Postcards to say “No, Thanks”
Like it says. Somebody else’s issue.advertise
Postcards to say BOO!
We’re back. How about some fleshtone to offset that logo?
Paul had a thing about women. Benedict and some of Rowan’s lot still do.store
Postcards For Our Comrades!
Actually, if anything, Stalin and Hitler were establishing cults of their own.
Think about it, believers… not only does the Stalin/Hitler Fallacy fail to address the existence of any good deeds or ethical standpoints of non-believers, it has a downside.
If “Stalin was an atheist” makes all atheists emulators of Stalin, then the same syllogism makes all christians into paedophile priests.
Let’s send that particular furphy to Siberia, shall we?
Postcards to say “Boo!”
Where have we been? Jeebus has answers, but he isn’t saying.
Postcards to say something: 026 – As Others See Us, Darkly…
A renowned philosopher, Jason7463, once wrote the immortal words:
Thats the problem with atheistism,its so damned depressing.Basically says,your fucked so get used to it.
As is so frequently the case with deeper thinkers of this stamp, the wording, punctuation and homophone-swappage is fully sic. Still, let’s transcend that barrier, and look deeply into the void that is “atheistism as seen by Jason7463″.
Firstly there is “atheistism” to consider. I am grateful to Jason7463 for the peculiar wording he has employed in his exposition, as it serves to throw a common error into stark highlight. A person may be an atheist, but to consider atheism as an “-ism” in its own right is to overlook the derivation of the word. A- (meaning “not”) -theism (meaning “believing in a god or gods”) is not a belief, but the rejection of one. To imply that a belief must fill that void is to fall into error. This is usually illustrated by showing that baldness is not a hair colour, and that not collecting stamps is not, in and of itself, a hobby.
Now, is this “absence of belief in a god or gods” as damned depressing as Jason7463 claims? From personal experience and testimonial evidence available, I must say that the opposite applies in the majority of cases. This seems especially true when the subject has experienced belief.
Relieved from the stress of trying to reframe my entire existence to ensure its relative popularity with the invisible distributor of vengeance, largesse and misfortune, and all the forgive me this, show me the way that, and fitting the bigger picture against prophecy… not to mention the sizable cognitive dissonance between “Jesus said” and “Church does”, I am actually beginning to enjoy life.
Of course, we can safely dispense with the “damned” bit…
Basically says,your fucked… I don’t think so. If anything, now that I don’t rely on intangible (and let’s face it, non-manifest) means of support, I tend to plan all details of a project with the most pessimistic outcomes in mind. (The optimum and most likely are also considered: it’s a project management thing.)
The result is a tendency to be more mindful of circumstances and interdependencies: in short, to be careful. I may eventually wind up “fucked”, but entropy guarantees that for everyone.
…so get used to it. The fatalism implicit in such a statement is more indicative of the “let go and let god” type of person. Any situation has options: acceptance, avoidance, negotiation, or even aggression.
I’m alive for now. This is all the life I get, and I’ll play the ball as it lies, go to the clubhouse, or picnic on the fairway if I deem it suitable. I don’t have eternity to waste on harp lessons.
Life is mostly okay, and there’s plenty undone yet. “Used to it”? Only a person who missed a lot of interesting stuff could say that.
Postcards to say something: 024 – Insert Thirty Pieces Of Silver After The Beep
If you hold your prayers up to your ear, you hear your own heartbeat….
Postcards to say something: 023 – Nothing Of Substance
Suddenly I could see why the skywriting was so totally emblematic of the whole campaign!
Congratulate yourselves, guys. It’s a do-nothing feel-good for those already in the churches, and it’s going to appeal to the marshmallow-headed vibe chasers who want a four-song sandwich and a salved conscience.
And the poor, you shall always have with you, unless the poor fuckers starve while you’re busy with the banners and the skywriting. – Gospel According to Black.
Postcards to say something: 022 – Go To Hell
Seriously, I don’t know what the younger generation of christians are being taught.
If you are looking for accommodation, I hear hell is quite nice this time of year, and has a lot of room set aside for you. - “Jesus FTW”, who endured the lengthy rigmarole of getting an AFA login, just to tell us that.
Does it make him happy? Is that a Jesus-like attitude? He’s only the most recent of a container-load of wallies with the same “message”, although the focus generally seems to be on the writer’s own glee at our impending damnation and torment.
Still, I’m glad, in a totally Pollyanna-like way. Why, you may ask…
The joy that these sick-puppy types get at the idea of me and Gee Suss reclining in a jacuzzi of molten lava, or whatever their twisty little minds can conjure up, is free.
It costs nothing from us fantasy victims (although I must confess I feel a bit squicky at the idea they may get excited enough to give themselves Special Rubs), and it hopefully sublimates those nasty urges, so they don’t need to go attacking church youth, pulling the wings off puppies, or whatever.
We should be charging for the therapy.
Postcards to say something: 021 – Day Of The Dead
I buried my Stepfather today. He was more of a dad to me than the gene donor.
He was not a learned man, although he was more than brilliant in practical ways. Bush mechanicking and skill with even difficult animals were just two of the things that, like his ears, stuck out.
We had to try a little harder to get along together than is the case for blood-relatives (I’ll excuse my father from this particular comparison), but I thought I knew the man.
His entry into christianity was gradual, as this man had a low tolerance for bullshit. He was apparently scared into the flock by some of that alarmist material Stan Deyo was putting out in the late 70s.
The man I knew was kind. Not a soft touch, and guaranteed to give the “pretend-looking-for-work” bloke some actual hard work to do, but a fair reward at the end. Of course, association with church people influenced him over the years.
I haven’t had a lot of contact with the old man since my mother died. He went to stay with the sister I can’t stand, and I gather he attends her church in the relatively-affluent suburb where she and her unpleasant husband live.
I don’t know what sort of tolerance and charity Affluent Jeebus teaches, being of the sort who thought, even when a believer, that the whole Jesus thing was more about the unempowered.
Still, when the only email I get from him in months is all BIG RED LETTERS, saying:
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… then I know the man I once held dear has died.
And may they put Anglo Jesus in the ground with him, before I piss on it.
Postcards to say something: 020 – Hello, Weenies!
No, I’m not for the halloween thing either. Although it stems from Irish and Scots culture, (Burns’ poem “Halloween” tells of the Scots observance), it is still superstition, and no superstition is a good thing.
And just remember, the christian myth has a zombie in it too.