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And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne.
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Thus so wretched is man that he would weary even without any cause for weariness… and so frivolous is he that, though full of a thousand reasons for weariness, the least thing, such as playing billiards or hitting a ball, is sufficient enough to amuse him.
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The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us.
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The glass is more than half-empty, but I will not surrender to despondency. I am blessed to live here, now, in this hive of boisterous festivity. And soft! What light from yonder wall-mounted LCD TV breaks? It is the ingenuity of the sidesaddle CFM boot-wig. Surmount, fair footwear, and kill my envious melancholy, who is already blanched and sick with intoxication. That thou, her mistress, art more awesome to the max than she.
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Receive the gift of my second chin, behold the convivial celebration of accomplishment. The grave awaits us all, but I shall fall screaming, shining into its embrace: attired, resplendent, imbibing.
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It is a mystery, but explanation is possible. Catechetical clarity inheres, dormant, in a bisexual showdown–the Christian apotheosis of enthralled detachment.
Closer, postulant. Render to me your querulous aversion in autumnal shades of green and brown. Stop, pregnant, in the heart of our nocturnal cogitations, and we will make you an answer at last.