LUNCHBUCKET LOGIC

THE RHYME OF THE MODERN MARINER - plagiarized Samuel Coleridge Taylor’s “Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner,” killing of an albatross. In a smoke-stained far below par, light depraved bar, at this bizarre bazaar, addicted I puffed on my last cigar. Amid the shadows of lost souls amid the human debris, abruptly, a washed-up sea dog staggered in & collared me. In vain, he tried to link & get us practised alkies to think he sailed that slimy, salty sink without a drop to drink. He held us captive with tongue & withered hand, uttering words, we cast-offs couldn’t understand. Of the International World Counsel of Churches’ relentless, mostly fruitless land & sea searches for long hidden alien writings & artefacts, that had curbed men's blood-thirsty, barbaric acts. Of perceived angelic passed-on information, that inspired prophets from each & every nation, to institute a deity to stifle our inborn greed, & seed some compassion into that primeval breed. He spoke of those beings, 3000 years later returning, finding materialism, was still society’s constant yearning. Church & state occupying the same incestuous bed, poisonous as serpent Satan, perverting humanity instead. For in the almighty’s name, there’s ethnic killing, exploiting faith & patriotism, nations are still willing, for oil, presidents get divine counsel & justify killing. "These starry messengers played with our mind, the message they relayed was not kind. If man won’t turn from religious hypocrisy, in the next millennium they’d again curb our lunacy.” “With ungodly strength, those puny aliens we did kill, our dedicated Luddite vocations we did fulfil. In the name of the one that died on Calvary’s cross, we salvaged our careers & sunk the UFO ‘Albatross.’” “For what worth are faith peddlers without a God, are we nude emperors & an unseen entity laud? Should tithing be exposed as unadulterated fraud & preachers be pressed into manual labour to plough sod? Since that fateful day, my thirst’s not quenched by water, the devil's brew has become my daily fodder.” Page 1 of 2 The recount of his bloody deed, cast a spell & mesmerized, spellbound, patrons of the strip arts sat veritably paralysed. Obsessed, he bent our ear, in fear we were bound to hear, he glowed in beer, proselytised we recognized a kindred peer. But as the wretched wild-eyed, old bloke spoke, all us derelicts squatting there, spotted his soiled yoke, for a tattered collar 'round his neck, the ole alkie wore, forsooth, in truth, he had been a cleric, that son of a …. Still spewing terrifying consequences of foreboding swill, with orator skill, the old mariner dominated our will. He bade us swear an oath to eradicate spiritual idio-sin-cracy, save man not souls & cease erecting monuments to immortality. Stop dealing spirtuality dependency, establish a global democracy, curb our propagation & ensure all species’ sustainability. “A sterile, non-polluting united world , those ETs should see for if Sodom & Gomorrahs there still should be, rapture would spare other creatures from sacrificial penalty, only humanity would be purged in a cleansing fire of ecstasy.” If you doubt & balk at swallowing this revelations’ tale, quaff & buy me yet another bitter ale & raise history’s veil. Contemplate the innovation of Guttenberg’s printing press, no longer a biblical monopoly, did infallible popes possess. Truth, no longer could they suppress or get all to confess, competition, holy mother church now had to address. If no gods are seen, heard or touched, since time began, what need there be, of a missionarying clerical clan? Just suppose that if all immortals were proven dead, where would all those religious perverts head? How would nations ever be able to wage a just oil war, without chaplains blessing troops to open heaven’s door? What would they do with all that wasted praying time, spend it here with us & get out of white collar crime? To colonize new worlds with the fittest few, would theologians or pioneers be the chosen crew? Reality’s a cold grave & heaven’s dream, sublime, menial work‘s honest, low caste, not romanticised like crime. Sheltered & fed here, we savour the arts, it passes the time, but will your belly fill on flowery swill, sermons & rhyme, are priests & poets drones & worth a goddamned dime?