Archive for the ‘Religion’ Category


The Man from Calanda (An Inevitable Bit of Discussion)

March 5, 2007

A screenwriter named Jean-Claude Carrière once stated that if Luis Buñuel had been born in a different time, he still would have been the same Luis Buñuel. Fortunately, for us, Buñuel was born in a great time that seemed suited only for him. The time of the Surrealist.

From the moment he showed the slicing of young girls eye by a straight edge razor on screen, we knew that he was to be the czar of all filmmaking oddities. We also knew that he was to be a giant of controversy. His general dislike towards the message of Christianity was a constant theme in his films, and was never subliminally brought across; it was in the open for all men to see.

As odd a man he was, and fundamentally disagreeable to myself, he is one of the most influential giants, of whom’s shoulders I stand upon. His work contains a sheer magnetism that cannot be surpassed (especially by the filmmakers of today). The fact that he openly stated his beliefs and disgusts towards society, and was not afraid to do so, is quite inspiring.

His work wasn’t always dealing in the sanctity of religion, but sometimes in the throws of sex. It was his second most talked about subject. Another inspiring aspect of the man’s work; the ability to talk about the taboos of “S” word in the time 1920s-1970s world.

The funny little bastard would have never survived the Reagan era. I guess that’s why it seems so appropriate that death came to him when it did. When he died just before the “dark years” of cinema, he left a note in his work that said he would never be tied down, never be stopped. Not by the church, not by politics, and not by the weak stomached. Sure some of his work had been once banned, but not by the likes of which the 80s would have dealt. It shows that it was not meant to be.

It’s safe to say that Luis Buñuel was born at the right time and he died at the right time.

Kyle W. Sutton


The Feeling Begins…

January 17, 2007

The man with the silver hair believes that he knows all that can be known. He stands in the pulpit and screams down upon the name of Kazanztakis. What has that name done? Has he used his God-given imagination to identify with his savior? I’m sure of it. He made a safe haven for men like you and I to wonder, and feel inspiration beyond the words of our beloved Gospels. “Blasphemy!” Yells the church. “We’ve not the need for free thinking,”

They don’t care to read the disclaimers at the beginning of the masterpiece. If they do, they will only scoff. That is their nature. They don’t believe it a good thing for you to believe what you want to believe. And they don’t know of anything other than what their stuffy traditions tell them. They don’t care to know.

To them it is unconceivable for a messiah to deal with the pain of tempation. We the people should have no way to aspire to the true body of the son of God. That’s how they see it. That’s what they believe. To them the forty nights in the desert were some sort of picnic, and Satan was some door to door salesman. We’re not interested, and that’s that with a shut of the door. You can hesitate to turning that stone into bread with no effort, for no man feels tempted.

They strike at art like brood of vipers. They don’t sit around to hear the message. Just make sure you stick around for their’s. “Look, the Messiah has come down from his cross,” They shout, and run out into the world to spread lies. They never wait. They never hear the words, “It is Accomplished.”

Kyle W. Sutton


L’Opera del Christ

November 13, 2006

We all sit and wait, our programs in tote. Each of us looks as though we’ve been summoned for the traditions of baring pall. We sit in our groups, cliques, and self-assigned seats. We can afford to be arrogant to the lower middle-class, for this is God’s time. We wait during a moment of prelude, until the great performer graces us with his majesty.

He speaks to us on the subject of tithing, and of good charity, while he jingles the keys of his Mercedes deep within his Donatella Versace pockets. He adjusts the Rolex on his arm and tells us that the hour of God is at hand. With each droplet of his words we become more and more taken by him. He then goes on to tell us that any woman who exercises her right to choose is in danger of further stoking the fires of Hell, so pray for the troops in Iraq. He says that Muslims are the enemy, for their use of religious radicalism, and prays that serenity is granted unto Eric Rudolph.

When his words are closed he calls the alter open. A group of fourteen year old girls in the scantily clad begin to kneel and cry. Thursday they’ll be pregnant. Only a moment goes by. No one is saved, but he doesn’t care. He must wrap this up so he can reserve a table at Red Lobster. With the bow of a head and the few tricks of a word, the curtain draws. We stand to our feet and applaud. Bravo! Bravo to the artist! Bravo to the words of man! Bravo!

We go home with the need to spread God’s word! But, it must wait, for it is Sunday the day of rest.

Kyle W. Sutton