The Contemporary Crises in Culture: The Straightforward Approach.
“I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit.”
[An Arab Man].
{A Very Polite Disclaimer}: The author can’t tell the difference between a paragraph and a sentence. All words are his brothers. And they all blend in. He apologises for the excruciating inconvenience this confusion may bear to some.
The ministers of refinement have for long, at great length, with unremitting zeal, with the fervor of a thousand and threesome unfulfilled pieties,-from high scholars to high sinners; these men and women through time, have with deep and implicit vehemence; from the emeraldine knolls and sun kissed citadels of the most glorious temples of their times: The cathedrals whose stylized spires retreated from the accoutrements of slaughtered and mild mannered cadavers of the lower realms, strewn on its footsteps as placations to God from the moribund, to assuage a foggy collective perception of an inscrutable Eternity from acting against terminating the demented obsession with meat; these ministers of time immemorial have proclaimed this: the articulation, illumination, portrayal, foreshadowing, with eminent regard, upon and towards the existence of a Contemporary Crises in Culture.
Their Straightforward Approaches have been proclaimed as convolution by those that they approached. Convoluted Revolutions have followed in their names, as they lay, benumbed of their vital senses, tidily, in their rosy crossed graves bearing in the eternal somnolence the tidings of higher things, as their mortal words became currencies in the self-exhausted, transient, lingo of the medicis, who have drawn from the vocabulary of Excellence, with the purpose of exalting, decorating, and fashioning a mask of meaning, upon meaningless, non-Excellence.
Stalin the mustachioed button pusher, Adolf the corporal who made homicide hip, the masquerading mullahs presiding over sandy real estates, more preferable these days to spawns of commodities than a single blade of grass was to Mark Twain, who declared the flag of his forefathers, to be the ‘gaudiest banner ever created’; all these individuals, have constituted in their times the highest obtainable visualization of culture, utilizing the vocabulary of those that decried in their lifetimes, the Crises in Culture.
As a result, Culture has been a profound historical exercise in visible invisibility. An exercise that makes servitude glorious, discipline- impotent, intelligence- retarded, the Human Spirit-reduced to a consuming, corporeal, obsession- living in a state of giddy self-alienation- every man and woman a merchant of treats. Every little fellow a self delighting candy sucker. Every Philosopher, a madman.
Every ‘specialist’, a psychiatrist. Those struck by this overwhelming pyramid of contradictions, have faced an even more pitiful inversion. Their Crisis in Culture, so pervasive, have combined with a Crisis in Cognition. Awed and stupefied by the indolence of their times, they have resorted verily, ‘back to their boot camps’. Their fears of death. Of the end of meat emboldened, and revitalized. They have proclaimed ‘The End is Near’, pointing at the enlightened tomes of their times, the designs of whose arcane alphabets have imbued in them a sense of reverence, much in the fashion, the caveman may have been imbued with a sense of reverence by observing a grazing goat, whose bucolic beauty so profound that by killing the goat, could the beauty itself be completed to the caveman. The Act of consumption the highest obtainable interpretation- a gustatory one.
The cathedrals and temples of the times, have retreated from this blasphemy at immense speed, taking the Art and Refinement constituted unto them higher, and higher, more and more, Inscrutable to those meandering at their bases. The decrier of Culture-rather-the Crises fundamental in it, of Meat; These-The messengers from distant lands, indeed, a peripatetic Arab, looking up at the emeraldine ether, perceived, lettered in the clouds, these runes, which he then, for some impossible reason, translated in English as this: “A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland.”
But finally, the End is Near. In fact, the End is Near, Here. Nay, I lie. The End is Near, Here, Right now.
Eternity has answered.
The final solution to the Question of Meat, has been delivered to man by his prayers. Prayers that he has sent up through his smoke stacks.
Intercontinental Ballistic Prayers launched at high velocity to eliminate those that do not pray with the proper equipment. Prayers recited, incanted, a million times, in schools where patriotism to the flag is considered a superb prayer, where regulation, stewardship, regimentation, and restraint in expression are preserved as the highest and most eminent means of ensuring Liberty. Prayers computed through standardized prayer tests {SATs}, and filled into prayer grids and matrices that compute fervor, praying ardency, to determine an exact decimal value for the rewards obtainable by the proper industries dedicated to a Culture of Prayers. Is a Culture of Prayers then, identical, to a Crises in Culture?
Not really. Crises have a wonderful way of answering prayers, and Cultures have wonderful ways of reinventing answers.
Associated Press told me the other day, as I was sipping tropical citrus Vitamin Water, and delighting in the amenably abundant femininity, gliding coquettishly in fashionable garbs emblazoning nubile contours-mind you, in so delighting all crises in culture was absolutely, serenely, preferably, happily, sensually, imperceptible.
It was September 22, 2007. “….Ultimately, rising seas will likely swamp the first American settlement in Jamestown, Va., as well as the Florida launch pad that sent the first American into orbit, many climate scientists are predicting. In about a century, some of the places that make America what it is may be slowly erased.” [Associated Press].
I pondered only slightly.
A homeless man was sauntering towards the SEPTA train station. I yelled indecently, “Swamp the first American Settlement? In Jamestown, Virginia? I be dooogggg’one if that ain’t BLASPHEMY!”
O aiight.
Crises. A Sport for the Soul.
Crises. It is Cool.
Crises. A Reality by 2018 Olympics.
Crises: yall gots ta DO IT.
[Visit].
Eins.
‘God is best understood, through Snow’.
Zwei.
‘Elephants? They know everything.’
[About the Author].
This article was fabricated from the mind of Zivylin LLC CEO Alexander K. Rai. A Civil War veteran of 1631, he killed dem filthy northerners at shenandoah. He did it again in 2010 by punching nazi leader Adolf Hitler bloody unconscious and proclaiming to all of North America simply this: ‘I be dogggone if dis clown tells me what to do. Brewnks’. Anarchy followed for fourteen seconds, and then everyone went back to work again. It was 76* Fahrenheit next day, and Amelie Poulaine lost her virginity somewhere in the port city of Marseilles, where people are speical.
He runs companies and is an avid Snow Tennis athlete. He belongs to a Party for the Soul. You are invited. Find him @ www.alexanderkrai.org. His Company or somethin’: www.zivylin.com . Right now he is brokering agile global transformation one frolic at a time. Dewnks.
Oh! And Alexander wants you to know that he’s NOT ARAB. As if that really would mean anything. –rolls eyes- Lyke totally.
Alexander Rai
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