What is this?

the beginning and the end

I have seen the love of God, I'd even be so dramatic, as to say I have tasted it. I have tasted the blood, sweet and salty; real and warm; startling and comforting. I can’t bear the truth that it presents. I can’t stand to think of the bread melting in the mouths of the molested church; an organization so tainted, so deceived and drugged its demise passes into the tingling haze of numbness and apathy. Truly the body has fallen asleep, but the eyes still look to and fro’ in search of righteousness. The cult has been created; the devil has done it, turning the passionate into freaks, the communal to communists, and right into bigots. I can’t believe my eyes, as if they are too stigmatized to perceive the truth, it’s just too far gone. I look at an entity set forth to execute the desire of a loving God-head, (and to benefit from the exercise) bringing disaster one by one to a lost and listless world. I watch the church of “Jesus” destroying more lives than it ever saved, using tools like the “sinner’s prayer” to convince people the fires of hell are guaranteed gone; all the while holding a man made standard over the “new convert” as the surety of the convert’s authenticity.

I don’t believe that I can see such grave, yet willing, error on the part of those who claim to belong to the King. I can’t believe the sieve that is used to filter the scriptures into what’s convenient for opinion propagation and somehow completely opposite of the God who supposedly wrote what a committee of men canonized. There seems to be some conspiracy of stupidity, where some asshole fabricates what the so-called “moral majority” accepts as Christian. This moral conspiracy seems to be nothing more than five sexually repressed idiots who can’t stop masturbating; and whom have so decided to remove all possible temptation from the face of the earth. Down with breasts, clad or no; up with Jesus. Are you serious, Teletubbies are implanting immorality in my toddler? Wow, I thought it was the hypocritical church that tells the widow no on her gas bill in January because “our benevolence fund is depleted,” while they sit on trusts totaling more than her annual income, while touting building fund support from her this week at church. I thought it might have been the glaring contradiction between this afore mentioned and the preceding standard that proceeded the failing pseudo-churches we fabricate today. Oh no, that standard is archaic, “God gave us common sense” we can’t give to every beggar that sets foot on the grounds. What is the standard the Word sets? I am pretty sure it’s a little different. We talk about a literal translation, yet somehow forsake the very principles that established those words. We must establish morality and order, yeah, cause that’s what Jeshua did.
But down with tattoos and spongebob that damned queer! He’s convincing us that the affections of men are God, because the devil is like a wolf in sheep’s…. so subtle as to sneak in the home via cartoons or toddler idiotizers, er I mean shows. (By the way, it is a worse testimony that we are letting are children in front of a tv for long enough to even attempt enduring the “googooing” of carpet covered aliens or whatever the hell a teletubby is. ) And since when does Jerry Falwell have time to watch such trash. I think the devil is even more subtle, after all the sheep’s clothing would not be a teletubby but a supposed “man of God.”

My point is simple, the church as we know it, is a complete lie, full of contradictions and fabrications, designed to control society unto such convolution. I believe the answer has quietly faded into but an ignored whisper in the hearts of men who are missing the manifestation of God themselves. I am tired of men more committed to establishment than God, let alone people (as a commitment to either is impossible without the other).
I choke on their doctrine even now. Bad words.

