The triumph of meat, that freedom is true,
And far more precious than a thousand laws.
Together, with friendship, the joy of the hunt
Beams on their faces, and when asked
They say, "We believe our ancestors
"When they die, go up with the Son."
Pure freedom, joy, and ecstasy is on their faces
Knowing that the Baboon's meat is everything.
The philosophical depths stop at life's necessities.
What's most important is "Meat".
A simple answer like a Child were giving it.
The little civilization forages through the forests
And the veldts, searching the ranges for food.
All life is a search for the bare necessities.
Their civilization is more ancient than Babylon.
They are happier than any German.
They are far more alive than any Spaniard.
They are far more wise than any Chinaman.
What the tsetse prevents them from obtaining
Is found among the fruits of foraging.

When I was a kid,
One of my first memories was
You holding a piece of fat
And eating it.
I laughed, as you made funny munching noises
Because I said didn't like it.
But you told me it was the best part
So I ate some, and liked it.

You were like sunshine.
That is what your name means.
Long ago, I read it.

I miss the days as they used to be.
My family.
Now it's like everything is dim.
I miss you
I miss my cousins
I miss the family I used to have
Where I felt accepted.

Please forgive me for any wrong I've done.
My life is bitter.
But I remember a time when it was sweet.
I would like it to be sweet once again.

Writer's block, how you come to me once again.---
Staring at this white sheath in front of me,
I succor the demons when I consent to you.
For when my hand forgets his discipline, I am
Like Keats was while watching the Nightingale.

Then I fly like the bird when my thoughts are free, 
For the joy is like the Cicada's Chirping 
In the forest with its gay little life.
It fills me to the brim with ecstasy.
A disciplined writer finds their music
In all of life's events. Being prayed for in the wilderness
For seeing Satan's false signs,
The vertigo swirls through a life satisfied
By small events giving succor for a poem or two.
So, I fight to stay the writer's block away.

For in the forest, I am frightened by all prospects.
By poverty, but riches, by stagnation, but progression.
My heart is heavy within me, ready to burst
For the songs I've sung are lonely and none have ears.
I wonder about the Nightingale,
How something so small brings inspiration for a masterful poem.
I realize writer's block is not allowing oneself to see
The connections, yet it is true that none really want to see them.
So, I sorrowfully sing my songs in silence---
The signs from Satan are too numerous for me to ignore.
The world does not want a master poet.
What it wants is simply to be the Nightingale.
Yet, by being so, there is no nectar left to drink
For it was all spoiled on honey
But none were bees.
For all have drunken up the fun
And left nothing.

Thus, writer's block becomes the natural order of the world;
For if the fun has all dried up
And the flowers all sucked dry
And the bees hadn't made the honey
Which gives them their joy for drinking nectar;
Sweet the nectar is, and it is a good occupation
Where sweet is always in the mouth.
Yet, the labors of our modern age
Make life bitter, for the Songs are not loved
Thus, the cycle of drinking and making
Is over. With that, I close my eyes and sleep.

I love this country.
I have food. 
I have drink.
I have freedom
I have shelter.
I have work.
The poor are rich.
Everyone has an equal chance.
There's green trees.
There's wild flowers.
There's cicadas.
There's daddy Longlegs.
There's blue birds.
There's robins.
There's beaches, amusement parks and ski resorts.
There's national parks.
I can criticize my country.
I can speak whatever nonsense I please.
I can be wrong.
I can also be right
I can research any subject under the sun.

Black Lives Matter, Antifa
You're so stupid if you can't see
This is the best country to ever live.

Dear,
The Atheist Church

Why do you want religion without Christ? I think you display something poignant, that many people go to church for the wrong reasons. Maybe you are just a manifestation of that trend in culture, of people wanting worship without a diety. People want the benefits of kneeling and standing, and sitting and standing, and singing bad songs, and the hysteria of rolling around on the church floor babbling in a made up language. Frankly, it offends so many Christians that you are doing this, but you only can do it because so many churches are doing the same thing.

It's interesting to me how you want the most boring aspects of Church. Personally, as a child I found it boring, I still can't bring myself to go to that kind of a gathering. Church to me is sitting with a friend discussing Jesus. I feel that is more like church than any process I'd ever went to. I don't get socialized at Church, I feel rather empty when I go. Except for one thing, which is the very thing you take out of it.

If it weren't for Christ, I wouldn't even dream of going to church. If it weren't for the connection I had with God, and the overwhelming sense of peace I receive by communing with Him, the prayer, the two way discussion... I wouldn't see any reason to go. Sermons are pretty boring, and if it weren't for the direct communication with God, strengthening my heart, I wouldn't even listen to them. 

Church is boring. Why do you need to do it? Why do you remove the only part of it that makes sense? Sitting around talking about morality isn't going to fix the problems in your heart. Only having God point to the flaws, and then empowering you to uphold the moral laws, that's the only benefit I can see from moral teaching. A friend of mine said Gandhi used his authority to elicit oral sex from his followers, so obviously there is no follow through with moral teachings without God to help empower you to follow them.

Which leads me to the question, "Why?" Many Christians are asking it. Why would you want the ceremony of church, when you could just get together and have a barbeque every week? Often, I've thought Church would be better if that's what it was. Why do you feel the need to sit down for long hours, listen to boring lectures, sing mildly annoying songs and get up and sit down four to five times? Why raise your hands and get tingles? Why? Experientially, why would you do it?

Unless God were connected to those events, making even the worst melodies something soul cleansing, why would you even do it? Are you experiencing community? Why not just join rotary club? Why not just join an Atheist club? Why form it like a church?

Just some questions, as I abhor going to church. It's one of my dirty little secrets. If for the hordes of superficial relationships I'll make, where I know people by name but know nothing else about them, or the bad songs and redundant lecturers, I don't understand why you'd want to recreate that, and just remove God from it. For me, God's the only reason I would enjoy it.

My Jorgia.
Dante's Beatrice.
Chateaubriand's Amélie.

Oh, the rich in hell who have lived idle 
Lives shall be trodden down by those wrathful 
Men who by pride burden everyone with 
Their covetousness. For riches they rage
And are not satisfied, and these will be
The punishment upon those idle rich
Who have lived luxuriously on Earth
With the fat income gained by usury.
Under the swamp will those Idle men die;
And the wrathful rich trample them by covetousness.

If a man leaned over a rail
And I, by pushing him, could derail a train;
Physically, what is this man's body
That mine is not?
If there were five men on the track
And I could save them 
By having a body placed on the track
I would jump off the rail
And sacrifice myself
For the five men's safety.

If I could not save them
By sacrificing myself
I would scream my loudest
To warn them,
And implore them to move.
If I were tied up,
Bound, and must have
Pushed the man to save them
Then it was the man who bound me
Who caused these people's death;
For surely, I could call out to them
With all my voice,
And therefore warn them
Of the catastrophe that came.
I would not push the man.

For Christ says,
If a trumpeter in a city
Sees the army coming
And does not sound the alarm
It is both the city and he
Who are in peril.
Yet, if he sounds the trumpet
He does his noble duty
And the men are warned that the war comes
To the city's battlements
And those who are afraid
Could flee to the surrounding countryside.