You say you believe,
and I don’t doubt you.
At best you do.
But that’s all you do.
That’s all you are.
You’re like so, so many others:
you saw the gate and fled from it,
not through it.
After all, you believe.
God help you should you actually find out.
And so you and yours set up camp
very far away from it.
You don’t want to see it,
because you don’t want to be reminded of your cowardice.
Besides, there are the Stewarts, and the Cahoons,
and the Soders, and the Kingsburys!
Good neighbors all.
They’re nice people. So nice.
And isn’t that all that’s important in life—
to be nice?
Isn’t that what you have taught those brats you spawned?
Certainly you don’t want them to see that gate!
Your old man was a pastor, and all he did was believe.
And so that’s all you need to do.
And of the people who walk through that gate
—and never return—
well, you fucking despise them, don’t you?
They’re not nice, are they?
If they were nice they’d not walk through that gate.
They’d not come anywhere near it!
You’re nice. And you believe.
Good for you!
For a betrayer and a bastard,
one who has lived a meaningless, shallow,
consumptive, plastic, suburban cog-life.
He believes himself to be a moral man,
a good father and provider,
one who conforms to society so that
he can have his mortgage and picket fence
and cute little kiddies.
But he's not moral.
And neither is anyone who believes
that conforming to a sick and twisted society
can be in any way moral.
Fractal Art: This is My Church
From: Fractalverse: Volume Two