a father

I never knew my father, never really had the chance. Oh, sure its been a whirlwind of emotion. From Father-Son deals, sports, to pretty much anything I have always had that hole. Not that I am complaining, that hole has left a lot of room for some things. I see people, I mean really see people. I look for their heart, their humanity, their needs. I don't think I'd be so willing to see these things if I didn't so strongly need and want. I think I'd be conceited if I had the security a father provides. I am already self-centered. When I see the broken or profound, I usually weave it into some muse that in and of itself is used to validate me, as if I were profound and inspiring just for opening my eyes. Its not about the eloquence and art, its about the fact that I saw it...gross. If I had a father, I probably would have never noticed the dying eyes that cross my path everyday. I would be even more self involved. And it would be something like sports or sales that would validate me...I'd have the security to dare to achieve without it being a matter of an open door for the naysayer that promises my inadequacy. I watch how Rex, a young man who's father is one of the finest men I have ever known, carries himself. When Rex shoots a basketball, I don't think he has this inner dialogue debating the accuracy of his impending shot, nope...just shoot! Somehow that comes down to fatherhood for me, I can't logic it out, but its consistent in all that I see. ah, I am on the verge of digression, standard (soon I will blame my inability to stay on task on my lack of parenting,just wait and see)...anyway I would be secure, and thus achieve on level proportionate to my athletic ability making me consumed with that aspect of my life, no longer concerned with the muse that validates me. Maybe I wouldn't need to see humanity if my own were good enough, and maybe growing up with a father would make it that.

I look at some friends of mine and it disturbs me so much. They are these great beautiful people who live life well. I waver between jealousy and insecurity, but never both together, that would be too honest. I watch how well he listens and executes relationships, and I can't see past my own problems anymore to do that. I think I could once. I really want him to know I admire and love he and his wife, but I also want that from someone. They are truly superior to me, more disciplined, more loving, better read, better people. It makes me want to find some couple and be that to them, glimmering gold to their dull whatever. I need to find some dull whatevers. They're the kind of people that always leave you hiding from yourself, your messes, your thoughts, your religion, just that damned good. But they're different, because they carry your load too, they press you through. Even when it takes work, they listen and love.
I bet he'd be a better dad than me.

I'm so scared of being a father. First of all I have all this rage, stuff just makes me mad, really mad. I don't think that will ever change, my passions are deep, and part of me, an integral part. This rage and this passion are made of the same stuff. I don't know how to be different. I don't want my baby growing up fearing that rage, or worse, sharing it. I am a mess, physically, spiritually, emotionally. Outside my house right now are six cars, five are mine, two of which run. I don't want to be that guy. I hope God reads blogs, I need help. I can't ever find my damn anything, right now I don't know where my keys, phones, palm pilot, wallet, check book are- vague clues on some of that, but most of it is very lost. I am a hypocrite, I have tasted the love of God, seen His glory, and operate outside both in the midst of proclaiming it in front of 90 people. I abuse money, its not real to me, there's always more. I will pay for this, float this check, sell this, borrow money all in the same day without any taking care of any situation mentioned. i.e. buy a drill, overdraft my account, float a check from another source, then borrow money for dinner all in the same day, only to fix the problem by selling something near and dear for a loss.
I am obsessive compulsive. I can't handle messes, asymmetry, impatience, incorrect color use, so many things can drive me so mad. I over analyze everything (like you hadn't figured that out). I can usually tell you how many minutes a certain lyric is into a song within three seconds, all the while reading your every twitch and further contorting it into justification for my insecurity.
I struggle with so much. And now I have added another struggle into my life, this time it matters, really matters. This time its a baby. I can't yell at him, I can't control him, I can't criticize him, I can't spend his diaper money, I can't lose him. Scary.
I must admit, my biggest fear is that I won't love him. I only love so much, until you cut one time too many, then things change...you become just another dying soul to me, no more no less. My mother and I haven't spoken in 5 months, and I don't care if I ever see outside of a casket again. Truly, I care more about my cat then her.
She hurt me too many times, I anticipate her death. I don't want my child to even have the option becoming that to me. I can't handle the idea of not loving my son, not having any more to give him.

