Julian in Nicomedia
Things impolitic and dangerous:
praise for Greek ideals,
supernatural magic, visits to pagan temples.
Enthusiasm for the ancient gods.
Frequent talks with Chrysanthios.
Speculation with Maximus, the astute philosopher.
And look what's happened. Gallos is extremely worried.
Konstantios has become suspicious.
Julian's advisors weren't at all prudent.
The matter, says Mardonios, has gone too far,
the talk it has aroused must be stopped at all cost.—
So Julian goes to the church at Nicomedia,
a lector again, and there
with deep reverence he reads out loud
passages from the Holy Scriptures,
and everyone marvels at his Christian piety.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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On the Outskirts of Antioch
We in Antioch were astonished when we heard
what Julian was up to now.
Apollo had made things clear to him at Daphni:
he didn't want to give an oracle (as though we cared!),
he didn't intend to speak prophetically, unless
his temple at Daphni was purified first.
The nearby dead, he declared, got on his nerves.
There are many tombs at Daphni.
One of those buried there
was the triumphant and holy martyr Vavylas,
wonder and glory of our church.
It was him the false god hinted at, him he feared.
As long as he felt him near he didn't dare
pronounce his oracle: not a murmur.
(The false gods are terrified of our martyrs.)
Unholy Julian got worked up,
lost his temper and shouted: "Raise him, carry him out,
take him away immediately, this Vavylas.
You there, do you hear? He gets on Apollo's nerves.
Grab him, raise him at once,
dig him out, take him away, throw him out,
take him wherever you want. This isn't a joke.
Apollo said the temple has to be purified."
We took it, the holy relic, and carried it elsewhere.
We took it, we carried it away in love and in honor.
And hasn't the temple done brilliantly since!
In no time at all a colossal fire
broke out, a terrible fire,
and both the temple and Apollo burned to nothing.
Ashes the idol: dirt to be swept away.
Julian exploded, and he spread it around—
what else could he do?—that we, the Christians,
had set the fire. Let him say so.
It hasn't been proved. Let him say so.
The essential thing is—he exploded.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Julian at the Mysteries
But when he found himself in darkness,
in the earth's awful depths,
with a group of unholy Greeks,
and bodiless figures appeared before him
with haloes of light,
the young Julian for a moment lost his nerve:
an impulse from his pious years came back
and he crossed himself.
The Figures vanished at once;
the haloes faded away, the lights went out.
The Greeks glanced at each other.
The young man said: 'Did you see the miracle?
I'm frightened, friends. I want to leave.
Didn't you see how the demons vanished
the second they saw me make the holy sign of the cross?'
The Greeks chuckled scornfully:
'Shame on you, shame, to talk that way
to us sophists and philosophers!
If you want to say things like that,
say them to the Bishop of Nicomedia and his priests.
The greatest gods of our glorious Greece
appeared before you.
And if they left, don't think for a minute
that they were frightened by a gesture.
It was just that when they saw you
making that vile, that crude sign,
their noble nature was disgusted
and they left you in contempt.'
This is what they said to him, and the fool
recovered from his holy, blessed fear,
convinced by the unholy words of the Greeks.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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I've found a more personal, pagan kind of religion to satisfy the spiritual side of things.
quote by Julian Clary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The School Of The Renowned Philosopher
For two years he studied with Ammonios Sakkas,
but he was bored by both philosophy and Sakkas.
Then he went into politics.
But he gave that up. That Prefect was an idiot,
and those around him, somber-faced officious nitwits:
their Greek—poor fools—absolutely barbaric.
After that he became
vaguely curious about the Church: to be baptized
and pass as a Christian. But he soon
changed his mind: it would certainly have caused a row
with his parents, ostentatious pagans,
and—horrible thought—
they would have cut off at once
their extremely generous allowance.
But he had to do something. He began to haunt
the corrupt houses of Alexandria,
every secret den of debauchery.
In this fortune favored him:
he’d been given an extremely handsome figure.
And he enjoyed the divine gift.
His looks would last
at least another ten years. And after that?
Maybe he’ll go back to Sakkas.
