Insufferable Philistines

Death comes in different shapes. To the unworthy and plain it comes in rigor mortis of the body. To the uncultivated it comes in rigor mortis of the mind. To the refined it comes in rigor mortis of imagination.

It is distasteful to ponder on the former two; almost as much as lamenting over a dog's refusal to write a sensible essay. It is the latter that one cries over. The Christians, the herd of sheep, the insufferable fools, the incorrigible sinners, are breeding an Army of Philistines. Gone was the age when the Aesthetic in Christianity stunned and awed until we are on our knees wailing and begging for deliverance from evil. The architecture, the incense, the robes, the alter, the music, the chanting, the glamorous rituals, the very essence of Christian salvation, are now crushed under the goose-step marches of the Philistine Christians. The Aesthetic elevates and delivers. The Ascetic numbs and kills.


Dionysius, Pray save me from the the burning stake of Sense;
Apollo, Pray save me from the crushing waves of Sensuality.