apocalypse

Be for Man the memory of Earth and Origin. Remember this Earth. Never forget her, but _ never come back. If you come back, you might meet the Archangel at the east end of Earth, guarding her passes with a sword of flame. I feel it. Space is your home hereafter. It__ a lonelier desert than ours. God bless you, and pray for us.

At this stage of the game, I don__ have the time for patience and tolerance. Ten years ago, even five years ago, I would have listened to people ask their questions, explained to them, mollified them. No more. That time is past. Now, as Norman Mailer said in Naked and the Dead, __ hate everything which is not in myself._ If it doesn__ have a direct bearing on what I__ advocating, if it doesn__ augment or stimulate my life and thinking, I don__ want to hear it. It has to add something to my life. There__ no more time for explaining and being ecumenical anymore. No more time. That__ a characteristic I share with the new generation of Satanists, which might best be termed, and has labeled itself in many ways, an __pocalypse culture._ Not that they believe in the biblical Apocalypse__he ultimate war between good and evil. Quite the contrary. But that there is an urgency, a need to get on with things and stop wailing and if it ends tomorrow, at least we__l know we__e lived today. It__ a __iddle while Rome burns_ philosophy. It__ the Satanic philosophy. If the generation born in the 50__ grew up in the shadow of The Bomb and had to assimilate the possibility of imminent self destruction of the entire planet at any time, those born in the 60__ have had to reconcile the inevitability of our own destruction, not through the bomb but through mindless, uncontrolled overpopulation. And somehow resolve in themselves, looking at what history has taught us, that no amount of yelling, protesting, placard waving, marching, wailing__r even more constructive avenues like running for government office or trying to write books to wake people up__s going to do a damn bit of good. The majority of humans have an inborn death wish__hey want to destroy themselves and everything beautiful. To finally realize that we__e living in a world after the zenith of creativity, and that we can see so clearly the mechanics of our own destruction, is a terrible realization. Most people can__ face it. They__ rather retreat to the comfort of New Age mysticism. That__ all right. All we want, those few of us who have the strength to realize what__ going on, is the freedom to create and entertain and share with each other, to preserve and cherish what we can while we can, and to build our own little citadels away from the insensitivity of the rest of the world.

Many [Tudor-era religious radicals] believed then, exactly as Christian fundamentalists do today, that they lived in the 'last days' before Armageddon and, again just as now, saw signs all around in the world that they took as certain proof that the Apocalypse was imminent. Again like fundamentalists today, they looked on the prospect of the violent destruction of mankind without turning a hair. The remarkable similarity between the first Tudor Puritans and the fanatics among today's Christian fundamentalists extends to their selective reading of the Bible, their emphasis on the Book of Revelation, their certainty of their rightness, even to their phraseology. Where the Book of Revelation is concerned, I share the view of Guy, that the early church fathers released something very dangerous on the world when, after much deliberation, they decided to include it in the Christian c

Oh, really? Do you wake up heaving from bloody dreams thatpromise destruction like some crazy street guy forecasting theApocalypse? Did you slam a door in your dad__ face hours before he died?Does everyone, cops included, think you__e a pestering loon __ause__ccident_ doesn__ sit right with you, nor the many other freakouts, likethe car that keeps showing up on your street, with someone sitting in it,doing like, nothing? No? Oh no? Didn__ think so. Life sucks for everyone.Jump or deal with it.

It was a high ceilinged room with tall, large-panes windows. Apart from the doorway was the desk where book had been checked out in days when books were still being checked out. He stood there for a moment looking around the silent room, shaking his head slowly. All these books, he thought, the residue of a planet's intellect, the scrapings of futile minds, the leftovers, the potpourri of artifacts that had no power to save men from perishing.

Eventually our whole world, every culture, will explode and we'll all just be fucking cosmic dust. We'll all dissipate. We'll all be nothing and everything. What's more spiritual than that?

In this world, you have to die to find peace.

I don__ share your luxury. I believe in karma. I make karma happen. I rain down karma on my enemies.___e are the progeny of ancient myths, so we attempt to write our own.___ see the killing fields of the innocents crying out for justice while we hold our ranks.___ou have ventured into deep waters, leaving your wading pool of shallow pragmatism.___ivine intervention is not without its own pain.___hen all seems lost, don__ confuse this with the end, rather this is the beginning.___our redemption is at the gate of your conscience. You have been granted the power of a choice.___hat say you, image bearer? Have you come to save us?

It takes four angels to oversee an apocalypse: a recorder to make the book that would be scripture in the new world; a preserver to comfort and save those selected to be the first generation; an accuser to remind them why they suffer; and a destroyer to revoke the promise of survival and redemption, and to teach them the awful truth about furious sheltering grace.

Here and there, plumes of dark smoke reach into the sky like the fingers of a drowning man reaching up for the last time.

And on the eighth day, Satan laughed.

It's called the Infinity Effect.

When I wasn__ in the barn garden, helping out, sorting seeds or checking hoses I__ spend time alone, usually in the bathroom adjacent to Joel__ room, staring into the shattered mirror as my hand gently caressed my baby bump.More often than not I would cry. Not because my pregnancy upset me, or that my hormones were getting the better of me, but because I missed Joel, my baby__ father. That the baby would grow up without a dad made me anxious. Then again, if he had survived, what irreparable damage would he have suffered and how would his pain translate to his child? Jesus, I was studying myself in the very mirror he__ smashed the night he chose to take his own life.The bump had grown slowly in the last couple of months. With these limited resources, I didn__ have the privilege of eating whatever I craved. Had that been the case, I was sure I would have been bigger by now. Still, I tried to eat as well and as often as I could and the size of my belly had proven that my attempts at proper nutrition were at least growing something in there.Nothing made me happier than feeling my baby move. It was a constant source of relief for me. In our present circumstances, with no vitamins and barely any meat products save the recent stash of jerky Earl had found in an abandoned trailer, my diet consisted of berries, lettuce, and canned beans for the most part. Feeling the baby move inside me was an experience I often enjoyed alone. I would think of Joel then as well. Imagining his hand on my belly, with mine guiding his to the kicks and punches.

It ain__ how hard you are when you__e standing over top of someone that really matters. It__ how hard you are when someone__ standing over top of you that shows what you__e made of.

The generative function is strictly nothing but an animal one, and can never be anything else. True spirituality demands its utter extirpation; and while its proper exercise for the continuation of the human race, in the semi-animal stage of its evolution, may not be considered sinful, its misuse, in any way, is fraught with the most terrible consequences physically, psychically and spiritually; and the forces connected with it are used for abnormal purposes only in the foulest practices of sorcery, the inevitable result of which is moral death__he annihilation of the individuality.

Till her appointed course be run;Till on the darkness faint her breathFlown to the silent void, and DeathSit crowned upon the ashen sun.(__he Testimony of the Suns_)

Shall I kill her now? Shall I not even investigate, but kill her and burn her?His throat moved. Such thoughts were a hideous testimony to the world he had accepted; a world in which murder was easier than hope.

Nora knows better than most that nothing lasts forever. Life doesn't, love doesn't, hope doesn't, so why would death, hate, or despair? Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.