Genius within

This is the great Devreux, the untouchable genius, the man to exceed all men, who I am retrieving from obscurity, where he presides, sitting like Balboa on the peak of Darien, unknown to our crumbling universe, gazing backwards towards the repudiation of the Council of Florence, or the 1755 Lisbon earthquake or the fall of Rome, and pronouncing in the same vein as Miller:

"It matters little how much is destroyed, if only the germ of the miraculous be preserved and nurtured."

The world, glued like trapped hamsters to their cathodic screens, needs to rediscover the men who live out of time. Remember, the Web is a whore, who promises something that can never be delivered.

If you want knowledge and unity and healing, find men such as Devreux, and he will, in his infinite generosity, take you not forwards, but backwards, to a time when genius was the norm, the road to Epidaurus, where the walls that lock the spirit in crumble, leaving only the original, unblemished heart.

Labyrinth of Chartres

You are looking at the labyrinth of Chartres - a mediaval symbol encrusted within the floor of Charlemagne's cathedral, as a symbol of the confusion that envelopes mankind in the absence of God. The theme is stolen from, excuse me, inspired by a Greek myth, that of Theseus who found his way through the labyrinth with the gift of the golden yarn, slayed the Minotaur and returned to the passionate embrace of Ariadne; now there's a yarn for you. Christianity has genius, and lives by the credo of the 13th apostle, TS Eliot: "the immature poet borrows, the mature poet steals" - Decadents, Book IV, Verse I. Of course, no-one reads TS Eliot anymore, because he is a fascist - appellation fascismo controlée.

The Catholic Church only drinks wine, but it bottles eternity under the label, one holy catholic and apostoholic. The apostoholics are all 12 stepping, goose-stepping members of the four-sided religious yakusa - Islam, Catholicism, Freemasonry and lemme see - ah yes, the Orthodox Church of Modernity, the most rigid, the most unrelenting, and the most ruthless of the inquisitional elders, who claim "the truth" is held by a select few and which is currently attempting a hostile takeover of the house of eternal bliss, a family business run by the Wahhabis. Where then, is this God character in all of this? God isn't in any of those places; he is discovered by the system of reverse negative induction, perfected by Russell Syntocky, the greatest card counter Vegas ever produced, a man who broke the house in sixteen casinos worldwide from Macau to Reno to Atlantic City, and had sixty-three different identities to slip past wary croupiers who had heard he could memorize six deck blackjack faster than an autistic mathematician.

When asked about the existence of god, Russell Syntocky, who was playing baccarat at the time in the VIP room of Stanley Ho's Kingsway casino in Macau, responded simply:

"God is a work of the imagination."

When further asked how much he'd wager on the existence of God, he answered:

"Sounds like a backdoor flush draw to me. One in twenty-three. But potentially huge payoff."