In Milton

Satan as a son of God, or an emanation of his light, Rebelled

because he thought he could improve on his father, took

the proud position that he, as son,  would be better.

Thus the idea in the modern era, of the past as ever significantly

inferior to the present, just as the present will be inferior

to the future.  This malign heresy is so common today as to be

almost crystallized completely.  It wasn't always so,

we used to believe we 'stood on the shoulders of giants',

while today you'd be led to believe we are giants standing on the heads

of deluded little fools, who did nothing but confuse and

sacrifice the wrong people to the wrong Gods, who squandered

plundered and pilfered, who gave us only unwittingly the tools to build

a future eco-friendly perfection, all wind farms and hermetically

sealed draft-proof houses and fair trade chocolate.

That we live in a very vulgar age

is undeniable.  Bolliticks seeks to court

and squire the demeaning slop we call culture in the Roman

sense of vox populi, bread and circuses, when they

flung gladiators at bears and lions.

Broadway Market, Tragic Seduction

Hardly anyone has any money here.  
Wondrous strip of gastronomique emporia,
a former eels 'n mash veg market.

The cars are flashier in 
more-colonised neighbouring Hoxton,

They're hanging by fingernail 
to exclusive Bohemia

they think its a birthright, waiting for Asiatic

Oligarchs to price them completely off the board. *

But knowing all the while that Asia is tragically
 seduced by our template, by the

challenge of meeting our culture.  That's the bluff.
Bourgeoisie bohemian decadence wins one day
at a time.  Until 
it's values are challenged, its liberal market mode

thrown and replaced with theocracy

of patriarchal, despotic supremacism,
the triumph which may never occur, then

this bourgeoisie farce must continue to its eventual

clash with its nemesis.
(whatever that may be)
 They're all living in converted

drawing rooms, or sharing narrow boats on the canal

avoiding mooring fees, furnished by skip toss-outs, smoking

shaggy rollies and drinking real ale like Victorian factory

workers, waiting for a retirement slot in the new workhouse.

* (by subtle, atomised international property investment

portfolios, buying into ghi ghi-ed up council blocks along the Regents canal)

C'orporeal

You don't have a body 

without a soul.

there's no such thing as a corpse 

with body.

Without the soul, there is no body.

A Giraffe has a soul

That's why they called it a Giraffe.

It is a corpse

because it isn't a body.

Nature and Grace inseparable,

The corpse is the only illusion.
It alludes,
just as a painted portrait
alludes to the sitter.

Puritan

"Puritanism descended on England like a hoarfrost" - Weber

The hatred of mess, the brushing away the relics of death

- this is puritan.   To despise imperfection, is inhuman.

To judge constantly, interminably, whether something is clean or good enough,

is puritan. 

It is not of the faith.  It is definitively faithlessness.

It is normal in England to judge like this

for there is nowadays a Great Taboo about Death in this country.

It is also normal to be 'contrary' here, so lots of disingenuous

people running around - 'crusties'  who pretend to be pagan
almost always a cover for inner puritanism - you should see Stonehenge

at solstice. Its not just a spectacle for social anthropology, but
an eye opener onto whats out there.  For puritanism happened in England
with an excess unlike anywhere else.

That's why I abjure the left, or the 'protestors'. 
They are essentially rejecting the world as not good enough, people

as not good enough, reality, all not good enough and this
'problem' is solvable only by their politics. (after leaving
their perversion of religious faith behind them).

The great myth of Protestantism is that it was original.
Nothing about it is.  It is an innovation on a bare aesthetic. 
It is a modification by taking away something.
Its modification was no more than one of notional temperament.

Temperance is the same as northern providentialism.  Store things
away, you may need them later, for it is cold here for too many moons
before springtime.