Or if the old man has died meanwhile,
he’ll go to another philosopher or sophist:
there’s always someone suitable around.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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If Actually Dead
"Where did the Sage withdraw to, where did he disappear?
After his many miracles,
the renown of his teaching
which spread to so many countries,
he suddenly hid himself and nobody knew for certain
what happened to him
(nor did anybody ever see his grave).
Some reported that he died at Ephesus.
But Damis does not record that in his memoir.
Damis says nothing about the death of Apollonios.
Others said that he disappeared at Lindos.
Or maybe the story is true
about his assumption in Crete,
at the ancient sanctuary of Diktynna.
But then again we have that miraculous,
that supernatural apparition of his
before a young student at Tyana.
Maybe the time has not yet come for him to return
and show himself to the world again;
or maybe, transfigured, he moves among us
unrecognized—. But he will come again
as he was, teaching the ways of truth; and then of course
he will bring back the worship of our gods
and our elegant Hellenic rites."
These were the musings of one of the few pagans,
one of the very few still left,
as he sat in his shabby room just after reading
Philostratos' On Apollonios of Tyana.
But even he—a trivial and cowardly man—
played the Christian in public and went to church.
It was the time when Justin, known as the elder,
reigned in total piety,
and Alexandria, a godly city,
detested pitiful idolators.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Suspicious Signs
Say whats that thing
On your back
Well I guess its a hair
And the hair is black
I got you on the phone
You said youre all alone
I heard these boots on the floor
And I beg you baby please no more
Suspicious signs
What do I see
Suspicious signs
Suspicious signs
Now everythings so strange
Not how it used to be
I call you up at three
And you say you cant talk to me
Say whats it all about
Why do you talk that loud
I hear your fingertips
Playing with italian hips
Suspicious signs
What do I see
Suspicious signs
Suspicious signs
song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The entire cosmos is made out of one and the same world-stuff, operated by the same energy as we ourselves. "Mind" and "matter" appears as two aspects of our unitary mind-bodies. There is no separate supernatural realm: all phenomena are part of one natural process of evolution. There is no basic cleavage between science and religion; they are both organs of evolving humanity.
quote by Julian Huxley
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St. Peter Julian Eymard, ‘The Apostle of the Eucharist’
Founder, Societas Sanctissimi Sacramenti (SSS)
And Third Order of Mary (Feb 4,1811- Aug 1,1868)
The saint exhorted:
‘Go set the world afire,
For love of Eucharist!
Adore the Lord Jesus
In the Blessed Sacrament.’
‘Glorify God always;
Let Eucharist reign world;
Go often to Jesus,
Alive in Eucharist.’
‘The Holy Eucharist
Is the fountain of life;
Receive the Lord Jesus,
Often into your heart! ’
The cross appeared before mind’s eyes,
And beckoned him to follow it;
‘Give up all worldly, carnal ties, ’
Said Jesus Christ. ‘Follow, grace-lit! ’
The call was loud and clarion;
The Lord had plans for Julian;
There was never much confusion;
God gave him divine fore-vision!
The teenager from country France
Was born when dawned art, music, dance;
His poor physique and poverty,
Delayed life in Seminary.
He tried again when twenty-three,
And was ordained a priest at last;
For the Grenoble Diocese;
His service done became too vast.
Eymard believed in confession,
Repentance and reparation;
This was the soul’s preparation,
For a life of Lord’s adoration.
The spirit grows stronger in Christ,
With frequent communion athirst;
The Marist years made him good priest;
His love of Jesus never ceased.
He practiced vows of chastity,
Obedience and poverty;
His Eucharistic piety,
Engulfed the French Church freely.
Despite his poor physical health,
He grew in Lord Jesus Christ’s wealth.
His love of Christ seized upon him;
He gifted his whole self to Him!
‘The Apostle of the Eucharist’
Spread devotion to Jesus Christ;
To him, Jesus was always first –
That was why he became a priest.
‘O Sacrament, most Holy!
