Davis Square, Somerville.
I am walking with my smallest and tattooedest friend, sipping chilled coffee drinks. It strikes me that while in the area I ought to peek into Goodwill and see if they got any new lava lamps in. I don't make it to Davis that often. After discovering the store to have closed moments before arrival, we start back towards the heart of the square. I spy a boy, maybe 17 to 19, leaving leaflets under cat windshield wipers. I pluck one, and have a read.
Religious propaganda. The real fire and brimstone stuff. The repent, or be forsaken into the lake of fire' stuff.
Despite my academic love of propaganda, I find righteous indignation welling up. I walk at a comfortable pace behind him, plucking up his pamphlets, and depositing them in my by now empty coffee cup. He hands the off leaflets to occasional passersby, who I offer to take the leaflets frommany accept. I've got quite a collection. So I cross the street with my friend on my arm. There, a maybe 20 feet up the street is the guru. Maybe the kids father or mentor or priest. He's handing out different, and nastier literature. He's praying with people on the street, having them bow their heads. As we pass him, he offers me a leaflet. I decline with a raise of my glass thanks, but I've got plenty'. "Oh!" says he, sounding more confused and surprised than anything, "where did you get those?". "Cars", I throw back over my shoulder as I walk away. I get 30 feet away when I hear it from behind me.
"SATAN!".
"HEY, SATAN!"
My initial reaction to ignore him and stride on is swiftly overtaken by disbelief. So I spin around. We had a little back and forth. I expressed my highly amused state of shock, he confirmed what he had just said, and I laughed reverently enough I'm sure to confirm his belief.
And you thought I was a good guy. Well, now you know better.
So, why do this? Why pluck up all their propaganda? Well, there's plenty behind it. For one, I'm an atheist. They're telling me that my dearest friends and I are going to suffer in ways and for ages unimaginable, and that that is Just' and Right' that we suffer so-- and yeah, that ticks me off. Atheists, as a whole, take that kind of crap too much. Second is for speech. In as much as it is his right to attempt to create an atmosphere of extreme Christian uniformity, a social milieu of universal faith in the public square, it is my right to counteract that.
But mostly it's for balance. Somebody has to be yang', if you take my meaning. As this force of propaganda exists, it is only right that it be counteracted, challenged. Somebody has to balance their push towards insanity.
A fitting task, I suppose, for the Beast That Is Called Dragon, if only a little low-key.
And now I end on a photo, because.
It's from a recent trip.
I am walking with my smallest and tattooedest friend, sipping chilled coffee drinks. It strikes me that while in the area I ought to peek into Goodwill and see if they got any new lava lamps in. I don't make it to Davis that often. After discovering the store to have closed moments before arrival, we start back towards the heart of the square. I spy a boy, maybe 17 to 19, leaving leaflets under cat windshield wipers. I pluck one, and have a read.
Religious propaganda. The real fire and brimstone stuff. The repent, or be forsaken into the lake of fire' stuff.
Despite my academic love of propaganda, I find righteous indignation welling up. I walk at a comfortable pace behind him, plucking up his pamphlets, and depositing them in my by now empty coffee cup. He hands the off leaflets to occasional passersby, who I offer to take the leaflets frommany accept. I've got quite a collection. So I cross the street with my friend on my arm. There, a maybe 20 feet up the street is the guru. Maybe the kids father or mentor or priest. He's handing out different, and nastier literature. He's praying with people on the street, having them bow their heads. As we pass him, he offers me a leaflet. I decline with a raise of my glass thanks, but I've got plenty'. "Oh!" says he, sounding more confused and surprised than anything, "where did you get those?". "Cars", I throw back over my shoulder as I walk away. I get 30 feet away when I hear it from behind me.
"SATAN!".
"HEY, SATAN!"
My initial reaction to ignore him and stride on is swiftly overtaken by disbelief. So I spin around. We had a little back and forth. I expressed my highly amused state of shock, he confirmed what he had just said, and I laughed reverently enough I'm sure to confirm his belief.
And you thought I was a good guy. Well, now you know better.
So, why do this? Why pluck up all their propaganda? Well, there's plenty behind it. For one, I'm an atheist. They're telling me that my dearest friends and I are going to suffer in ways and for ages unimaginable, and that that is Just' and Right' that we suffer so-- and yeah, that ticks me off. Atheists, as a whole, take that kind of crap too much. Second is for speech. In as much as it is his right to attempt to create an atmosphere of extreme Christian uniformity, a social milieu of universal faith in the public square, it is my right to counteract that.
But mostly it's for balance. Somebody has to be yang', if you take my meaning. As this force of propaganda exists, it is only right that it be counteracted, challenged. Somebody has to balance their push towards insanity.
A fitting task, I suppose, for the Beast That Is Called Dragon, if only a little low-key.
And now I end on a photo, because.
It's from a recent trip.
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There was some punk band that had fake religious comics about the evils of selling out, or about how the band paid the price for selling out. I can't remember exactly. And instead of having some info about where you can order a bible, it had a form to send in to get a catalog for their record label.