They walk in with their little gold plated aluminum goblets and stitched robes, preaching the word of god through their life experiences. "What does the lord want you to pray for today ma'am?" "Why do we pray ma'am?" "I'm on time... five minutes late!"
This sickens me.
This man with false colored hair and so many layers of tranditional garb gets paid to stand at the front of the room of the dying and the deceased, praying for forgiveness and more time on this little earth that is just one ball of death and decay. A constant slope downwards.
Pessimistic? Maybe, probably.
Maybe I can't help it. People chose the emotions they wear and I'm quite comfortable in my shell of doom thank you very much.
"Have mercy on us all."
Jesus fucking Christ. I suppose this gives them comfort. Comfort in the fact that they are dying and can't do anything about it. They had their time and if they don't think they spent it well then there's nothing they can do about it. These breathing corpses had life in them once. Some of them still have that lingering scent of life and vivacity. One day we all will turn into these. I hope I never get to that point though. I think I'd much rather be remembered as a young person who had her whole life ahead of her than the great grandmother that no one wants to go visit anymore.
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