G-Glory - A Diary from Prague 4/6

G-GLO-GLORY - A GUN FOR HIRE - AYE EGO

"God's glory is the magnificence, worth, loveliness, and grandeur of his many perfections", what a bunch of crap!

Isaiah 42:8:

“I am the Lord; that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to carved idols.”

What would thy lord do if I were not to believe in such utter woke nonsense?? I am my own manifestation, glory and pride, obnoxious as it may sound, is purely, and only, demonstrated by and through myself. My success owns no debt to any lord. My silliness knows no bounds. My bitterness tastes sweet ever-now-again. My holiness is beyond any God. My mercy is an untraversed universe. My tragedy is my Walther PPK. I am the one.

Thus, your glory is all mine.

Yet, I ain't no turncoat, my gun is for hire, but my pride is unshakeable. My duty is unyielding, once I have been tasked, no amount of money, lies, pride or love would make me break my vows — except for more cash, unmarked and untraceable — just kidding!

My only master, my only LORD, is myself. My client or employer are just disposable chess pieces (although, please keep my secret, I doubt they would like to hear such vulgar truths).

I take almost sadistic pleasure in my honor, duty, and glory. I worship the glory and outcome of my honorable presence. I know, and I love to be greater than all others. I know I am no saint, I cherish such a true and honest position, yet laugh blissfully to my grave. Honesty is the fastest one-way ticket to pain, even my alter ego knows as much; it is an admirable sentiment, ardent and Eden-gardenly, but archaic for even Christ. Oh, I cannot help but chuckle at mankind for inventing such a virgin notion as a "prophet". Prophet of what? The miserable condition of human existence? Are we not past that point? Are we not unsalvagable, beyond the point of redemption? Are we not the original sin?

I am a man of no faith, proudly and adamantly. Amidst my worldliness, there is no place for spirit. I merely worship my heart of steel. I am the gun for hire, a trustworthy squire, for whoever requires a butcher slaying across the shire.

Sometimes I ponder, why is my worldview powdered with black and contrasted with dark-grey-ish white. Paul says "you just don't have a heart" and I promptly reply "well soon neither do you." And next, I wonder why I am talking to myself, where did Paul go? Pray, may he have a sanctified burial, one last performance in the world characterized by primal unspirituality, material and secular hate-watch, and let his dream once come true, may the suburbian mural whisper his holiness, his name in all solitude. For what does it matter anyhow? Spiritual or unspritual? Corporeal or immaterial? Shining or Shadowing? Glistening or Blowing? Flying or Dying? Why does it matter, anyhow? Forsake my ignorance, my primitive existence, my unbreakable vow for crimes against humanity —for even I know that I have sinned against thy Father, the Lord and Saviour, our Merciful God in his all-omnipotence.

Oh, did you really think for one second there that I was turning unto faith? I was simply lifting the heaviest rock on God's playground.

Näkemiin! - Aye Ego