Looking For The Devil

The Bible really does a terrible hack-job on Lucifer.  If you think about it, Lucifer is talked about as if by some jaded ex-lover who was dumped, so they began spreading rumors.

It's all in the plot holes, really.

Lucifer was God's bestie.  God's Accuser, is the term.  He was the Prosecuting Attorney for God.  If you screwed up, then you had to deal with Lucifer.  Lucifer would point the finger at you and make the case for your guilt.

By definition, this means other angels broke from God's Laws and disobeyed His word.  Why have an Accuser if everybody is following the laws?  Why have your bestie handing the bad angels if there aren't any bad angels?

This means other angels disobeyed God before Lucifer.  Somebody got sick of the shit and did something they weren't supposed to but The Bible never mentions that, does it?  Curious....

We never hear about the other angels and how they did their own thing, or how they were punished.  Maybe some of them were put in jail, or demoted, or maybe re-assigned.

Or maybe they were forgiven.  We don't know their crimes, either.  But if you need an Accuser, then it is safe to assume those crimes were not jaywalking, or living in Stephenson County.

Those of you who live in Stephenson County will understand that joke.  For those of you who do not, just know that Stephenson County is corrupt and the entire criminal justice system is geared towards ensnaring you into their system so they can bleed you as dry as possible for the longest amount of time.  You are not expected to get out of the system once you are in it but only to have other "crimes" levied against you so you can continue to pay and pay.

But no, we never hear about those other angels who screwed up.

This makes me wonder.  If Lucifer wasn't the first, then perhaps he was given the idea to rebel by another, which makes sense.  We don't betray until the seed of that thought is given to us by another.

What if there was a worse angel?  What if Lucifer had a mentor or adviser?

And who is God's Accuser these days?  We don't know that, either.

And if Lucifer was an angel, and God forgives, what if we pray for His forgiveness of Lucifer?  And since Lucifer was created by God, and pretty much does His work still, doesn't that mean Satanists are really just worshipping another facet of God?

If God is good, then Lucifer is good, too.

Lucifer is our friend.  He's misunderstood and often times all alone.  Maybe he needs a hug.

We should have a holiday for Him.  A feast.  The Hug Lucifer Feast.  And now I want bumper stickers that read, "Have You Hugged Lucifer Today?"

Fun With Graphics

The Journey of The Van: The Ugly Forest

If each and every one of us were living our own Epic Heroic Journey, as I mentioned in a previous post, how would you know what you're supposed to do next?

The simple answer is that you cannot know.  It's impossible to know.  Soldiers talk about the Fog of War, where you are in the middle of a shitstorm and have no way of knowing how the battle is going.  You might be winning your fight but the other army might be winning the battle.

Will you know who you are when you die or will Death have to tell you?

It's hard to know what we're doing sometimes.  The journey we have undertaken is strange.  Life is weird.  And we live in some very interesting times.

I have a friend who is going through a nasty problem concerning her daughter.  The child's father, a neglectful and apathetic man, suddenly decided he wanted custody of the daughter just days before they were to move to a different state.  Imagine being ready to move and a child's other parent, who had been silent and absent, suddenly keeps the child during a rare visit so he can say "goodbye."

This is the problem my friend ran into.  It's a disgusting thing to do to somebody.  And knowing what it is like to have a child suddenly ripped out of your life, I know how dark the feelings and thoughts can become.

It takes a lot of wisdom to fight a dragon.  It takes time, resources, and nobody can do it alone.  If you would like to take a minute and read more about it, then please do so HERE.

This is her dragon right now.  This is the battle she has to fight.  We've all got those.  Some are uglier than others, some we're not supposed to win, and sometimes this is how it is all supposed to end.

It's easy to forget about these battles we wage in our lives because we really do live in savage times.  The brutality of the world around us might be painted in bright colors and have smooth surfaces, but it doesn't make the blood and pain any less real.

I forgot my path a bit.  I got lost.  It's easy to do when the path goes dark and you don't know what you are supposed to be doing or where you are going.  I don't even know what I'm looking for.  A grail?  A person?  Is the person a grail?  Am I supposed to be running to something or from it?

I don't know where I'm going but I'm going.

