Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

gain? Still you must pass on. Do you starve for the sake of a feast? Pass
on. There are riches at my core and I must be hollowed—thus cries the
lover. Only when you do not starve, do not carve deep valleys ‘for her
sake,’ may you escape your self, in essence, escape your telos, your eternal
return—the quest, the conquest, and finally de-thronement by the
wandering, errant knight. You are still hollow that ask to be filled, even
in abstinence, even by carving. You are wholly corporeal and earthly that
ask for a spirit: even more is this the case with one who claims his every
movement is spiritual. You who follow the play the closest, with eagle
eyes and an open heart—is it not because you desire to be in it the most?
And is it not you that stands outside? In every action lies an opposite,
just as the drive to look up, to hope, is driven by the fear of looking
down, of falling. Do you sacrifice in hope of gain? Still you must pass
on.” And with that said, he turned upon his heel and left.
Agent 139 ran his hands through the stubble of his hair, flecks of
water spraying in every direction. They were in the cabin of Jesus’ car.
Their only sense of connection to the outside world came from the low
purr of the motor. Scenes flew by at impossible speeds, illuminated for a
brief moment, passing again into non-existence.
“Make a left here, right?” Jesus asked. The engine hum dropped by a
minor third. He caught the shift and laughed. “I’m just getting the image
of some twentieth century composer driving drunk and trying to explain
how he doesn’t need a tachometer to shift as long as he can hear the
intervals.”
Agent 139 checked the scribbled directions he received from Johny in
the halo of a passing streetlight. “Yeah, I think this is it.”
Jesus glided into the turn. “This is what I get with a philosopher as my
copilot. You think it’s the right turn?”
Agent 139 was nonplused. “It might not be. Have you ever read
Wittgenstein’s On Certainty?”
Jesus was scanning for house numbers. Cookie-cutter apartments
floated past, their bricks warped by the constant flow of water across the
windshield.
Eyes passively gazing at the passing buildings; Agent 139 asked,
“Hey Jesus, did you know that your car is a white tiger named Ranesh?”
“No I didn’t… Where did you get that from?”
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