O Sacrament divine;
All praise and thanks-giving,
Be every moment, Thine! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-10-10
poem by John Celes
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A lot of gay men have a lot of sex. That's what we do. But I've stopped all that-the revolving door into my bedroom. Promiscuity. That was of its day, really.
quote by Julian Clary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Julian and the Antiochians
Neither the letter C, they say, nor the
letter K had ever harmed the city.... We,
finding interpreters... learned that these
are the initial letters of names, the first
of Christ and the second of Konstantios.
Julian, Misopogon (The Beard-Hater)
Was it conceivable that they would ever give up
their beautiful way of life, the range
of their daily pleasures, their brilliant theatre
which consummated a union between Art
and the erotic proclivities of the flesh?
Immoral to a degree—and probably more than a degree—
they certainly were. But they had the satisfaction that their life
was the notorious life of Antioch,
delectably sensual, in absolute good taste.
To give up all this, indeed, for what?
His hot air about the false gods,
his boring self-advertisement,
his childish fear of the theatre,
his graceless prudery, his ridiculous beard.
O certainly they preferred C,
certainly they preferred K—a hundred times over.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Money Talks
(myles goodwyn)
Published by northern goody two tunes, ltd./capac - ascap
I work so hard just to get along
Before I know it, all the moneys gone
I do my best just to make headway
And save some money for a rainy day
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk
I find it rough just to pay the rent
Before I know it all the moneys spent
I work hard and toe the line
And learn to take one day at a time
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, lets talk
We pay our taxes just like they say
And man it hurts to give the money away
A penny saved, a penny earned
You do your best, and you still get burned
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
I work so hard, just like you (just like you)
But someday thingsll change
If money can talk, this is it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking.... (Who Listens?)
even the silence of the night talks,
small children talk in their dreams;
old people talk staring out windows...
trees talk shedding leaves,
empty buildings talk to ghosts;
dead bones talk to the wind...
the wind talks those who mourn.
the hungry talk to their oppressors,
the prisoner talks to the walls.
the desperate talk to the noose,
lovers talk with simple touch.
soldiers talk to their fears,
the unborn talk to our decisions.
the moon talks to the night,
and the night talks to the dawn.
the soul of man talks,
and calls it god.
the conscience talks to the heart.
death talks to the living....
who listens?
who really hears?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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W-holy Roman Whore
Church was built upon Martyred bones
And blood sacrifice of “Rabble” served
Plagiarized Pagan myth n’ ancient tomes
Still performing black magic unobserved
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Supernatural
Interplanetary
Interplanetary
Supernatural
Supernatural
Supernatural
Lookin for that big honey
Youll find only in a dream
I searched around and still cant find her
? ? ? to extreme
Turned around, she caught my eye
Tell me am I seein things
Just might be imagination
? ? ? and hauntin me
This woman (supernatural)
The way she looks (supernatural)
The way she moves her body (supernatural)
Everything about this honey is so supernatural
Supernatural
As I watch her move in closer
Perfect beauty she exceeds
Never question mother nature
Shes an angel without wings
Her extension fills my body
I reach out to hold her hand
Tried to grab it, cant get a handle
The girl is gone, she was never here
This woman, yeah (supernatural)
The way she looks, uh-huh (supernatural)
The way she moves her body (supernatural)
Something about that woman that makes me feel so good
(supernatural)
The way she looks (supernatural)
Supernatural baby, yeah (supernatural)
Everything about this honey is so supernatural
Im tired of this cloud
Takin over the invisible force
Are they controllin me
Naw, thats a corny way I think
I take two beasts out to rethink
Im takin each in my dream
This is kind of extreme
Yo ron, help me out
You know what I mean
Yeah, biv
Its not that deep
Come go with me
And out that ghost to sleep
(? ? ? ) how shes possessin me
(? ? ? ) shes meta physical, super irical
(? ? ? ) might be imagination
(? ? ? ) cause everything about this, honey, I love
Alright
(supernatural) the way that she moves, mmm
(supernatural) theres no doubt about it, yeah, yeah
(supernatural) oh, I know heaven must have sent you from above
(supernatural), yeah...
(supernatural) ooh...hoo...hoo...ooh...
