#treesus christ

[thedoctorandnophd]

They missed an opportunity to say "Treesus Christ" in this episode.

[tuthothamun]

A Nihilist's Prayer

There’s confusion about Who we are and where we come from. Peasants thinking themselves kings When they’re nothing. We sleep walk chasing our dreams Repulsed at the reality that we’re nothing. We drink ignorance, eat folly, and shit on wisdom, Satisfied with the lie that life begins in the womb Comfortable and content, cruising to confront the end, Not even knowing the beginning. We fell in love with a reflection because it gave us the pleasure of thinking that we matter, not meaningless matter floating through nothing destined to be nothing. We’re led in arrogance by the blind, engage in polemics while being exploited by thieves, Trapped in a system, turning against our cell mates Instead of the ones with the keys. Proudly we present images of ourselves To our man-made gods, boasting, Shouting, yelling, “God this is me!”, All the while blind to the fact that we’re nothing. Nothing is my shepherd, I shall not nothing… Surely nothingness and nothing shall follow me All the days of my life, And I shall dwell in the house of nothing Forever. Amen.

[tuthothamun]

In Defense Of Lust

I say that I love your body, You say I can't, that I must love your soul. Lust is only temporary and quickly grows old; Love quickens the body and melts a heart frozen cold. Lust is love, though you may not feel it-- Or shall you pluck out your eyes and seal the windows to your spirit? What covers your beautiful mind and protects your giving heart? Hair that curls like smoke from incense and breasts that leap like a hart. It's not the same you say, pulling away from me. Indeed, I say, Love and lust are the same thing. Do you drink fine wine from cups of plastic? Why shame me for enjoying your spirit from silver flagons? Remember that it is the flower that attracts the hummingbird's tongue, and only the ripened fruit that is eaten until there is none. Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit? And yours is made of diamonds and gold that shine most vivid. Lust is love-- you cannot separate the two. When I say I love your body, I mean that I love you too.

[tuthothamun]

3:48 A.M.

"I'm going to smoke," you say throwing the covers wrapping your slender frame over me. I hate cigarettes. I hate when you smoke them. Your red hair flows like lava over your pale shoulders, beautiful as roses on snow, resting peacefully in the nest that is your collarbone. You pull out the object of my hate, then glide to the door, disappearing behind a wall of smoke and vice. You know I hate cigarettes. You know I hate when you smoke them. Still, I'm drawn to you. I want to be a part of you and I envy every wisp of smoke that enters your lungs. I envy every puff that makes you cough, every drag that makes you wheeze. But love is stronger than hate. In those breathless seconds that you're physically gone, my soul craves for you as if you were my nicotine. In that emptiness I wish you were still with me. Cigarette and all. Every moment that I stay here in bed I wish that you were with me. The wails of my heart thunder, echoing off the walls, constantly drumming the surface of my soul. And I realize, that I loved you before I knew you smoked and even afterwards. I loved your flaming head before I met you. I loved your soft lips before I met you. I loved your satin skin before I met you. I loved your habits before I met you. I rolled over quickly, throwing the remainder of the sheets in a corner. Almost without thinking I raised a cigarette to my lips, then a lighter. I took a deep breath then went to join you. "I'm coming with you. " You know I hate cigarettes. You know I hate when you smoke them. Still you know I love you.

[tuthothamun]

A beautiful woman is a dangerous thing. She descends on Earth as a consuming flame, causing contentions amongst weak men, and draws the lust of the strong. Indeed, it destroys both the fool and the king; a devilish flame that straightens reins and destroys strong cities. Her violent flame is not just confined to her. Pesky and contagious, it spreads as an impetuous sea, overbearing its victim in a deluge of light. She draws men from their wells and compels them to her cistern, satisfying their thirst with words of honey and exhortations that are like fine wine. Once he is drawn in, he is lost, for that very flame that rages in her is awakened in him. Her creator realized the potential for destruction so he chained her to a wick and beautifully made wax. Men built great walls around her to confine her. They gave her bags to curve her back. The gave her bangles and ropes of gold to blind her. But it is in her nature be perverse, and that warring flame, faced with certain death, will thunder and swallow up everything around it, including the woman herself. All is ash and rubble, ruins and dust. Miraculously, the beautiful woman survives, rising from the debris, brighter than ever, free of walls, bags, bangles, and even wax and wick. This is what makes her beautiful. The way she survives her utter destruction, her entrapment, her marginalization, and is transfigured into an eternal flame. She becomes a goddess - Pallas Athena - conquering both life and death. Truly, a beautiful woman is a dangerous thing.

[tuthothamun]

How long will we be oppressed By an unelected minority? The names and tools change, but the work remains the same And the work is inequity, blatant thievery. Enough food for the glutton, but none for the hungry. Invisible chains on the modern slave in the 21st century. I call it Egypt, some call it Babylon; New Pharaohs, new whips, New gods, new chariots, Pyramids manifest as Ponzi schemes, Transgressions hidden in austerity. Laws written as hieroglyphs, but clear to some; Same wolves, same tricks, Same snakes, same pits, Familiar songs sung with similar themes About a lost people with none to lead.

[tuthothamun]

9.18

Sweet, sweet amber skin Can I stick to you, like pollen to bees? Your arms are my chains and your legs my girdle; Your kisses a link to all things heavenly. Gather me in your breasts and protect me with your thighs; Slay my cravings while giving my members a resurrection. Fling your head back and fold your legs over me. Let me enter your cosmos and comet around your galaxy, Blasting through nebulae, surfing suns, and riding moons. Let me in deep. Deeper than the blackest hole in your inner space. Let me go far. Farther than the coldest parts of your universe. You in my verse, as I sing out moans of your name, the rhythm of our hearts drumming out primal beats with every push and pull of our bodies, the crescendo of love so deafening. Can I rest in the silence of your pleasure? all the while never leaving you -- we are the one tree joined at the root. Watered by blue skies and light rain, On the peak of your mountains I can still see the dew Reflecting the light From that sweet, sweet amber skin.

[tuthothamun]

The Lost Soul

I am lost in a jungle where everything is mightier than I. The darkness is thick and the trees are tall. The vines hang low and wait for my neck like a snare. There are no birds here, only bats; there are no sheep, only wolves. Every wild thing hunts me, seeking to devour me and trap me in their bowels. I only see what is bad; what is good is lost in the night. My tongue cries for water, but all there is to drink is wine. The rain that falls from the sky is like acid and burns my flesh. The fruit that falls from the tree is bitter and rots in my belly. What is this place?! Only death and ignorance live here. I slept and dreamt of beautiful things: stars and figs and waters and green fields and women and angels. When I awoke I found a nightmare. There were swamps, leeches, whirlwinds, pits, hail, and flames. I cry for help, but the winds howl over my voice. I try to run, but my legs are weak. I search for light, but my eyes are dipped in black. The fog is thick and the waters are deep. There is no hope in this place, only dreams and nightmares. Should I envy the dreamer? Should I drink their wine and lust after their sleep? Does the bird envy the man? Or does the man yearn for the womb? For their sleep is death and their wine is amnesia. There is no home for the soul lost in the jungle. There is no place for it to lay its head. It is beaten until it is weary and tempted while it is weak. It longs for rest and thirsts for nirvana. But in the jungle there is only hell and beasts.