This doesn't worry me.  I have no idea what my story is going to be.  Am I in a horror story?  A romance?  Do I get the girl before I die?

Instead of being confused by this, I'm simply ignoring the questions and just keeping my feet moving.  I was angry a few days ago.  Then depressed.  Again.

But now I realize that's part of the story.  That's part of the epic journey and when my story gets told to a bunch of kids sitting in a circle around a campfire some night in the future, the storyteller will have to say I lost the path for a while.

My friend will have a story to tell.  So will her daughter.  Even the selfish and cruel father will have something to say, thought I doubt anybody will want to hear it.

Keep on the path, folks.  Keep your head up and your feet moving.  Keep walking despite the shit in your way.  Boulders, rocks, snakes, liars and thieves.  It's all just a series of props in your story.

Sometimes, the trees of this haunted forest talk to me.  They whisper ugly, terrible things they heard echoing in the back of my head.  And they sing songs about the pointlessness of life.  How nobody will know or care to know even my name.

I don't know what I even want at the end of this road.  I'm only walking it because I've got nothing better to do and there was nothing for me back where I was.  I like that.

I find comfort in knowing the audience will be just as a surprised as I am when I get to where I'm going.    

Van Wanted: Part I

About three months ago, my Ford Taurus gave up the ghost, and decided enough was enough.  Despite only having about 165,000 miles on it, the frame was rusted badly, which I knew already but I didn't realize just how badly until two the motor mounts snapped off the frame.

The only thing keeping the motor from hitting the pavement was was the steering knuckle going through the firewall.  This meant simply turning the wheel was a colossal act of strength.  It was dead and I needed to call in a priest to give it Final Rites and hear its last confession.

Finding a replacement vehicle has been tougher than getting laid.  Seriously.  And if you've ever actually seen me, you'd realize just how dark a hole that can be, or how depressing.  Sisyphus ain't got shit on me.

It's not just the fact that I'm broke.  Or that my credit is so bad my credit report catches fire when it leaves the printer and I need a co-signer when I pay cash.

No, money is only half the problem.

The other part of the problem is the same reason I'm in this mess--the Midwestern roads will eat a car up in a fraction of its lifetime.  We don't just use salt here.  Often times you'll see trucks spraying hydrochloric acid directly on the roads because the ice is so thick.  It's why there is so much roadkill on our local roads.  Poor, unsuspecting furry animals try to cross and get dissolved into puddles of goo before they reach the other side.

It has bred a special kind of White Tail Deer that acts as a kamikazee to cars that drive up and down those roads.  They will dart out and deliberately give their lives to total your car.  Sure, you get to eat them later on because roadkill deer are yummy, but your poor car ends up in the crusher.

I tried to part my car out because every time I need to scrap a car the price of scrap metal takes a shit.  When whatever I'm driving runs right, prices are through the roof.  But when I need to scrap something?  The price I get barely pays the cost of having a guy haul it to the scrapyard.

So what's a creepy van guy without a van supposed to do?  Walk around and offer free hugs to people?  Once again, if you've seen me, that's not going to work.  I couldn't outrun a Walmart scooter.

My plan is to do some kind of crowd-funding campaign, like Kickstarter or something similar, and try to raise some money to get a van.  But it can't just be any van.  If I'm lucky (which I'm not) I'll get maybe $1500 and around here that'll be a very rusty van with a decent motor and questionable transmission.  Vehicles just don't last long around these parts.

Ideally, I would need one from someplace else, like California, Arizona, New Mexico, Florida or the likes.  That means traveling, researching, and hoping somebody can help me out.

I already have a dozen people who want to help me paint the thing.  I know some incredibly talented artists who have said they would donate their time to make sure it has the proper artwork.

FREE HUGS on one side and FREE CANDY on the other.

Plus, my blog's URL in a few places so it's clear to law enforcement that I'm not really a pedo creeper looking for my next victim.  Once again, if you've met me, this is important because my good looks ain't getting me out of anything.  I get followed when I go grocery shopping because people just assume I'm going to do something evil.

I've got a Youtube channel now.  No videos to post, but I've got a channel to put them, which is sort of why I have a checking account.  No money for that, either.