(supernatural) say, baby, say, baby
If Im dreamin, if Im dreamin please dont wake me up, yeah
(supernatural)
(supernatural) see, I just wanna keep dreamin
(supernatural) everything I want in a woman
(supernatural) and I love her, and I love her, and I love...
(supernatural)
(supernatural)
(supernatural)
song performed by by New Edition
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are living in a day of self-seeking and irresponsibility, even in Christian circles. Few indeed are the Christian believers who have truly laid their all on the altar for Christ. Few are the spiritual leaders who truly put God FIRST . Rather they think first, albeit subconsciously, of their positions, popularity, salaries and the success of the organizations over which they preside. While professing strong allegiance to God and His Word, they are nevertheless careful not to emphasize those passages from the Word which might ruffle feathers or rock the boat, as we say. In spite of their professed fidelity to God's Word and will, their first objective is actually to keep their organizations running smoothly and pleasantly so that they may continue to grow in numbers. This has become a way of life in Christendom, but in this matter too we should 'search the Scriptures daily,' to determine whether these things have God's approval, for however good and right a thing may seem, if it is at variance with the Word, rightly divided, it is contrary to the will of God and therefore wrong.
quote by Cornelius Stam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Him
when julian gets to sweden
they will
SILENCE HIM
they will lock him up,
throw away the key &
SILENCE HIM,
they'll keep the trial under wraps
away from the public eye &
they will
SILENCE HIM,
under strict orders from daddy
'democracy, '
the empire itself,
they will
SILENCE HIM &
the conditions he'll undergo
being muted in solitary will
all be part of the program to
SILENCE HIM,
cause' that
bad bad bad boy,
mr. julian assange,
never ever shoulda' thought
that allowing the people of the world
to hear just exactly what their
governments really do
would be something that he could
get away with,
since
EVERY WESTERN HAND
WILL REACH TO STRANGLE HIM &
PREVENT HIM FROM EVER
SPEAKING AGAIN.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Sonnet: The First Holy Communion
Commune with Christ through his Body and Blood,
For He’s present in Eucharistic Host!
This is the Christian soul’s Heavenly food,
Into which bread to dwell comes Holy Ghost.
The Communion’s holy- a sacrament;
We must receive it only when sin-free;
Confess our sins; be like the firmament,
The Sky clear blue and rain-bearing clouds free.
Today’s your First Holy Communion!
Prepare your heart, for Christ must visit you;
And Satan tries to destroy this union;
This sacrament can make you divine too.
And after your communion with God first,
Your soul becomes a dwelling place for Christ!
26-8-2001
poem is dedicated to Cathy, Christy, Anto, Julian and
Beschi
poem by John Celes
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When I See a Dog
Dogs, so simple, so boring
O the things they could say the way they would talk
My little dog talks like a six year old with ADHD.
My big dog sits in his chair with a corn stalk pipe and reads.
The dog down the roads is a construction worker that whistles at girls.
My sister’s dog is a dog has trained for a marathon.
My cousin’s dog is the school bully.
Big dogs talk with deep voices, little dogs talk in high voices,
Sometimes they are switched though.
Dogs really are not as simple as you think.
poem by Cody Averesch
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Other way
Is it so wrong to want things the other way around?
Upside down turned around different to how they are found,
If things weren't as they are what harm could it ever do,
If things weren't as is those opposed would be far and few,
Is it so wrong to want things in a way variant,
At deviance, some way amended, and discrepant,
If things weren't as is the change would have been overdue,
If things weren't as they are those opposed would change their view.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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Psalm 87
The church the birth-place of the saints.
God in his earthly temple lays
Foundations for his heav'nly praise:
He likes the tents of Jacob well,
But still in Zion loves to dwell.
His mercy visits every house
That pay their night and morning vows;
But makes a more delightful stay
Where churches meet to praise and pray.
What glories were described of old!
What wonders are of Zion told!
Thou city of our God below,
Thy fame shall Tyre and Egypt know.
Egypt and Tyre, and Greek and Jew,
Shall there begin their lives anew;
Angels and men shall join to sing
The hill where living waters spring.
When God makes up his last account
Of natives in his holy mount,
'Twill be an honor to appear
As one new-born or nourished there!
poem by Isaac Watts
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