Do not compromise.

Do not give way to debauchery. Do you think you are the first to discover what you think is enlightenment? All you’ve done is accepted moral loopholes like others before you. Can you not see that it only leads to more emptiness? This is not the way to feel whole. There is an Absolute in which you can build, breath, and believe.

Can you not understand the house of the apathetic that you sit in and the smoke of the immoral you inhale only prompts you to believe in the limits of joy? But living uncritically is the creed for the illiterate person.  Do not let curiosity underscore your faults and force indoctrination as the catechism for those who weep at their faults. It is only cool to live a life of darkness so long as others laugh with you.

You choose your blind-leading-blind-yet-enlightened-bounce-house crew over the sensible and virtuous. Do not compromise. Listen to your conscious and heed the warnings given.

If you can only operate relaxed and naturally when your vehicle to interaction is debauchery, then you were only acting anyways. You were not you. You were longing to feel moved: wishing, wanting, and waiting for the next opening to take a shot at life.

“Maybe one more. Just one more.”

You were unsatisfied after scandalous activities because, once you inserted your social key, it was like you were watching someone else enter the house. You stood at the door while your replacement walked in. When people said you had a good time you wanted to believe them. Why correct the perception they have when it’s the life you want? Others are there waiting at the door with you, watching as their replacement also enjoys the offerings of the night. It was that other person who had a good time. And so each night you try to get the satisfaction that that person does. You feel tricked, for you are stopped outside or in your car or in the street—always just out of reach from nirvana or whatever they call it now.

Do not compromise. Take a stance. If we are all broken, how are we to make each other whole? God is not one. A blanket of “tolerance” is played across your warm buzzing body. Morning will be here soon. You feel the heat of the Son, so you start to wake. But opening your eyes tells you everything is dark.

*Special thanks to Katy Chapell for creative editing