Pain

I wish I had read C.S. Lewis on this, I am sure he would offer some sort of articulation on the convoluted issue. I wish I could spell it out for people. I can't help but be amazed (and impressed) at their being suprised at pain. Its wierd because in some ways, the throw tempestous fits in anticipation, like a child about to get a shot, and cause themselves even more pain. Then once the pain arrives, they sulk in it, as opposed to letting it pass. Its kinda like they sulk in it, and anticipate more (flailing about inside), and perplex themselves with why questions, all simoultaneously. Why did this ever happen to me? Why does this hurt so bad? Why can't I stop hurting? Why does this get to me so bad? Why can't I change this? Nothing is worse than a hurt, confused, scared dog. Then people in their mad state bite, whoever they can, however they can, but deeper than they can conceive on their own. I met a woman recently who's life was as hard and painful as could be. She'd been beaten and raped repeatedly. Ran away from all of that...met the man of her dreams, fell in love, happy for twenty years, then watched that beloved husband die slowly of cancer. Incidently he was diagnosed with cancer 31 days after he was laid off, making his insurance null and void, leaving a mountain of debt. Next, maybe the devil will beseech God for her children. (JOB) I mean her life just stinks. The family that beat and raped her, are still stirring it up, even twenty years later. She comes to me, and asks for counseling. Me, a man who can't control his bowels (see 10/25 post), wept today because I couldn't find my keys, paycheck(s), and has more mistakes looming over his head than most. She wanted to know about pain, and why it won't pass. I had taught on grace and forgiveness, from Matthew 18. I had shared how we needed to forgive those around us (the obvious cliche) and had pressed those listening to consider whom they need to forgive. The woman had been fighting with her father, as most families do, only the piles of junk that the past held was starting to collapse and wounding any semblence of relationship might have been. Amazingly simple. For years, people had offered trite bull shit, avoiding an intimate and challenging conversation (because that might be painful) "God will use that for testimony" "Just pray about it" "God will take the pain away" What the hell? If God uses all things (Romans 8:28) than doesn't he use pain. In fact pain is what most of its about. I must love my brother as He loved them...I must die for them, moreover I must live for them...letting someone else's will dictate my every step. HURTING is natural, necessary, and guaranteed. Why do we fear it, I would rather hurt then live in fear. I would rather ache then live in denial and mediocrity. I would rather force my friend to succumb to God and His promise (heaven) then let some poor attempt at pacification fall short and make my God seem as a liar even if by mere association. Moths and thieves and rust wait to debunk the crap that Christians live for today. If we would ache for heaven, if we would anticipate heaven, we would be at peace. Every single person I have ever met that lived for Christ suffered. The Spirit will use pain here, but why do we expect to see some logical excerpt of His work. Pagans trust more than that. Now even as I write this I expect some attack, and fearfully so, but my focus is that which is to come (right now that focus is better said: is what is promised really to come?) not whether or not my mother is justified to unleash her scorn on me in some drunken slur. Truthfully it doesn't matter, but it always hurts. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, if there is no pain there is no absence, if there is no absence there is false contentment.
At some point humanity confused pain and effort, with a majority thinking that even the smallest exertion is pain. I however have further confused the situation, I confused pain and life. I don't know how to prevent, even sense the coming onslaught, as it is only life to me. Its only me juggling something, it'll be okay...and if peace comes, this self destructive thing comes along, where I destroy everything until I can fill that ever present need for pacification with pain. I am addicted to chaos and the destruction it brings. I love it, probably because it is so natural to me, so much so that itis essential

Don't stop to squeeze...

I am pretty stoked about having a place to ramble and humiliate myself, and even more so the idea of someone reading it, we'll start with a bang:

This morning I took some sort of herbal (say the h, its more fun) colon cleanse that my wife purchased. The results were startling, explosive to say the least. It took a good while to get cleaned up after the first go. Later that day I noticed some gaseousness, tried to supress (feared the shart) and failed (fear legitimized) so I waddled, ass clenched to the nearest toilet only to discover everything (most importantly my pants) was with out soil. Cool, but how could this be...you see after my first excretion I had to arduously work to clean up and some how left about nine to fifteen squares of Charmin Ultra Soft in my crack, coincidently saving my pants from the poop. Praise be. No, I don't have an exceptionally large butt, so as to lose this wad of poopy paper, one must conclude it was divine intervention...