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Postmodern Spirituality in the Age of Entitlement

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David John Robson

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“I have killed for work, for money. I have killed for revenge when I went after the men who murdered my mother. I have killed for Lucille, for my lass. My Lucy. My little brute. Mo chreach bheag. So many names I have for her, yet none of them can truly capture my feelings for her. How strong and fiery and all-consuming they are. And I know without a doubt I’d do it again. I’d tear someone to pieces with my bare teeth if they tried to come close. I’d burn down the entire world if someone dared to take her from me or dared to hurt her. And I wouldn’t stop there. No, I would give my life.”

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Book:Bloody Fingers & Red Lipstick
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“In postmodernism, human knowledge seemed to double at great rates, but it’s impossible to continue at that rate. It’s one thing to double one’s knowledge from two to four, or four to eight. It’s another to double from a trillion! Nevertheless, the “size” of our current bank of knowledge is extensive and overwhelming. It’s reasonable to suggest that humanity accumulated more knowledge in the last decade than in all recorded history combined. Take a moment to ponder that piece of information. What does it say to you? How does it affect Western Society, Western Christianity, and Western spirituality? How does it affect you? In turn, we must ask if we have become any smarter or wiser. What do you think?”

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Book:Postmodern Spirituality in the Age of Entitlement
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“Time stood still in a swelling moment where my curiosity drew me to be still in thought as the breaking speed of sound caused my heart to ascend to where my ears did know. An almost desperate attempt is made to catch my breath. Conservatively sitting down near behind the door reading, I make note of the incredible lines that veer beyond the vantage of what beauty I can absorb. She is a woman, if whose flaws were to unveil would only make her even more distinctly unique with beauty. Her ivory-colored complexion bears the brilliance of champagne balanced by a hint of ochre. Ringlets of black thread and pearl lay gracefully alongside her charming features. Her lips look as if they speak of love often, but only to herself. Her style, grace, elegance, and posture display the pure determination that she has made clear in her mind. The slight indent on the bridge of her adorable nose complements her slender face and endearing qualities. Her elegance alone surpasses any expression I’ve ever encountered.”

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Book:The Painter
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