My gameplan is to have a video to post along with my crowd-funding campaign.  I have the script worked out, some pretty funny gags, and I've got just about everybody I need to be in the video.  I'm working out the camera stuff and I know how to edit the thing (I think).  Plus, I have the script for the voice-over person to read.

My goal is to have this done in a couple of weeks.  Maybe.  Like most things in my life, it's a trainwreck just waiting to happen.  I'm sure there are more than a few cliffs I'll fall down in the process.  But I've been binge-watching a show on Youtube called Roadkill, which is done by Motor Trend Magazine.

Pretty much every show is a mess but somehow they make it work.  It's my life on film.  I get it--they're working with junk and somehow they get it to run and they have fun doing it.  And this is pretty much what this project is going to be like for me.

It'll be covered in duct tape, I can promise you that.  

It's Okay, Let It Go

Every day in the U.S. about 6,700 people die.  Most of them die alone.

I used to think that was a horrible thing but I realize now it is perfectly fine to die alone.  It's not like I'm going to be having a conversation with somebody as I give up the ghost anyways.  And what in the fuck are we going to be talking about?  Regrets?  All the shit I wished I'd done but instead tried to be the person I thought I was supposed to be instead of the person I was?  Fuck that!

It's best to die alone.  Really.

I always figured I would be the guy that died in an apartment full of books.  Nobody would know I was in there unless the landlord wanted his money or the smell got funky--whichever came first.

Death doesn't bother me.  It's how I get to that point that does.  It would totally suck being fed feet-first into a woodchipper.  Or to have pieces ripped off by a pack of drunken chihuahuas half-starved and out of their minds on rot-gut booze.  In recent days, I've also learned that dying from an intestinal blockage is not only painful, but slow as hell.

I'll say this here for all to read--I don't own any scarfs, okay?  Not one!  Seriously, I mean it.  If you hear some weird story about me being found with a scarf around my neck and my pants down that's total bullshit.  I don't own a scarf.

Sometimes you have to let things like life go.  Burn out, fade away--doesn't matter.  Dead is dead and gone is gone.

It's like turning your back on unrequited love.  You care about them.  You want them to be happy and you want to be the one who makes them smile.  Just a smile.  Maybe laugh, too.  You think about them all the time and know they don't give two shits about you and probably never will.  Not like how you care about them.  And it's not even like you want them to reciprocate.

Just accepting what you feel about them is enough sometimes.  You don't want them to scream, "Oh my God!  I feel the same way!  Let's get fucking married and live forever and never, ever be apart even for a second!  I gotta poop, come with me!"

No.  Then it just gets weird.

But we all know how this ends, don't we?  You let your feelings be known, they inform you how they might be a bit flattered, that it's awkward, and they don't feel the same about you.

It's a little death.  A piece of you feels like it got infected with Ebola and died in a shitty hospital in Africa covered in feces and surrounded by flies.  You might drag that rotting piece of you around for a bit, not wanting to give it up, but flies will lay their eggs.

It's okay, let it go.

Death is awesome!  Death is just the end of a level.  It's just crossing the state lines into a state with all new drinking laws and cheaper taxes.  It's a state where the cops don't know about your past history with explosives and illegal uses for peanut butter.

Death is when you don't have to pay the tab on all the shit you ordered at a restaurant.  Forget the bills, you're dead!

The little deaths in our lives are for the best.  It's when we walk away from things that no longer work for us like a puddle of vomit on the sidewalk on a hot, August day.  We don't need it, so don't carry it.
It's okay if they don't love you.  Really.  You don't need their love to exist.  If you needed love to exist, then there would be more chemical and genetic imperatives to make it happen.  Sure, we can pro-create.  Ask any teenager about that.

But there is a huge difference between a chemical reaction on a body part and the emotional connection between humans.  We are so much more than a bag of disgusting chemicals.

So cleave off the emotional dead parts you're carrying around with you.  The unrequited loves, the jobs that no longer suit your needs or reward your efforts, the belongings you have sitting around collecting dust but for the life of you can't remember where they came from or why you even have them.

Let it go, it's okay.

I'm cleaving.  I'm getting rid of shit.  I'm turning my back and walking away.  I'm taking the dead pieces, burying them in the sand like fish heads in a garden, and planting seeds the aliens gave to me. Whatever grows there isn't my problem.

