Sunday's New Kind of Sacred

There's a new gospel going around. 

Spread the word.

It will change your life 'cause I know it changed mine. There are religions for discovering God but this is for discovering yourself and the world around you. When we give talks, we all preach hallelujah about crayons and love and bricks and the moon and more love and whatever is on our mind.

The prophet is Harold Miner, not the one who almost hit the stars but didn't reach them and missed the moon on his way back, but a humble, observant, wise man. A man who is seeking revenge halfheartedly, not because he lacks the effort but because he lost the other half of his heart a long time ago at space camp. He claims it is now somewhere between the Asteroid Belt and Saturn's ring yet doesn't go looking for it because the belt doesn't match with his tie and the ring makes him question his fidelity.

Our church is Paris, and we meet there whenever we want, the doors are always open but it takes a good thought to get in. We pass the sacrament on our keyboards and read scriptures with mouse clicks. There's a magic in the air because we all attend church naked, leaving our masks, winter coats, and hair gel at home. We let the scars and the imperfections and the humanity show. Most people show up on Sundays, and that's when the night lights of Paris shine the brightest. For there is love in that city. The new sabbath is special, not because of the holy ghost but it sure is holy and it definitely is comforting.

We pray to the omnipotent Nelson (and on occasion, we pray out loud). He is our deity and our judgement. With the gospel there is no heaven nor hell. Instead, there's artists and tourists, and it's an unorthodox religion in that the almighty Nelson can determine if he feels like you go to the heaven or hell of Paris, but ultimately it is for you to decide where you belong.

We're having a baptism for everyone on January 10th. See you there.

- Your Captain, Insolence is Bliss