It's been a while.
The piss pour rain decide to take a nap and I swore the sun has not been heard since Babel collapsed. The river stanks of dead rats and mushrooms. That did not stop hacked she-locals and their colonial sperm donors from drinking their cafe el fresco. Morons. They mushroomed with every generations. Them she-locals will bring this island back to the colonials with their bastards offsprings mouthing badly copied recordings of badly copied recordings of colonial speak. It's been a while but life's still shit.
Last heard, Jeremiah's was still in business.
Last heard, they were showing pirated dvds to pull in the yahoos.
Last heard, La Tey supplied the discs. Now, that caused quite a stink cos the methods of carriage involved certain rear end storage orifice. Of course the deposits often accompanied the cargo. In time it may be a limited edition but for now it is just La Tey and his discharge. Time was, he used to be a runner. I mean he ran for his life. Chased by gorillas. Babelicious type too. Now he liberated and cool. Enlarged orifice or otherwise. Now heard, he's screwing for a nip so that he can tuck more discs storage.
I had my usual corner. The bar's mostly empty. Only Jurgen Moltmann around. I played my original discs. (which in no way were soiled by La Tey's courier and which in every way is superior film craft to any of that tutiton teacher's pink hippopotamus porn) Ghost in the Shell at Jeremiah! We have come a long way since Big Mac were miming his own pornos at SS2. So on a sleepy afternoon in a godforsaken bar, we have Mamoru Oshii preaching to all who will listen that we are all just shells and if we are not careful even that can be hacked into. So perhaps all the hacked she-locals and their libido-infested canines should watch Ghost in the Shell? Perhaps be warned. Perhaps awaken? Perhaps?
I watched Ghost in the Shell and I want shades like Kusanagi!
It's a lost cause. Time was, Matrix was the new Ghost in the Shell. And all the babes in town were dragging their geekboys to watch it twice. Every she-locals wants to be Trinity. Every stinkin one of them want to have shades like Trinity.
Mamoru Oshii, how you have failed. Only the madmen will watch Blade Runner and gush about your prophetic vision. Only the fanatics will watch Matrix, and recognize what was already envisioned in the landscape of Ghost in the Shell. Only lost souls will seek out Avalon and watched it like it is Ghost in the Shell all over again because Mamoru Oshii, you, directs. How you have failed...
Every stinking one of them wants shades like Trinity...
Sometimes you want to be alone. Sometimes you wished to be in a crowd. I do that sometimes. Just to be lost in the mass/mess of humanity. Just to get out of myself. So that no one can mis-educatedly labelled me angst. So sometimes I just want to sit in my corner at Jeremiah and watch some dvd. But sometimes these germans will just ask for spare change to buy a beer...
Something about germans. They have superior brew, they are often bearded and they stank. I swear it's the sauerkraut. Past historical posting lost in the archives have shown how a combination of all three factors led to irreconcilable theology with those reformed colonial ass lickers. Some SIN people just have something for colonial orifices and its no rocket science how La Tey hs been infected with his rear end courier services. But I digress, back to the germans. Moltmann asked for spare change for a drink. I bought him Shandy. He told me that above and beyond all useless meta-definitons is the theological foundation resting in the raising of the crucified Christ. From this centre one is inescapably reminded of the cross of the risen Christ. Whatever can stand before the face of the crucified Christ is true christian theology. What cannot stand there must disappear. Moltmann eye his Shandy suspiciously and insist this is especially true of what we say about God. And we have seen and heard much about God these days, meta-reformed or otherwise, I added. Moltmann ignored me and reminded that Christ died on the cross with a cry of abandonment. The cry of abandonment is either the end of every theology and religion or it is the beginning of a truly christian theology. Most theologians are exposed as Job's friends. (i wonder aloud if Job's friends wear white coat with an obvious bible hidden in the pocket...) They want to produce an answer to the question about God with which Christ dies. But Christ dies with an open question, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" A truly christian theology has to make Jesus experience of God on the cross the centre and foundation of all our ideas about God. Moltmann sat down. I ordered him a real brew. Maybe I can call La Tey to drink with this german? Maybe I can persuade that new bartender with the Punisher t-shirt to fry some sausages and whip up some sauerkraut? Maybe. Meanwhile there was heard a soundbite from the toilet... (Najib is finished!)
A theology which did not speak of God in the sight of one
who was abandoned and crucified would have nothing to say to us then.