Culture of death
EASTER: the pinnacle of the patriarchal culture of death. Celebrating death, masochism, and all its rituals. I heard some men got themselves crucified for real, so as to better commune in the death of their hero (son, father, holy spirit). Oh how I hate the Christians and their necrophile disease of the mind. Unable to renew themselves, they never will get over the death of their leader. Unable to tap into the source of life, they stay stuck in that time of death. JESUS IS DEAD. DEAD. Got it. And that is not the end of the world. Men can’t understand this, because their lives are fruitless, but we, women, are fruitful and multiply; for us death is merely part of a process.
CHRISTIANISM: the attempt to give ONE man eternal life, through submission of the rest. All of us called to imitate their “Christ”. How puckingly ridiculous. I gag every time I see one of those crosses, symbol of suffering and death. That whole mentality is abject; the worship of a mentally diseased irreparably disrupted “SON OF GOD”. AH AH AH AH AH How could their God ever have a son? Their god is a MAN, remember. Did he clone himself out or what. Hmph. I stopped trying to understand the disease of those degraded dismogrified feces faces. It is a waste of time. Let them be zombies if they like.
YOU HEAR THAT. YOU ARE A CHRISTIAN? YOU CELEBRATE PUTRID LIQUEFACTED FLESH.
Ah. How they changed a celebration of life (the end of winter, victory, liberation, the sprouting of new burgeons) into a “celebration” of death… and contaminated the whole world with it. Through war and forced indoctrination. Man’s religion, the only way men found to impose a continuity in their deathly enterprises. The only way they found to countenance woman’s perpetual renewal. Replacing natural, organic succession with factice, intellectual relay passing of the scepter of oppression.
Ah. Looking at their leader dying off, I laugh, I laugh! Matriarchy would never allow this to happen, the daughter would replace the mother, mother, sister and grandmothers, the links of natural generation. But those men can’t renew themselves, they have to wait for the old ones to die off and then artificially choosing a successor, and there is no natural mechanism to renew their soil. The Church is stopped in its course, waiting for a successor while their doddery old man hangs onto his last bits of life, the life we so generously gave him, while we, gynocracy of the Wild Women, naturally gravitate around each other in a perpetual exchange of caressing wisdom and the truth of knowing smiles.
Even after we all disappear, we will still be lingering on, watching over the world. Memories never erase. We are there together forever.