Monday, 16 November 2009

Parable of the Pensioner and the Lotto

The Kingdom of Sorrows is like a pensioner who had a few spare dollars one week so decided to bet it on the lotto. He played his grandchildren's birthdays but didn't win anything. The next week he thought to himself, knowing my luck my numbers will come up this week when I don't have a ticket. So he walked to the shops instead of catching the bus and used the money he saved to by a ticket. Again he did not win. As soon as I stop buying tickets these numbers are bound to come up, he thought, I had better keep buying them so that doesn't happen, because I would be mad if my numbers came up and I did not have a ticket. So every week he would skip a meal or not use the bus or go without something so he had the money to buy his lotto ticket. His numbers never came up.

Friday, 6 November 2009

Parable of the Car on the Hill

The Kingdom of Sorrow is like a man who tried to drive his car up a hill but ran out of fuel. No matter how much he stomped on the accelerator or rocked in his seat the car eventually ground to a halt. Before the car could roll backwards he jumped out and tried to push the car up hill but the weight was too much and slowly the car started to roll backwards. The man refused to get out of the way and just kept pushing and pushing not noticing that he was moving backwards until he tripped on a pothole and fell under the car which then rolled down the hill hitting others trying to get up the hill.

Thursday, 5 November 2009

Undisclosed Desires

I know you've suffered,
But I don't want you to hide,
It's cold and loveless,
I won't let you be denied

I'll make you feel pure,
Trust me,
You can be sure

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask,
I want to exorcise the demons from your past,
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

You trick your lovers,
That you're wicked and divine,
You may be a sinner,
But your innocence is mine

Please me,
Show me how it's done,
Tease me,
You are the one

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart,
I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask,
I want to exorcise the demons from your past,
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

Please me,
Show me how it's done,
Trust me,
You are the one

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart,
I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask,
I want to exorcise the demons from your past,
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

Tuesday, 27 October 2009


Paranoia is in bloom,
The PR transmissions will resume,
They'll try to push drugs that keep us all dumbed down,
And hope that we will never see the truth around
(So come on)
Another promise, another scene,
Another packaged lie to keep us trapped in greed,
And all the green belts wrapped around our minds,
And endless red tape to keep the truth confined
(So come on)

They will not force us,
They will stop degrading us,
They will not control us,
We will be victorious
(So come on)

Interchanging mind control,
Come let the revolution take it's toll,
If you could flick a switch and open your third eye,
You'd see that
We should never be afraid to die
(So come on)

Rise up and take the power back,
It's time the fat cats had a heart attack,
You know that their time's coming to an end,
We have to unify and watch our flag ascend

They will not force us,
They will stop degrading us,
They will not control us,
We will be victorious

Saturday, 5 September 2009

I don't remember phone numbers anymore

I once read a Science Fiction in which the humans race had forgotten how to read. At first technology replaced the need, they held a hand over the book and pictured a special pattern in their head and the words entered the mind via nanotechnology . However, over time people turned to books less and less and soon no one remembered the special pattern that activated the automatic “reading function”. With out this no one could make words enter the mind by simply placing there hand over the page and no one remembered what the squiggles on the page meant.

My mobile phone battery died today and I needed to phone someone, My first thought was to use the land line at work but this was stymied by the fact that I could not remember the number. I usually just scroll down the menu and hit the green button. This inability to recall 8 digits was made somewhat sadder by the fact that the number in question was my home phone.

I gave it some thought and I realized I could not remember a single number in my phone – the only numbers that come to mind are ones that I learned 15- 20 years ago, most of which are useless now as the friends who go with these numbers have long since moved, I could however ring the parents of a childhood friend.

In the story, nobody cared that they could not read anymore, except one guy but he had a lot of strange ideas. For example he also thought fathers should have a roll in the raising of children and he liked to walk places instead of being “faxed” there, stuff like that.

My point: None except, I don't remember phone numbers anymore.

Saturday, 13 June 2009


Come into my life
Regress into a dream
We will hide
Build a new reality
Draw another picture
Of the life you could have had
Follow your instincts
And choose the other path

You should never be afraid
You're protected from trouble and pain
Why, why is this a crisis in your eyes again

Taught to be
How did it come to be
Tied to a railroad
You'll have to set us free
Watch our souls fade away
Let our bodies crumble away
Don't be afraid

I will take the cold for you

And I've had recurring nightmares
That I was loved for who I am
And missed the opportunity
To be a better man

- Muse

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Everything Is Meaningless

The words of the Teacher...

"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

What does anyone gain from all their labors
at which they toil under the sun?

Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

There is no remembrance of people of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them.

Friday, 27 February 2009

The Calf-Path

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.

They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)
featured in Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola and George Barna