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The sermon for May. 01, 2004 is: Great Wall 5:14 a.m. I rather like desert sunrises. Though not for the panoply of colour or that sort of thing. Though that sort of thing may grow upon me in time, as I become less haughty and more Victorian in my sentimentalities. Right now, I'm enjoying feeling the breeze becomes more brown in hue and warmth, and less mentholatum blue. The little dessert birds, who inspired San Juan Delacruz and St Therese d'Avile and Saint John Chrysostom to inventive heights of sexual subsumption (thank god for the anonymous scientist who discovered masturbation in 1904 and obviated the need for religion!), are chirruping their little squeaks for breakfast. I am surrounded by a fortress whose walls are built out of many books; I love the desert morning, where there is no dew that will spoil the pages of the walls of my fortress! On a personal note: my love to all of you a-Maying today. Join me in singing my favourite song from Camelot: "C'est la lutte finale / Groupons-nous, et demain / L'Internationale / sera le genre humain!" There's a spectre haunting my wardrobe. It is the spectre of Onanism. Worker's paradise, indeed!  
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