Room 201

 24/09/21     Seeing (and reading) the timeless folk tale  Coraline  has made me consider in some depth the author of Coraline, Mr. Neil Gaiman--but not him on his own; but rather with the other Neil Gaimans of recent in the literary developments of Christendom. I am speaking of the Oscar Wildes and the Andy Warhols of our times--namely, those wild and wonderful artists who seem to have danced the line dividing heterodoxy and holiness throughout their entire lives, perhaps up to their respective deaths.     Odd, odd men. Neoliberals, homosexuals, minimalists, abstractionists... Artists on whom could be written two cent rags and tabloids. A quick Wikipedia search reveals more than one would desire to know. Yet I feel that each pulsates with a form of orthodoxy that perhaps once their souls were conformed to, and which, inadvertently or not, they cannot help but express. Souls who are so attached to their crooked ways, though look on fondly at the "lighter path" of Catholicism

 “Twas the night of the Lome, when all that was good, was smuggled away, away from the Wood, and the children, they scream, and the parents’ brows furrow, at every mink skin and every hare burrow. Every Mass sermon and every Church bell, tolls uneasy, with the thought of hell; the reminders of Bosch*, and his outlandish dreams, disrupts every sleeper, cuts holes in the seams, of every wall keeping the dark and surreal, away from our minds, away from our meals, and the Owl, she cry, and and the boar, outgrabe*; such was the night, when the Whale of the labe, would wake all the shroom, whose cry would alarm, and sound the doom, of the Beast of the Hills, the Valleys, and Mounts, whose very death cry was enough to flaunt, the rapier of Saint Volga, Anderson surname, whose name lasts the years and souls which had came, who tested the will of the Beast of the Hills, and struck him in chest; twas enough to kill. The eye will be found and the crowd will be quiet; the fact will be made so that

Thoughts on the Nature of the New Missal The Catholic Church, given the divine mandate to convert all nations, was brought into existence in its wholeness at Pentecost--yet her most ancient and profound ritual predates this event noticeably. This ritual, as you may have guessed, is the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass--the memorial and true reenactment of Christ’s Passion on the Cross for our sakes. The Holy Mass, defined as “...a true and proper Sacrifice” 1 by the Magisterium, is the peak and epitome of our faith as the Church Militant. It stands for and is truly the timeless redemption of man and our participation in that reception. The priest, in persona Christi, intercedes on our behalf to the throne of Heaven, where the outpouring of graces meet their recipients. The chalice, the bread--ancient symbols stemming from the first priesthood of Melchizedek--made into the blood and body of Christ at the first Eucharist at the Last Supper, as it was instituted by Christ to make present his