mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: God

The mind is a soup du Jour

——Fuck what I do & that I have to do it, & every fucking worldly thing.
A woman today said to me that infant mortality is different from
abortion because God has the right to kill the unborn & infants &
children as painfully & awfully as might be imagined, but it’s
immoral (only) when people kill 
zygotes, embryos & fetuses.
——The morality of man exceeds the morality of God because God’s
——benevolence appeals to force, only, while man’s appeals to common,
——intelligible reason. Nothing, nothing. End of all none soon enough.
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Junky: A drunken quotation in lyric

“I heard a laugh behind me on the street.
It was a junky laugh.
You know, like when you’re waking from a dream &
Make a noise that sounds like from far away.
He was right behind me
But out of reach.”

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Or fuck, you know, just forget the whole thing.

It’s 4 a.m., and I’m sitting in the hallway of a dorm of a college I don’t attend because I’m staying with a friend, whom I hardly know, sleeping on his floor, but I can’t sleep. I’m 22, unemployed, and hungover, but mostly satisfied.

Where did it all go wrong?

 

I had something just now but it slipped away.

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If I were God, the world would be a very different place.

I would create a species of living things with desires and an intelligence to understand their surroundings. I would leave them without knowledge of truth, but push them to develop morality and promise to reward them for good behavior. I would create divisions and social strife and have them fight for my approval and, unbeknownst to them, my enjoyment.

I would delight in their suffering at every turn, especially knowing how aware they were of it, yet still completely ignorant of the true nature of reality. I would be satisfied with their failures and rejoice with every self-inflicted wound, both physical and metaphorical.

When they died, I would reward them with an eternity of suffering, or at least an eternity that lasted until I grew bored. Then I would begin again and create a new species able to comprehend even more, yet even more misguided.

Lucky thing I’m not God, eh?

This is her story.

She woke up one day and saw God. Then she went back to sleep, because God knows she has better things to do than talk that early in the morning. She woke up an hour later, showered, got dressed, and went outside to smoke. It was cold as hell, but the devil didn’t feel like talking, so she went back inside and made herself breakfast.

After another hour, she was at work, smiling at the people she had to put up with everyday while they smiled back and put up with her. Jesus came by to say, “Hi,” but didn’t have anything important to say, really.

At lunch she decided she needed to diet and only wanted to smoke, besides. Mephistopheles chatted with her outside about this and that, then told a dirty joke she didn’t feel deserved a laugh. When she finished her second cigarette, she went back to work until thirty minutes before she was supposed to get off, and she couldn’t help but stare at the clock and count down the seconds until she could leave.

The half hour passed slower the rest of the day had up until then and by the time she finally did get home, she saw God had tried to call her, but hadn’t left a message. She didn’t bother to call him back.

She ate a television dinner in front of the television screen until she started getting sleepy, then went and got ready for bed to go to sleep. It was another dull day ahead of her, and if she didn’t get her sleep, she’d get so tired she’d forget she was alive.

Supernatural proverbs born of sleep deprivation and infinite wisdom

I saw a ghost rise up in him and shout, “Blest be the fools!” and from then on we prospered.

Decency is dead. Indecency, asleep. Apathy reigns with a loose grip. I am indifferent to it all, I suppose.

Give me my sword and my shield and let me ride out into battle! I’ll kill all the infidels and barbarians and dark-skinned people and be back in time for supper.

There’s a light in front of my eyes, spotty and shaking, like my vision is peeling back and I’m near glimpsing reality. And it’s beautiful and it burns like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Tears fill my eyes and 

It was too much. Too much to know or comprehend. Too much to even care about, I think. 

There’s the light again. There was reality brilliant and perfect right there, an arm’s length away. There’s heaven or enlightenment or a sign I ought to close my eyes and go to sleep.

I saw an infinitely large sphere once. From the outside. I had a fever and I dreamed it into reality. And I was in the fourth dimension of space looking down at the infinitely large sphere and I was afraid, as afraid as I’ve ever been in my life.

I see two girls kissing and another underneath them. And it’s pretty. Curvy and feminine and totally platonic in a sexual kind of way.

The nakedness of woman is the work of God, and I consider myself quite industrious.

The economies of scale dictate a large phallus be presented to the heads of state at a time when everyone can be awake to bear witness to the Invisible Hand stroking it off and sending emissions of productivity everywhere. Praise be Adam Smith. Amen.

Her head hurts. She has a headache and that’s why she’s not interested. I wonder if she’s sick and just allergic to me being horny.

If I were more empathetic, would I be less pathetic?

He’s just stalling now. Can’t get it up so it’s my fault somehow.

As we live our lives, there is a near infinite branch of possibilities stretching out before us that continually shrinks and shrinks and shrinks until finally there’s just our last breath and nothing else to do. 

I’d like to be a firefighter or a scientist or a minister. I’d like to administrate other people. I’d like

Or maybe there’s just one path the whole time and we can’t quite see it until we’re there.

My stomach is empty, head, too. I’m full of nothing but want, so call me an idiot and let me go home to bed. I need sleep and prosperity.

Get Up

To love the spirit is worthy,
To love the flesh divine.
— Proverbs 14:40


A man from the crowd said, “Rabbi, my father was murdered last night and lies dead in our house as I speak.”

Jesus answered him, “Who can cut short what God has laid out forever? I tell you the truth, the spirit is eternal and everything God does will endure forever.”
-Matthew 22:36-37


“I warn everyone who hears the prophecy of this book: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book. And if anyone takes words away from this book of prophecy, God will take away from him his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.”
-Revelation 22: 18-19

 

I was plagued by self-doubt all day. Why, I couldn’t say.