Let it go, the stump will only hurt for a short while.  Don't pick the scab.  Let is heal over and be done with it all.

It's going to be okay.  

Demon Wanted: Inquire Within

Why is everybody so fucking squeamish about demonic activity?

Today I was at the local bar getting my hot wings when somebody mentioned something about their house being haunted.  I normally don't talk to anybody in bars because usually they're drunk and saying stupid shit.  Most bar conversations are really just advertisements for low IQs.

But no, this one got my attention, so I asked her about it.

"So this started about three months ago.  Now in the middle of the night I get knocking on my walls."

"How many knocks?"

"Three at a time.  Always in threes."

"Any foul smells?"

"Yes!  We get this horrible smell all the time!"

I guess I was smiling.  I hadn't realized it.

"Why are you smiling?  Do you think I'm joking?"

"No.  I'm smiling because I think you have a demon."

The lady had a stupid look on her face anyways but she really seemed confused now.

"So why are you smiling?"

"Because demons are cool and I've been looking for one.  When can I come over?"

After that, the lady started quoting the Bible and saying she was going to call her priest to come over or whatever.  I was too pissed off to pay attention after that.

I've been looking for a demon for years.  Do you realize how hard they are to find?  I once got really excited because I'd heard about some kid that possessed but then the family got an exorcism and that was the end of that.  Really pissed me off, too.

So if anybody has a demon in their house, or the know of one, please let me know.

Thanks!

It's a Dark & Stormy Night...

Right now as I write this, it's a dark and stormy night.

No, really.  We've got a storm blowing through and my cell phone keeps annoying me with flash flood warnings because of all the rain we've been having.

We writers aren't supposed to use the line, "It's a dark and stormy night."  Maybe it's because the line is a cliche.  We're supposed to use our Big Boy Words.  Dark and stormy doesn't convey much.

It pissed more rain than an incontinent skid row bum after a case of Old Milwaukee.  

How's that?

There are always other ways of saying things.  But I really love "It was a dark and stormy night." There's just something cool about it.  It is plain and direct.  

But we can't say it.  

So tonight isn't a dark and stormy night.  It's a shitty night.  Cold wind howls and lightning flashes as rain stabs down like chilly little knives.  But really, you know all of that just means it's a dark and stormy night, right?  

It doesn't matter what fluff or purple prose I come up with, it's still just a dark and stormy night.  

It's a melancholy night.  It's sitting at a computer or by the phone and waiting for the chance to talk to the woman you care about.  It's wanting to hear her voice but you can't tell her that because if she thought you were bearing down on her like a freight train she would run like a white-tailed dear.  

It's a disjointed night.  It's a night where you want to sit and write but you're hungry and can't eat because your stomach just won't allow it.  So instead you watch a movie you've already seen and try not to think of Her or what you should be writing instead of fucking around online.  

It's an aggravating night because storms are much more interesting than making sure your character development actually happens at the right pace so your reader doesn't figure out too quickly your MC is a piece of shit.  

It's a self-indulgent night.  The current work in progress (WIP) has too much of yourself in it and the line between self-pity and backstory isn't very well defined.  So you go with it and put stuff on paper you hope your mother never sees.  

It's an annoying night.  You want to just put the words down on paper that are in your head.  You know what you want to say but for some reason it doesn't translate in all of that mess of a brain so you muddle through.  At the tip of your tongue is an eloquent paragraph of linguistic beauty and master wordsmithing but all you can get on paper is, "It was a dark and stormy night."  

It's a romantic night.  You just want to hang out with Her.  You want to feel her head on your shoulders as you two tell stories about past failures and glories.  You want to smell her hair and hear her breathe--nothing more.  You want to tell her jokes just so you can hear her laugh and see her smile.  Because tonight, like all good stormy nights, was made for couples to be together and just enjoy each other.  

But I need to get back to my WIP.  It's not easy but it has to be done.  I want to do it, too.  I got a novella submitted last week.  It was the first I've ever finished and submitted off--a big step forward for me.  But I've been resting on that for too many days and I need to get my shoulder back on the rock because it's not going to roll up the mountain by itself.  

So I'll enjoy this dark and stormy night for what it is and lament what it wasn't tomorrow.