the new ecclesia

You have to approach Las Vegas at night--in a car--listening to that song that gets you ready to run marathons and cliff dive. 

There's nothing. There's endless nothing. Mocking, honest, ominous nothing.

Then there's the sky--but not where you left it. Instead descended, the stars plucked from their orbits, intentionally gridded across an otherwise meaningless void. The order stuns and awes--its meaning inescapable. These are the lights of warmth, safety, prosperity--of being able to tame the nothing into submission. These are the lights of the mind. And what a mind it is to turn sand into gold.

These stars shine up/on you and past you until their light is mixed/diminished by the neon churches of sin protruding from the skyground below. Here are the new cathedrals, towering not to demonstrate your insignificance but to elevate your greatness--at a price, of course, an indulgence of a different accord, one where the extent of your happiness is the extent of your goodness.

And no matter your evaluation of the services prepared by the high priests of pleasure, it is exactly for this reason that their temples supplanted the cacti--for the pleasure of their congregation.

And the pleasurists said Let there be light! and there was light. And they saw that the light was good, so they added buffets. And the buffets were good and cheap and stocked with fountains of chocolate sauce so that you may coat even your prime rib in a cascade of sugar.

And on the seventh day, you rested. And on the seventh night, you partied. As it was and ever shall be. 


1 comment:

Kira said...

A post worth waiting for