I had finished all of my chores and errands for the day and had nothing to do until dinner, so I felt like enjoying the natural serenity around me. The sky was blue, the grass green. Birds chirped and frolicked without care. I was in Eden again, though the Tigris and Euphrates were on the other side of the world.

Being hungry and somewhat tired, I sat down on a bench to enjoy my paradise, relaxing and basking in the warmth of the sun above me.

It had not been but a moment when from out of heaven there came down to me a large white sheet, held from far above at its four corners. As I looked into it, I saw a multitude of human forms, feminine and nearly divine, but ultimately mortal. There were all kinds: light skinned, dark skinned, tanned, red-headed, black-headed, brown-headed, blonde, freckles, dimples, short, tall, slender, stocky, young and mature. They were all healthy, clothed in nothing but the work of God, and the bounty of God rose in me immediately.

Then I heard a voice say to me, “Get up. Kill and eat.”

“Never, my Lord,” I replied, “I would never make myself impure in such a way.”

“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean,” I was told, and three more times I protested, but was chastised. Then the sheet ascended back into heaven and left me alone.

I woke and found myself back in Eden, a dark cloud over my head where the sun had once been. A raindrop fell on my hand, and I rose from the bench where I had dozed to go back to my bed and sleep. Once there, I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, but tired as I was, sleep would not come. Instead, my mind watched the vision, reviewing it over and over again for errors and new revelation. I saw none.

My instructions were clear as scripture, clearer even for scripture come from God to man to words then back to man. This had come from God direct. What to do, what to do?

A voice—my own or the Lord’s I cannot say—spoke to me then and reminded me that the spirit was not a finite thing and endured forever. It was revealed to me that the eternal spirit survives even when the body does not. I then saw Elisha inherit a double portion of his master’s spirit and saw by how this was done. Elijah’s body was taken up to heaven, this is true, but the chariot was Elisha’s throat, and his bowels the whirlwind.

It was a miracle, I was told, but not a miracle of Elisha’s doing, for God alone determined who received such spirit and who did not. Did the Lord not use Elisha to even greater glory? Surely, this was a good thing.

I awoke then, and found it was morning and I was greatly distressed. Was Hosea not told to marry a prostitute? Was Ezekiel not told to prophecy, “This city is a cooking pot, and we are the meat”? Was Jonah, commanded to prophecy to the city of Nineveh, not swallowed by a great fish for failing to do so? How much more I, having been twice told.

Yet I also remembered King David who was incited by the Lord to give census to his nation in a time of peace, and whose punishment was the nation to suffer three days of plague, of which seventy thousand died. Unlike him, however, I have no shekels to buy an altar and am not the Lord’s anointed.

My plague was self-doubt, and I saw not how else to cure it.

One day I’d like to eat God

I think God resides inside children, so if I just bash one open and let the blood of life run into my mouth and sieve the flesh through my teeth and throat and stomach and bowels, I’ll find God and the breath of God, and the Holy Spirit, really, and find what makes everything animated, and find beauty and eternity and be happy forever.

I just like watching children run around, you know, and seeing the skin slip over the rippling muscle and sinew and bone and realizing, “This is life, this is what we’re here for,” and the idea of tearing it out and letting it drip on my chest makes me erect and mighty and full of vigor.

Jesus! I need a small child with me, or a young woman, or anyone just to cut open to let spill out somewhere for me to appreciate.

In a very literal way, things like this make me question whether or not there is a God

This is somewhat creepy so be forewarned.

The story: http://www.kantipuronline.com/kolnews.php?&nid=69722

The picture: http://www.kantipuronline.com/photos/homepage/bizzare.jpg

If you aren’t the courageous type, suffice to say it’s a birth defect, disfiguring and fatal, though that’s probably a blessing. I don’t know how a human being could possibly live like that,

It of course raises the question of how a loving God could design us so that things like this are possible, if not commonplace. I’m a stupid teenager, I don’t presume to be able to answer that question, or even to think that by asking it I’ve proven anything. But it’s a tough issue to overcome. It isn’t just something bad that happened in someone’s life, that can be explained away in all kinds of different ways. But this, like a lot of other gruesome, fatal birth defects, is a human being who felt nothing but suffering in all of its incredibly short lifetime, and lived only to die. Where do you find God in that?

There but for the grace of God go I, maybe?

I don’t know. It may be true, but it rings hollow as an explanation.

So…where to next?

The sweet-bitter scroll sits poorly in my belly, but I keep it down and watch as seals are broken, the bowls are poured out, and trumpets blare. Flaming mountains crash into seas, point-three repeating of the world is no more.

But it’s a fine show and as my gut begins to ache, I sit down on the side of a hill to watch it. The apocalypse came, but the rapture came up short, and here I sit now, alone and depressed. Maybe John misinterpreted our Lord’s message, what with the sword sticking out of his mouth and all that. You’d think ol’ Lamb would have a tendency to mumble. And John was an old man by then, so his ears couldn’t have been what they once were. For all of the fireworks, the whole end of the world thing is really coming up short.

I mean, I never saw two witnesses, or saw them die, or rise again. I think I would have noticed them. Come to think of it, I never saw any prophets or beasts, whether they be from the sea or with multiple horns, or chasing down pregnant women clothed in suns. My knees bowed to no one and my tongue confessed nothing. If this was how armageddon was supposed to go down, someone really dropped the ball.

I stand up and vomit out the scroll, but it’s sweet again on the way up, so I don’t mind. I bet I could re-read it if I wanted, but it’s obviously no good. The fireworks are already over, I guess God has no more wrath left in him. Is that it? What a pansy. “In the hands of an angry God” my ass.

Well, there’s always the lake of fire and while the climate will leave much to be desired, I certainly can’t complain about the company. Better than watching the world end by myself again, anyway.