An interesting week. It's snowing in Athens. The archbishop died. Though I’m not supposed to say that. Archbishops don’t die. They simply… sleep. Death is left for us sinful mortals, with no hope for resurrection and all that comes with it.

What can I say? Thousands of people have already paid their respect to…the corpse. I’m probably not supposed to say that, either. Four days of mourning for this miserable country, already crumbling under the weight of innumerable scandals- or maybe it was just one big scandal, involving sex, money, dvds, the government, corrupted journalists, immoral politicians and a couple of attempted suicides. The perfect Hollywood recipe, in other words.

The archbishop was our only hope. But now, alas, he’s…sleeping, and who will pray for our polluted souls? I look around me, overwhelmed by a mix of nausea, shock and the need to laugh so much they’ll put me on Hell Express immediately. No return tickets. Very scary stuff.

I’m sorry, I’ll shut up now. How inappropriate to mess with people’s beliefs. Let them consume their fatty food and pathetic entertainment. Let them find salvation in “truths” constructed by manipulative elites, joy in the pain of others- as seen on TV.

Am I beginning to sound like Marx? Have I already committed the error of assuming I am somehow better than everyone else? Well, I’m not. I, too, judge and condemn and categorize, seeking to stand out and yet still belong, all too aware that even difference is pointless unless someone, somewhere can somehow appreciate it.