anny howard

HOW WE SEE IT

JOYFUL PHILOSOPHY

 

chapter 16

It is highly unlikely that intelligent life capable of space travel has evolved ahead of us in the young universe. It is, however, possible. They might be a billion light years away. If they are contained within the same physical condition. Some form of water and mineral mix. Then they may take a while to find us.

Just as likely, we will slowly extend our reaches around the safer perimeter of the milky way and meet ourselves on the other side.

And never have seen one alien creature developed enough to leave their planet.

Sitting ducks.

Thing is, when I see the angel in a young woman smiling at me, I want it to be telling me we will have sex, but what it really says is, do it for me. And so I do. I keep rambling with an angel's smile in my head.

But the question wasn't little Laura's smile, it is, what if aliens dropped in now. A month before Christmas.

"So, are you intelligent life forms."

"We certainly are. We send machines to Mars."

"What's with all the symbols. Is their a reason for all the distraction."

"Waking pains. We chopped down the tree of knowledge a few times so our senses need symbols to keep us from."

"Well, thanks for your time. Keep evolving and we'll be back when we see life on the moons of Jupiter."

"You don't wanna stay for Christmas. See Santa. Hear the story of a virgin unmarried mother giving birth to a bastard that is gonna save every one."

"We've been there. Get over it and move on. It's better to be gods than slaves."

"Good to know."

"See ya."

chapter 17

Flogging Fish. Dead ones. Many of my relatives are active worshippers. Not so uncommon in most countries.

But first I was wondering, how the hell would we explain ourselves to aliens if they were chickens. And how would it be if the chickens took over. Women giving up their 4 month in the womb unborn induced miscarriage because that was a favourite of the chicken elite. And with that, testicle soup. For the poor, old men testicles. For the elite, from 3 day old boys. The boys with no testicles would be feed bio bananas, bio chocolate and raw sugar cane. Also bio. For their eighth birthday, they would get stuck on a rotisserie after having their hair boiled off.

At special festivals, teenage girls would fight to the death and at the end of the fight, all would be roasted.

But if the reader chooses to wonder anything else, I can understand that.

I will, however, mention that in some caves in South America, drawings of a chicken dictator had been discovered. And piles of bones, including many bones from pre birth infants. That's of course CI Apple classified secret information.

Anyhow, it is no secret, people who worship are in a very basic way, batty. They live in a fantasy world. And they are often like little children. It's their cookie. They ain't going to give up eternal death bliss for a few years in heaven. It matters not that they are standing in it. It has been propigated by the authority that this is just a test to get to heaven.

Like a fuckin' security thing at the airport.

"Do you wish to go to a city of luxury for ever."

"I certainly do."

"Do you have worship papers."

No one talks yet of the war with Iran and the Israelites in Palestine. But maybe we are used to it. And what's the sense of talking. Or getting out and screaming.

And I wasn't going to talk about it either, just that I read in the Bible when the troupes were all around Jerusalem, the end of Jerusalem would be near. Basic math really, but we have been jammed up with religious bullshit. It poisons our language. Robs it of meaning. And things will play out on the media theater.

To keep the slaves terrorized with all the terrorism.

We are being fucked over. The leaders truly are insane. They play really fuckin' twisted games and war is the fundament of the game.

Send them to war or the mines. Keep them dumb. I need more grapevines planted. Where's my whore. I want my ass and nuts licked.

So. Where were we. Maybe I shouldn't be having fun doing this, it can't lead to nothing no good.

chapter 18

I have one of those Christmas Cactus or whatever they are called. I almost let it die but a friend said I should rather take better care of it. And I think more because he thought I needed to have a bit better attitude. Anyhow. It spent the summer outside enjoying the fresh air and today a blossom, one, is in full blum. A little early for Christmas. 3 and a half weeks. But bloody fish, flowers are nice, I don't care so much about them. But this one is really bitchin. Screaming red. Demanding attention. Even if there are no bees around this time of year. It almost looks like a flying vagina. Which it sort of is. A plant's sex organ.

I find it crazy that people think Jesus and his mother were virgins. And even more absurd is the whole concept of the value of virginity. As if it was a commodity.

"I want 72 virgins."

"What the fuck kind you want."

Men, perhaps, want virgins because they hope they don't have to be compared to someone. Who was a much more attentive lover and did such nice things to her bum. Hole. But maybe it's pride. 'I'm the only one who has ever fucked her.'

"She's a lucky girl."

"She cooks me breakfast and I fuck her."

Ownership. Marriage mania. What the fuck is marriage. Well, I'll tell you. It is a religious law. To restrict sex. And hold on, often it was partly because the elite, the Lords, wanted to fuck the virgins before they married and fucked. So they could have the first born. And there it is with Jesus again. Bastard son. The King doesn't care. That the bastard is cut out of his religion by definition. The King laughs at religion. And laughs when the bastard raves against his family religion.

Then as a favour to his rejected religion at the demand of the Priests, the bastard gets nailed to a cross.

I hope I don't need to tell you this has happened millions of times over. That Jesus is a story of one Man, and his many friends, angels. And many have attempted similar protest. In every second song and every work of literature there is protest. To the blind it is just a story. The one called fiction. But it ain't. The story is always the same. Protest. And what all the protestors want is: life here and now.

Or they are religious death cult freaks. And that ain't too uncommon. Did you notice the triple negative a few pages back.


chapters 19 - 21