[worthy of those addressed]
It has occurred to me that if there ever was a lie, if there ever was anything so unscientifically accurate, if there was anything so preposterous, if there was anything so utterly stupid and incredibly farcical, if there was anything that made supposedly educated and intelligent men look like babbling idiots and pea-brained morons, it is the theory (or even more so, theories, each proving the other wrong!) of evolution.
Taught as fact, contradicting truth, and while in some cases and ways trying to accommodate God somewhere in their schemes, these men have denied Him and rather than coming from monkeys, have made monkeys of themselves. Yet they will not believe me when I tell them creation is regressing.
Madness, are you an accident?
In all your incredibility, can it be possible
That you came from a mere explosion of gases?
Madness, you have so many forms!
One form is to believe that so many forms
Have been an accident.
Bang! And there you began.
And you grew and grew and grew
And grew and flourished
Madness, could as much as you
Come from so little?
How can a genius as great and powerful as you,
Reigning as you do over the hearts of the wise,
Come from a mere bang?
The world raves in you;
You have evolved much farther than they.
Those you call accidents are your subjects;
You make monkeys out of them.
Leave me out of it.
More than that, I’ll speak to them…
Without your help or your hindrance.
One thing is certain:
Truth is not one of your subjects,
Neither are reason and understanding.
You have no sway over them;
May they speak with me.
You idiots! What man would stand and claim
That a Seiko watch could come
Out of an explosion of gases?
What fool could believe him?
But madness has done her perfect work!
You idiots! From where did those gases come
And the spark to ignite them?
And from where did the space come
For these things to happen?
Mad fools! Hopelessly bound in your chains of darkness!
For which is it easier to believe?
That the complex man who devised a Seiko
Was devised himself
Or that he was the product
Of a mere haphazard explosion
With haphazard results
In a billion haphazard directions
Just as you declare of a Seiko watch?
jf fj w nenwqjnfmfdmf,m/xw'[pgjrekq’faaj
jfkf,l; ,fld mfwoggfmgk v r
(Just thought I’d chance it for a moment and see if the absence of order and intelligence might prove you right after all! Did it or did it not? Perhaps more time…like eons and eons?)
Theories you call facts and sound knowledge myths.
Black is white and white is black.
Monkeys, in their places,
Far excel in wisdom over you.
Are you sure your evolution is not in reverse?
Perhaps the universe is shrinking
And your mentality is doing its share and more.
It is one thing to hear such folly;
It is another to know why it is spoken and believe.
To acknowledge a Supreme Intelligence
Is to acknowledge one’s self as less.
To know there is One Who is above all
Is to consider the possibility that
He may require an accounting
Of word and thought and deed.
“The fool has said in his heart, There is no God.”
Damned fools are you all as the Scripture says.
Asses you are, less than monkeys in ways
To declare your shameful thoughts
And teach them with pride when you ought to
Hide your faces in embarrassment
At the very idiocy of it all.
You interventionists! Are you any better?
“We say Yes to evolution only if God intervened
To give man a living soul.”
And who was running the show
Before He intervened?
Was all in chaos, out of control
But advancing quite well nevertheless
To the ape?
Can you produce an ape
Just like your Seiko watch?
Damned fools you are as well,
With false religious flavour!
Will you please God with your conditional assent
To a theory truth does damn?
Madness, you reign indeed!
And idiots pay you homage,
Lunatics praise your name!
Could they ever come as far as you have?
Could they dare hope to rule over others
As you do over them?
Everywhere we look, we see degeneration
But evolution marches on.
“A missing link! A missing link!”
Fools, in your understanding there are missing links!
And until you turn from your obstinacy
Of resisting the truth,
The missing link remains.
Three theories taught as fact,
Each proves the other wrong;
Chase your tails you monkeys,
While Madness sings her song.
Lethbridge, Aug. 1984
Click HERE to go to “Exposing Evolutionists.”
I have heard it said many times that whatever divides is not of God. Of course, that simply depends on what is being divided and why. Is it not of God to divide sheep from goats, fleece from sheep, truth from error, heretics from the faithful, wheat from the tares? The problem is that those who make the statement above presume to be sheep or, they are under the false notion that pain and suffering and sorrow arising naturally from division are products of Satan and not of God. But these same people indulge in dividing others in the Name of God and think nothing of it. And does not God wound and break? Does He not call to forsake wife, children, parents and friends? Is forsaking easy and pleasant? If so, it would not be forsaking. I am not sent for division's sake; I do not come to attack; Strife and debate I do not sow, Yet all these are found where I go. I haven't come for evil's sake, Bearing trouble, sorrow and pain, Yet the sword I bear Will cut in two And each half in two again. There are those who wish to take the truth And claim it for their own But others, joined to them, declare "If you go, you go alone." I cannot help but cause this woe If I am to speak what is true; I can only hope as time goes on That your loved ones will come too. But you cannot wait for them to come, The time to take heed is now. Just as you cannot wait for yours, The call cannot wait for you. As friends increase, my enemies...
"Lord, who has believed our report?" cried Isaiah. It is to the sinner a prophet is sent, but sinners do not see nor hear by virtue (or vice) of the fact that they are sinners. The carnal man cannot receive the things of the Spirit. And because they are sinners, they are the ones who need to hear! So then both prophet and perpetrator, both saint and sinner, both herald and hearer learn of the grace of God, without Whom is nothing possible. "Therefore He has mercy on whom He wills, and whom He wills He hardens." Nobody believes me; They wince when I speak; I give them Scriptures; They give me notions. They profess to love the Lord to honor the Scriptures to walk in righteousness and truth; They have their own bibles Of bits and pieces Tailored to their doctrines To suit their purposes. They hate the Light; They love their gods And their sins. God is anathema to them As He is So they change the glory of God, They take His Name, Giving it to gods of their own liking; They take His words, Wresting them to their destructions With smiling public faces They deceive themselves, saying, "We suffer for His sake; Our reward is stored up For which we have so labored." Paupers, laid in the dust, Naked, diseased, deranged, Babbling vain repetitions, Bled bone dry By the gods they serve, While I remain wealthy and healthy And alone. Moon River, Oct. 31, 1991
The incomprehensible frivolity of those who deem it enjoyable and sporting to make a game of killing and suffering! Such acts and attitudes are symptoms of a horridly sick society indeed. To make a sport of the tragedies of mankind is to demonstrate a madness of the vilest kind on earth, worse than that which we find in asylums because those out and about, free to do as they please, are pleased to mimic the worst there is, though they are judged by the rest of society to be sane and responsible. The judges are as ill as the judged, if they find no fault or harm in such behavior. War games? War games? War games! Play, everybody, play! And play the dreaded things that one never plays again When the real appears. In all its horror and confusion, The incredible, the imagined takes its form from nowhere, But not from nothing. Frolicking souls, restless souls, selfish souls, Dull, simple, foolish and ghoulish; Shoot and kill! Play the game without the blood in sight, Though the blood already gushes forth With its life spilled to the ground. While they play and rejoice in mock victories, Storm clouds swiftly creep. Even the rain spatters to warn but none take care And none suspect that the rain is red. Now they say, “Better red than dead” until they say “I wish I were dead.” Now they only pretend, like children, Running and laughing, not watching, Until they fall into the strong hands of a stranger, One of whom they have heard, One of whom they have t...