FeroCity is home to a collection of monologs, articles and social commentary by EON, child of Time, whose view of humanity is scathing and uncompromising.

The Greatest Guilt Trip Ever Laid And The Passing Of Death

christ on the cross

Today is the day when people murdered God.

A very powerful story, an unprecedentedly

outrageous guilt trip to lay on people. The legacy

we have been bequeathed is exorbitantly dramatic,

holding the soul prisoner to a guilt so profound, so damn

infuriating, it makes the people it deals with sad, or mad, or

stupid and penitent, confused and forever haunted. It turns them

into monks and crusaders, believers and hypocrites, into wolves and sheep –

not the adorable, gentle lambs Christ spoke of, but dumb, mindless livestock,

like the priests – our self-appointed shepherds – always envisioned owning.

Priests: the worst ones of the lot. They seek power like everyone else, but

pretend to represent good nature. They seek to control people’s lives,

eager to tell them how to live and speak and what to eat and think

and how to relate to each other. They want to receive everyone’s

money and resources, to infiltrate their minds and dreams –

a dirty, sinister game played in the name of redemption,

turning rational people like me into blasphemers and

reactionaries, into pariahs and heretics, forcing

us to react brashly, making us call things as

we see them, incurring the wrath of God

for our terrible insolence (or so claim

the priests, the sheep, and the mad,

slaughter-loving crusaders). So they all say

in shrill, loud, guilty voices, looking to make up for

the shame handed down to them in the form of legacy –

a twisted, perverted means to spiritual salvation – their aim to

keep instructing you and me and whoever they happen to encounter

on what is right, keeping us on the straight and narrow, commanding us

not to stray off the path, making sure they have the last word. Only the monks

stay silent, meditating and praying. Blessed be their names and actions.

These truly holy figures have kept in touch with the Divine in its pure,

spirited form, keeping in mind and close to heart the fact that the

material world is fraught with ill contradiction, which no amount

of sermoning can absolve. They pray silently in their chambers,

their lives devoted to something greater than dogma, trying

to compensate for the crusaders’ actions – the crusaders,

who are busy pillaging the land – and for the shepherds’

love of shooing men and women behind fences, where

they keep them barricaded and sequestered. They

pray for these people. They talk to God. They tell

no one. They feel no guilt or shame, no need to

overcompensate, just a profound sense of

connection with the undeniably divine . . .

Today is the day when God was executed.

A reminder of how everything is mortal,

yet, at the same time, eternal and

forever active, depending on

how much time has elapsed.

Too little time and even

the immortal dies. Too

much time and

everything

lives,

except

death. Even

the tragic and

deicidal humanity

with its soul-mangling

systems suffers the mysteries

of time. Like the writer once wrote,

That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death may die.

A stark warning to those who deem

themselves above the law, as well

as those who deem themselves

insignificant, penitent, and

beyond consideration,

looking for sweet

atonement. Everything

dies, everything lives forever.

Be careful how you set yourself up,

because it will affect you for a long, long time . . .

Today was the day they slaughtered God.

Today is the day when death died.

Your memory will suffer the same

fate. Your name will be tested.

You’ll have terrible dreams,

and will suffer in those

dreams, which I will

haunt when you

least expect it,

until

you are

dead enough

to live forever.

You don’t get it?

Nobody cares! My

voice will go with you.

That’s all that matters.

Try to get rid of me.

See if you can.

From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE

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