Underland Tuesday, September 24, 2002: A friend of mine in college, and not one given to either extreme of glibness or profundity once remarked, "I know you're not a very religious person, but you are a very spiritual one." As much as I generally dislike agreeing with anyone else's assessment of me, I have to acknowledge a kernel of truth here. I'll admit that sometimes I've had questions; I've even harbored great feelings of wonder from time to time. Have I ever believed in a Creator God? In my late youth I became enamored (though distantly) with such concepts as Deism and Pantheism. On reflection, I realize that the initial attraction to such belief systems was largely centered around some odd anti-authoritarian anachronism. Nevertheless, having grown up in a non-religious household, I find it strange that I sought sources of rebellion in religion. Or was it? Did my search for answers then only reflect a more humble need for answers now? I realize I've been asking myself theological questions for longer than I can remember: Why is there something instead of nothing? Who made us? If there is a God, what is our role is His great plan? While these musings in the realm of ontology and epistemology have yet to evolve into any concrete belief system, I feel that I have gleaned one essential truth: Our one true purpose in life is to kill God. ************** Witness now the transubstantiation of blogged word to Word. It just plain makes sense. What son has not gazed upon his father through that child-like lens of awe, love, and respect and thought, "One of these days I'm going to beat the fuck out of you, you shit-eating prick"? And what father has not looked forward to the day when his son finally beats him at a game of chess or one-on-one basketball, only after the fact realizing the depths of his humiliation and resentment? That's how I want to make God feel. The Promethean urge is as old as our oldest myths; it is mapped onto our souls from the very point of creation. If God is the blacksmith, then ambition gives the strength to our alloy. Was not the theft of fire from the heavens the fulfillment of a birthright divinely inlaid? Would not stomping on God's ribs, kicking him in the throat, and doing a little "Who's the chump now, bitch?!" dance be the ultimate realization of that ambit? It's not about hating God; it's certainly not about serving Satan. It's about hammering the holy shit out of this guy and taking a seat in the big chair. It's about showing up for the big game. You kill God. That's how you win. The Gospel according to Johnny Mothra. Johnny // 9:29 PM ______________________
A friend of mine in college, and not one given to either extreme of glibness or profundity once remarked, "I know you're not a very religious person, but you are a very spiritual one." As much as I generally dislike agreeing with anyone else's assessment of me, I have to acknowledge a kernel of truth here. I'll admit that sometimes I've had questions; I've even harbored great feelings of wonder from time to time. Have I ever believed in a Creator God? In my late youth I became enamored (though distantly) with such concepts as Deism and Pantheism. On reflection, I realize that the initial attraction to such belief systems was largely centered around some odd anti-authoritarian anachronism. Nevertheless, having grown up in a non-religious household, I find it strange that I sought sources of rebellion in religion. Or was it? Did my search for answers then only reflect a more humble need for answers now? I realize I've been asking myself theological questions for longer than I can remember: Why is there something instead of nothing? Who made us? If there is a God, what is our role is His great plan? While these musings in the realm of ontology and epistemology have yet to evolve into any concrete belief system, I feel that I have gleaned one essential truth: Our one true purpose in life is to kill God. ************** Witness now the transubstantiation of blogged word to Word. It just plain makes sense. What son has not gazed upon his father through that child-like lens of awe, love, and respect and thought, "One of these days I'm going to beat the fuck out of you, you shit-eating prick"? And what father has not looked forward to the day when his son finally beats him at a game of chess or one-on-one basketball, only after the fact realizing the depths of his humiliation and resentment? That's how I want to make God feel. The Promethean urge is as old as our oldest myths; it is mapped onto our souls from the very point of creation. If God is the blacksmith, then ambition gives the strength to our alloy. Was not the theft of fire from the heavens the fulfillment of a birthright divinely inlaid? Would not stomping on God's ribs, kicking him in the throat, and doing a little "Who's the chump now, bitch?!" dance be the ultimate realization of that ambit? It's not about hating God; it's certainly not about serving Satan. It's about hammering the holy shit out of this guy and taking a seat in the big chair. It's about showing up for the big game. You kill God. That's how you win. The Gospel according to Johnny Mothra. Johnny // 9:29 PM
