Evil, However Powerful It Seemed,could Be Undone

If We Have Nothing To Do But Service Our Own Pleasure - Because Society Has Taught Us That's All We're Worth And We're Exiled From Positions Of Authority From Which We Could Actually Shape Society - Then We Just Become Hedonists. Eventually, Despite How Great It May Look On Saturday Night, Come Monday Morning There's Just Purposelessness.

His Body And His Mind Went About Their Different Businesses. The Former, Freed From Conscious Instruction, Breathed, Rolled, Sweated, And Digested. The Latter Went Dreaming.

Nothing Ever Begins. There Is No First Moment; No Single Word Or Place From Which This Or Any Story Springs. The Threads Can Always Be Traced Back To Some Earlier Tale, And The Tales That Preceded That; Though As The Narrator's Voice Recedes The Connections Will Seem To Grow More Tenuous, For Each Age Will Want The Tale Told As If It Were Of Its Own Making.

But I Think Humans Are Innately Religious As A Species, So You Don't Need A Specific Excuse For Examining The Perversely Unholy.

We Burn So Hard, But We Shed So Little Light; It Makes Us Crazy And Sad.