The story of a bitter twisted man and me…
I’ve never had much truck with those philosophers. I am sure enough me own brain is encased in all the wisdom that it ever needs.
God given, etc… I am no Greek reader.
Reason. There is no other pill to take, so swallow the one that makes you ill.
But when these bastards of intellect swoop down from high and demand I counter them with Reason I do get all hot and sweaty.
I don’t have to answer them! I know what I feel! The demons are real, the ghosts I see alive. My Christ-ridden cross true enough.
Since when did any Greek anus pumping faggot have a say so over my mind? Never! Not in my lifetime.
Reason they call it. Slurring it out their mouths like some banged up gumbo of the mind. The Reason for it is… Your thinking lacks Reason…
Like a bartender with a poison you can’t refuse they bring their Reason…
Fuck them! I know there aint no reason or rhyme; that’s what my good book says. That’s what my squished up pile of neurons tell me everyday. I fuck I eat I walk I shit; don’t need no Aroistotlean Reason to do so!
So I have grabbed that snake Reason and fought it. I fought it hard and I fought it long. Squeezed the wretches neck until it dribbled out all its logic in a white gooey mess.
But even then the bastard stood up again, and as it shot me a scathing eye hissed out these words…
“You don’t think. Just believe”
Well I'll be!
And with that I grasped the sonofabitch and rent it’s spleen in two.
I was done. It was done.
And, like that cunt in the bible, I rested. On the porch. With a fifth…
No thinking for me; just believing.