Tour

My word woman, you do amass a momentous of monumeantus, to quiver-me all to slivers, oh how I love you my shivers. So I did again. I walked that hill for years, a decade and more in San Francisco. I walked Christ's walk for a nigh-on. A priest's ponder - I watched them in Italian cities, pacing oblong circles around the piazzas, in evening-coming on glow, of causeway lights, girding the confinement in flowing robes. Now that one got me. Priests, now that is some garb. I mean that's cheatin'. How do you get out of it. Easy to get in, a so-said, but a bonanza - ah-not. Still I liked the ambiance; the outdoor-kind. What happened behind closed doors; I hadn't a-clue nor-queue.

I was not Christ. Didn't care for that one. These are modern times. SF was not the desert. But some kind of characters I were, of a similar nature certainly, but as opposite as life-style can be. Follow the leader my pen, am I an idiot? Dostoevsky jumps to mind. There is a name to-reckon with. I spent a good deal of trouble, learning to pronounce 'the name' even after I had read the 'The Brothers Karamazov', and was quizzed on-it in Denver, and was speechless, they were so a-serious bunch; at the dinner table apparently thought themselves educated; from Holland I believe, still with accents, and views out their windows, of snow-capped mountains in the far distance. It was then I realized; I didn't know how to be serious of substance. This was a part I hadn't played, I didn't know how, and here they were: the old father of his daughter, of the why I was there; having met her in Europe, and he judged me right there; found me guilty at the dinner table; of ignorance, regardless of the trumpeting; that may have preceded me. The knight crumpled to the floor, shattered, tongue-tied to that-is. What?

Well I didn't say it that way. I say, "It is that so and so ...". Said it for years. Dostoevsky, most famous for the 'The Grand Inquisitor', of that exactly; I was asked a direct question: army-wise direct order; punishable by reduction in rank, or even the ultimately, how else you going to maintain order, the dreaded stockade, for disobeying keepemins.

Christ returns; is arrested by the Grand Inquisitor who knows he's the real, certified with papers, coats of arms, a crown-gown and wax seals, inks and emir Christ, but can't let him go; because the people; are too insipidly stupid for the understandings of the great teachings. They built a system to beat nature bare bones. "We got a system". So I was thinking and thought too long, I did not respond in time, they have a caste; a what; a system here, and here I was sitting in it, judged by what I didn't know, and if truth be told, I didn't know that-much, but thought the Grand Inquisitor-bit, a snit overblown. Look at the mountains out there; and you are here in a Middle Ages courtroom. Old World.

(272 of 278) Next Page