/lit/ - Literature

>>18761694
I don't see eye-to-eye. It's my love for Christianity which makes me frequent the most degenerate rubbish-bins of the internet. I feel like I belong here and my eye just bounces off pornography, if I chance encounter it, so it doesn't feel like an occasion of sin. I feel like, If I really want to reach sainthood, I'll only ever find company in the shadow of a brothel or the pits of some imageboard. Like when the desert fathers retreated to the desert and their only company were schizo-demons shitposting in their ears or fellow hermits who were probably pederasts in their former palace-lives. I regret the desensitization, but I can't go back to the innocence of childhood, and hence I'm too corrupt to look eye-to-eye with members of society, too ashamed to stand in the presence of children and their families, too ashamed to find a place among the trees and wildflowers--so therefore, even if I renounced every single sin and every vice, took out every nail on the plank, the holes are still there, so I have to retreat to the lifeless desert and enjoy company with the perverse. It's like how St. Francis, finding the Truth about the beauty of creation and the universe and humanity, retreated to a mountain cave and buried his face in the snow. My withdrawal is not a cynical one. Did not St. Therese say she would like to be in hell so that at least one person there praises the Lord?