immaculately in a cerise angora cardigan and tweed dogtooth skirt looked at me expectantly as I flipped through the CD collection that cost the price of a DVD anywhere else. One caught my eye. A selection of relaxation music. An offering of therapeutic tracks including whale singing to a bullrush bolero. One imagined somebody in the kitchen making these effects from a selection of cookingware and utensils. It was highly unlikely that the recording studio would have room for a f**king great killer whale or the odd Columbian mountain waterfall. Studio mixers must not get damp. So I hooked up one disc that had an aquatic scene on the cover. I closed my eyes and listened to the demonstration and sure enough the sounds could be just as easily reproduced at home. Instead I drove home to experiment. By jiggling the empties in the recycling box while you piss on a metal dustbin created the replica effects of humpback whales humping. A stroll to my local had me improvising more natural music. A rusty swinging pub sign makes a good dolphin. The vagrant in the corner emulated the dolphins clicking sounds by the noise of his illfitting teeth.
One might spend a fortune in the bar until something like the haunting sounds of krill on the Great Barrier reef in a feeding frenzy with the swaying palms rustling in unison might be heard
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Sh**ging a bint up against a chainlink fence in the pub carpark while some soft moans in between jousts are heard might add atmosphere and sound like soft rain playing on a pond or a babbling brook. "Don't get any on my skirt", could be edited out later. There are a whole orchestra of sounds that can be easily manufactured without expensive CD collections of holistic melodies. The ocean waves and seagulls could be duplicated by breaking wind in the bath while choking the chicken.
If you want to hear clucking of geese and a thunderstorm with crashing surf sounds to help you drift into a coma. Take a Dictaphone and a member of the Salvation Army through a carwash and open the sunroof midstream. The tinkling of rain on Autumn leaves will duplicate the sound of rushing water hitting the tambourine protecting her cap. While she is there ask her if she blows the trumpet too.
The merchandising of the clergy is just another income, apart from ready donations. So make your own stress busting sound effects and don't ever let God kid you. His are fake like yours.
I'm not blaspheming. I am not being irreverent. But the Pope owns half of Soho while catholic women are not allowed the choice of contraception or abortion. So go figure. Religion makes us feel good about not helping others enough. All the Biblical rich man had to do was 'give up everything' to follow Christ. Did he? I don't think so.
Did Jesus exist? Yes. Was he the son of God? Well! He was one ‘helluva’ celebrity. John the Baptist was the Peter Waterman of the gospels. He gave J.C a good run-up to fame by some state-of-the-art marketing. Herod and the Romans later, had it going on. The Jews were given a free hand to worship who they wanted. The God of Israel had seen a whole string of archetypal 'celebs' before. Abraham, Moses, King David, Job etc. It was time to sing the same song but with a bigger 'star'. The one the three wise men followed from day one. When they got fed up with him. Pontious Pilate or Simon Cowell as he is now known crucified him.
Three hundred years after this happened they set up another Fame academy called the The Council of Nicea. More young hopefuls got the chance show their talents to the whole of the Church nobility. Hence the birth of the first Church Fathers. Tertullian, Justin Martyr, Ignatious etc. Off they went to all make a name for themselves and it wasn't until an ambitious guy called Arius stirred up a hornets nest and started a fad that 'God was not Jesus' and just another entity that all hell broke loose. The heresies, apostasy and later The Reformation.
Why? Because the church is scared of women. That is why they avoid females and won't let women priests or wear coloured knickers.
Because of sex. The church was about sex. Or the suppression of it. The ‘Hellfire’ doctrine was born on the dreadfulness of women.
From Adam's Eve to Monica Lewinsky the church has repressed women and blamed them for all that has gone wrong. Jezebel was a trout who literally went to the dogs. The stoning of harlots was common. Adultery according to Mosaic law meant certain death for errant women. Lot's wife was turned to a 'pillar of salt'. Salome demanded John the Baptists head on a silver platter in a very bitchy way. Bathsheba not only shagged the King at the time but allowed her lover to send the husband to the front line as insurance. Women throughout the bible are depicted as pondlife. As temptresses set to stumble men already burdened with sin.
Even the mother of God could not have her son biologically because it was not enough of a miracle the conventional way. It would mean Joseph would have to have sex with his own wife for 'Christ's sake.' The brass of the church could not have willies flying everywhere or stained glass windows of Mary with her legs akimbo. Yet it is unavoidable not to see phallus's everywhere within the church. The cross itself is a pagan symbol of Baal origin from the god 'Tau' symbolising the slender upright entering the shorter horizontal female. Women decorate the church crucifixes in Italy. Not all women are cross dressers though.
Wedding bands are 'surrenderings' of the sex act with the finger entering the hole of the women. But conversely, women like the man to place their finger in their ring when they get married only the once.
Menstruation throughout the first four books of the bible was treated with contempt. To this day a women 'who has the decorators in' will be deemed unclean for seven days and have to bathe day and night. They must not be seen or touched for seven days by their husbands. Some husbands might become inflamed and slip into their wives shamefulness but were generally caught 'redhanded' and needed a bit of a wash too.
P.M.T Or the 'Popes Moronic Tripe' is just generations of guilt piled on women because they are 'split-arses'.
Respect was kept from them. The apostle Peter scolded Jesus for allowing a tart to wash his feet with oil and rub it off with her hair. That would cost you £50 today.
Incidentally. Not many women apostles about then, were there? Not many women Queens. Ok! I’ll give you the Queen of Sheba. Who was knobbing her? King Solomon if you please. All the time he was fetching her back and forth on a sedan chair he was trying to impregnate the 'sheperdess girl'. Saying she had the 'lovable hind of a mountain goat' and 'breasts like those of ewes’" . I reckon old Solomon was a bit of a ram himself and wanted to bed her and half her farmyard too. Giving a whole new meaning to 'by hook or crook'.
What's all this obsession about 'separating the sheep from the goats’. I think its humans that need a bucket of water sometimes. Especially when the one of the flock are missing ’skinned and thrown about’. You would want to get your horn caught in the bushes when the herdsman was looking for some 'shepherds pie’, now would you?
This is all very scary when men preach of a spirit world where God watches over us.
When I see how much impropriety goes on in the church 'in the name of God' and I see the relative luxury they enjoy it just makes me want to bash the Bishop.
I'm a realist. God, if he exists, is supposed to be the most powerful force on earth. I beg to differ. Our mind is God. Or more specifically God is a product of our minds. So sure enough, he is pretty powerful. He is a selfish God because we are. He allows suffering because we do. Hey, if you had the power to end all the wickedness in the world, you would right? But we don't because thier are no winners without losers. If you have to give out of your want, that makes you the same as the poor and the weak, doesn't it?
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