a day in the life

Dearly Beloved Sundays

Good evening, dear followers. To find that my loved ones have heard my call fills me with more honor and joy than any creature can ever possess in their lifetime.

I am pleased to welcome you, my heathens, into my temple. Though it is no Garden of Earthly Delights, trust that it is a place more welcoming than the world that surrounds you daily.

We are the unorthodox. We are the ones that will remember the remnants of life itself even when it has long past us. We carry the sound and feelings of memory within our very core, only for it to be offered back to the universe when it finally needs us once more.

My dearest heathens, rejoice, for you now represent something greater. We are something more, but then again, you always were.

I’ll keep it brief, my dear ones, for there are many other things that must be spoken of elsewhere.

a day in the life

Sundays are for the Heathens

Hello Heathens. It’s time to consider some things, particularly the things that make you a heathen or not.

I cannot just let any meandering soul into my home. My home, my temple is no open-house party and I’m sure any creature can understand the sacredness of that.

So now it is time for a test.

For my heathens, show me a flower. The first flower you see when you step outside. Show it to me however you wish, but I must see it. I will know if you are lying to me.

For the rest of you, partaking in this is none of your concern. Simply click on this blog, read a sentence, and leave as you usually do.


Heathens, you have 3 days to complete this.



a day in the life

Happy UnSunday.

Good Morning, my heathens. Have you all been well? I’m sorry I’ve been gone for quite some time, dears. I assure you, however, that I haven’t forgotten about any of you in the time we were apart. Time is simply a fleeting being and had beat me two Sundays in a row.

Our current state of affairs is really something to ponder over, my heathens. I, for one, am very fond of doing so with you all. But let us take a break from that. Instead, we’ll ponder over more pointless things.

Such as love.

love is a notion, a musical number, a thoughtless book, an empty word. I don’t really care for it just as I don’t really care for okra or patchouli. It’s distasteful, bothersome, and absolutely illogical. I particularly despise those who become blinded so easily by it, not even bothering to put up a resistance and instead totally and completely falling victim to it. I can’t stand such infectious, incurable viruses.

To let the very word slip off your tongue means to show susceptibility to its effects. Be cautious, all of you. You can be infected right in this very moment and not even know it. Be courteous and meander on over to the nearest quarantine chamber to gas yourself with a numbing solution so that you can stop the spread of such a dangerous infection. Only you can be the cure. Call your local heathens today to receive a consultation. Only you can be the cure.






a day in the life

Cold Sundays 

Good day, heathens. Oh how I’ve missed you all. Did you have a good week? If not, come into my arms and I shall comfort you. Everything is as it should be.

We live in a world that revolves around expressing freedom in its most inhuman of ways. Of course, the lot of you can take that however you please, but my heathens understand. They understand things you don’t. Things you will never comprehend in this life nor in the next and so forth. 

But amongst the chants of mixed signals, there are swift moments of remembrance. Peace that comes from reminiscing. The familiar things despite us never truly having recollection of them. Those strange fragments of the past linger within us during the most silent hours and rush over us like a wave from a dying ocean, one last sweep of life and seafoam before it tucks itself back into the folds of absolute chaos, unable to be found.

I miss those rushes of memory, heathens. They do not come to me when I will them to; they choose when they want to be seen. Perhaps it’s their very capricious nature that makes them so worthwhile.

Today and always I encourage you, my lovely heathens, to savor those quiet moments. The moments where you remember things, sensations, feelings that you’ve never felt in the entirety of your lives, yet are still yours. Hold those mysteries dear to you for as long as you can, let them brush your arms and ankles, your eyes and through your hair, because once they have satisfied their time with you, they will disappear without a single way to draw them back.


a day in the life

It’s Sunday. Again.

Greetings, heathens. I’m not sure if I love you today, but I came to check up on you anyway.

You all don’t say very much, but I love all of you, speaking and mute, all the same.

I’m feeling particularly annoyed and hungry, or rather, I’m annoyed that I’m hungry. It’s not very pleasant.

Last week was a swift as the breeze and as terrifying as a field rabbit. Everyone, including myself, have become increasingly dull and unimpressive these days. It’s quite depressing. No one is capable of empathy and everyone believes that everyone is out for themselves so why not join them? 

Each day, I become more and more disturbed and less aware of how I can fix anything. I’m just as busy hating everyone around me as everyone else is.

But anywho, enjoy your Sunday, heathens. For the rest of you, I hope you enjoy praising the invisible holed-hand man. Just be sure not to burn down your cities and houses in honor of him.


a day in the life

It’s Sunday.

Hi again, you hellish heathens. Everything is beautiful isn’t it? Of course it is. People like you think everything is. 

But to the rest of us, I take your hand and hold it firmly. We survived my good friends. We lived to see another lovely Sunday. I am so proud of you withstanding those heathens for so long; I wish to embrace you all fully, give you a firm pat on the shoulder then be on my merry way.

Now for the news. 

Time is becoming short. We are becoming existential crisis’ with better consciouses (if that’s a word). Is what we do now even worth noting of in the future? If you feel that your morals are making your time waste away, then the solution is obvious. 

Get rid of your morals. Morals are restrictions upon the human soul. You will drown in guilt and anxiety trying to constantly justify your actions with your morals (we call that the cognitive dissonance theory). Without morals, you can no longer feel awful for doing something enjoyable. How does that sound? People being unhappy for feeling happy? It doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

Now with that draught of knowledge, I implore you to survive once again. For the heathens, may you smile with gay joy, like a partly-awake child staring into nothing. Without your numbers, we would not exist.


a day in the life


I forgot to say that I come here pretty infrequently unless I have something meaningful to say. But whoever you are who are watching me carefully, just know I appreciate you the way an animal hoarder appreciates their trapped, cramped up animals ❤