An Execution for Some, A Funeral for Others - Writers Forum

Norman · 02-08-2006, 08:14 PM

Hey this is not quite a short story, but it's an improvision. Alot of philsophical thoughts in a story kind-of mode. Please tell me if I'm beating around the bush with some talent, or just completely missed the mark and should re-think my writing style. It isn't quite finished either.

A Execution for Some, A Funeral for Others

The Beheading of God
An expression for the conclusion of existence. The closing of a casket, the casket of god. How might a god die you ask? He dies, because we murdered him. The consequence for the murder of god, is the dawn of the greatest understanding man has not yet come to fully understand. Not the end for the world, no. An end for existence. Something that can only be expressed through written dialogue. To express it any other way is to make it common, to make it sensual. For written language is the only form of a sense in which it is pure logic. The only creator is the spirit and the only interpreter is the spirit. Because of the very fact that god is a mere ‘cold’ of humanity. A simple cough which crawled out of man’s supreme unconscious genius. He (for what other gender would he be?) Is nothing more then a shadow compared to man. And like a shadow, it can be easily seen as the object itself, but indeed is and never will be actual. Thus we set upon our lap the funeral for god, but an execution for humanity.

To Murder a Father
Why would a people murder it’s father? Because they desired pure undiluted power. They needed to insure themselves that they were alive, and pulsating. They needed to believe indeed that they were mad. For madness is the spice of genius, it is what concludes and formally makes one genius. They wanted to feel pain, a pain so undeniably horrible that it would bring them to their knees, to all fours, as animals, as nature.
We were his people though! His holy children! His creations! Would the toys of a child snap back at the infant? Would the tools of a carpenter slice at him as he does the wood? It’s funny that light seems to shine brightest, when the surroundings are the darkest. Humanity had strayed into the darkest corner when they created such a vengeful god. From darkness to light, blinding bright light. They created a god so loving, so passionate, a god that ironically even loved murderers. Such love, such beauty. The beauty of god is so divine. The light of god, so bright it blinds indeed!
As the soul of god changed, the seed of guilt sprouted. Fed by the tears of humanity and warmed by the light of god, sin went from simple actions, to doubt. Doubt had become a sin, to doubt god, to doubt the great book. Not to have faith, something that took era’s of searching. Faith was something that not even the most brilliant scholars of the church could even begin to pick at. Faith had become a yes, or a no. To sin, or not to sin that had become the question. Even deeper! It was a sin to exist, man had become it’s pathetic creation, a sin!
Humanity paused in simple thought and realized what they had done. With the swift understanding, came a swift wrath. We see the mercy and the vengeance now! Peering through the eyes of humanity, smiling and cackling in the back of the head. That’s it! Strap him up! Beat him down! Once again whip and tear the flesh of a holy royal family, men had done it before, but merely smeared divine right off the face of the earth, not out of the caverns of the mind. Come this time however there will be no resurrection. Humanity will not allow it, thus the patricide of humanity was carried out with birds chirping and spring flowers blooming. What better time to kill a god, then in a time of birth, in a time of spring. When the son was birthed.

The Chapel of Void
The funeral was held at the place he valued most. The structure of worshipers, the building of tears, the church. Where are God and man were entwined in an intercourse, where imagination breathes shape. The shape of a utterly genius building. How else could an artist praise god better then to become an architect? How else could he praise his creator then by creating a monument to the creator of creation! A creator of all. What made this building different from any other chapel was that it was built for the specific purpose of an ending of a god. The creator titled it ‘The Chapel of Void’ as tears of sheer dread dripped on the deed to the building. Tears which could very well be called the gasoline for an end.
All this emotion was bottled up for a later time anyway. All put into storage for a time of heaven. There will be no heaven, uncork the barrels and let a river of much needed emotion pour out.
It’s funny that the dead and the church are placed so close to each other. Who’s graves are those? Humanity had placed it’s dead next to the gate of heaven. So confident that they there relatives had reached the top of the netherworld. So confident that they had come upon a land that was so euphoric, so wonderful, utterly unimaginable happiness, that it made those left behind throw themselves into despair? I think not. The graves symbolize the life and execution of previous gods. Gods who have become mere integral. Gods who have been turned into a tiny little slash between numbers. They’ve been expressed as between the time they were born, and the time they were executed. And they say one true god, hah!
When one walks into a chapel and he breathe’s in the smell of wood. Wood that has existed from the time of Popes, one seems to be breathing in an essence. A strange feeling, somewhat pleasurable but somewhat ere. It’s that feeling of awe and power, but mystery and misunderstanding. Some worship whatever they find profound, others come to see the true mask, and not just the pretty eyes. It is the feeling of death you breathe in! Death lurks behind the alter and creeps in the spit of the preacher! Walking death! Who else vows his entire life to a hope for something that is an anti-life. Who else is stupid enough to make a judgement on life, while being a part of it. The preacher who speaks so powerful! So profoundly, the speaker who lifts you off your seat with emotion, and sucks you dry. And what goes in through one ear of humanity and comes out the other? What is does the preacher speak of? “Death to humanity, death to you! You are pure sin! You are dirt! You breeders of sin!” The beauty of a chapel indeed.

The Onlookers of Humanity
There were those however, those of humanity who saw all of it coming. They knew. They had no divine thought, no skill to see the future. They simply sat on a hill higher then others. More able to see what was to come. Like watchmen, like great men, they saw what was coming, not what would come, what was becoming. No more than a doctor can see a pregnancy, then he can deliver one. No more than how a chess player can see what the next move of his opponent, than can he see with genius perception what lay before him. The pulse they were called, the pulse of humanity. Society as bloody flesh. These men, the wretched, were the pulse, The beating pulse of a lifeless flesh. But who were they to say though that one day we would murder our father? It was preposterous, It was insane, it was mad! It was genius. When dealing with the matters of genius, it is very dangerous. It’s is either complete utter insanity and sure treachery, or a great and beneficial change for all of humanity. Madness that we all must swim through. What to breathe and what to exhale. Who trusts madness as genius? Even if it’s genuine why would you accept something that causes so much pain and despair?

The Oppression of the Grand and Strong
Despair will forever be called the fuel for the flames. When a people begin to be satisfied with their sadness for reasons of acquiring abstract thoughts they start to need and actually enjoy having depression pressed upon them. Oppression though is the holy sin of a humanity.
How does a god oppress a humanity? He makes such a humanity create customs, illogical annoyances of morality. The best could not be produced because an end of the lower could not be accepted. You cannot’ kill the weak, to make the strong stronger. For thousands of the years humanity had grown and became smarter, stronger simply because competition was so active. All of this was to change when a great phenomena known as god came upon humanity.
Peace as life! Competition abolished! Those who had lost, those who were weak, the majority, the community, became tired of the race and made the great ideal that all men were equal. And so the strong neglected to triumph and were thought to have a different purpose. The strong were to protect the weak?
The strong grew so ere and tired of dragging the weak and pathetic through history. The weak, with their morals and laws, states and rules, censorship and profanity! Mere ways of holding power that they have not obtained. Mere ways of holding the reins! They created ways of turning power and truth into symbols, into fashion, into paper bills, into sex.
The only moral people became the only strong people, the weak became the socially accepted, the community leaders, the government holding the reins, the religion. The weak became the religion. Society as a weak herd, society as equals. The strong hid in all the shadows, laughed at the jokes of the weak, wept for the loss of the pathetic. But deep inside themselves, another seed grew. The seed of pure undiluted restlessness. They had flashes of memory as themselves animals, flashes of themselves on all fours. Euphoric memories, endless fields, endless times as nature! Not has a dying herd!

The Eyelids of God
The great black church stood so high, so erected over man with such unassailable mystery and power. It’s crooked, jagged shadow stretched over the horizon of the entire world. It’s horrible history of corruption, sex crimes, and a plague like domination of the world. Ironically a system that cannot’ sustain itself unless the majority of the followers are ignorant was created. It was the center piece of earth and a token of life. History, time lay silent and dark, all that was to be seen were the glowing whites of an infinity of eyes. Nobody blinking, only eager, simply waiting. Waiting for the beheading of god. Waiting for the endless plague to finally be lifted and to gasp for breathe again from that long nightmare. Spread out all over the world it mutated and blended in to fit the culture. A hybrid religion with different culture backgrounds. A mirror to democracy, a caravan of the community.

Humanity’s Realization
Humanity as scholars, humanity as unbelievers began to speculate and ponder about the death of God’s son Jesus. They couldn’t understand why God would throw his only son into the depths of humanity, the depths of the earth, the hell of heaven. “If is to throw is only true son into inescapable death, then we as his, children...what is to become of us? A promise? The promise of heaven? He gave us the desires, the want, the pulse of sin. He created us as sin, and then expects us to face our instincts as lies? If he is to throw his son into heaven, then we too are to be thrown into heaven. Such a reckless father indeed.
They studied the great book and found his many errors. The first sin, a simple bite of an apple, fruit, and the entire face of the earth is swept away. Genesis as the first light, Genesis as the dawn of life, Genesis as genocide.
Many other errors were found! The confusions of language, the confusions of race, the scum of culture, the misleading and odd sensation occurring during sex, as immoral? Sex as immoral? The assurance of a future posterity immoral? Once again, the reckless vision of god seeping through to our brilliant understanding. Who is this god? What is he doing to us?

The Symphony of a Dying God
As a presupposed silence gathered, piano keys teased and poked at the morbid additude in the air. Such unexplainable beauty in the form of music being played at a time of end, a time of pure and divine conclusion. A symphony of tranquil emotion and at the center of it all the conductor, a dying god. God’s last words were spoken through music, a sadness. If words were to be spoken they would speak. “You give me shape, you give me the control, I gave you my redemption, I gave you a soul.” Humanity would answer back, “You give us the anger, you give us the pain, you gave us the sentence, well you get what you deserve!”

A Gasp for Breath
Looking back at those times, we see the death of a god. Living in the future, in the wake of an executed god, we will live in the times of grief, in times of anger and finally in the time of acceptance. Like a great gasp for breath after a child’s horrible nightmare, the sudden realization of one’s surroundings will all come to us more transparent than open space itself. The kingdom of clouds the kingdom of God will part and evaporate. The dark and gloomy kingdom of heaven will cease to exist. Religion will cease to exist, government will be abolished, communities will collapse and the ruble of humanity will rebuild itself. Not as jacked black church, not as capitol, but has a forest of dreams and the landscape of future. History will long be forgotten and the wretched past of a god will be nothing but true dust in the wind.

FloridaJay · 02-08-2006, 09:11 PM

Wow, that was philosphical. Seemed more like a newspaper article or an editorial than a short story though. Well-written nontheless, so you definitely have the talent and who knows maybe this is your style.