Frightened Disturbed

We Are Falling

February

There Once Was a Prophet from Judah... Has Arrived

The book you all have been waiting for - There Once Was a Prophet from Judah: Biblical Limericks for Fun and Prophet - has arrived, at least at my house. And you can see just how excited my wife is about it.

Order your copy (or your seven or eight copies) now:

You can order it from the Wipf and Stock Customer Service line at 541-344-1528. 

or from the Wipf and Stock web site: There Once Was a Prophet from Judah

And if you are one of those who reads books on a Kindle, it will be available in 3 – 4 months.

My mother is proud of me for having published this, my second book. But she’s not going to like it as much as my first – Muted Hosannas - which is still available from Frontier Press.

A Dream of Hannibal

There Once Was a Prophet from Judah Is Available Now

Hurray and Huzzah! It is time to shout. My book – There Once Was a Prophet from Judah: Biblical Limericks for Fun and Prophet – is now ready for you to purchase. Yes. Yes. After what seems like months and months of waiting (seems like months and months because it has been months and months) the book is really, and truly in print.

And you can order your very own copy. Or you can order your very own seven or eight copies. I won’t stop you. Retail price is $23.00. For that price you are getting a collection of limericks spanning both the Old and New Testaments, as well as that mostly unread stuff in the Apocrypha, and a number of slightly not-so-biblical limericks. That’s several hundred limericks. But Wait! There’s more! You’ll also get the preface, written by my good friend, Joel Watts – who also has a couple of books available from Wipf and Stock. (And his book, Praying in God’s Theater, has an afterword written by me. Just sayin’…)

I should warn you, though, the limericks in There Once Was a Prophet from Judah are limericks and that means they tend to be … somewhat uncouth. Rough around the edges. They deal with unmentionable things. And in this, they are very much like the Bible, from which they have been drawn. Prepare to be stung, provoked, and irritated. Fair warning.

If, after all that, you’re still eager to purchase a copy (or seven or eight) the following will be helpful:

Immediately, starting today (02/20/2018), you can order it from the Wipf and Stock Customer Service line at 541-344-1528. 

It will be available from the Wipf and stock website in 2 weeks. 

It will be available from Amazon in 2 – 4 weeks. (Though, I think you can already pre-order it from Amazon…)
It will be available from Ingram in 4 weeks.

And if you are one of those who reads books on a Kindle, it will be available in 3 – 4 months.

My mother is proud of me for having published this, my second book. But she’s not going to like it as much as my first – Muted Hosannas - which is still available from Frontier Press.

ISBN 13: 978-1-5326-3818-3

Astronaut

Alien Shores Revisited

Alien shores revisited

Pontius Pilate Waits

Pontius Pilate, prefect and governor of Judaea, dressed in his full equestrian regalia, found himself alone in a room of pale stone. And though the room had no windows or visible sources of illumination, the room was radiant with light, as if the pale, sand-colored stones were themselves glowing.  He stood, silently, patiently waiting, but for what he did not know. How long had he waited? Hours? Days? He couldn’t say. He waited with stern nobility. He would not allow himself to be irritated. He would not allow his reputed furious disposition to flare up. He would wait.  And those responsible for his prolonged detention would have to answer to the sovereign authority of Caesar and the power of Rome.

As he waited, he could hear a murmuring crowd, a chanting mass of voices from somewhere nearby, but not visible to him. He could not make out what they were saying, but it seemed to him that they said his name at regular intervals in their repeated litany.

After an indeterminate time a thin man came into the room carrying a small sheaf of cream-colored note cards. “Mr. Pilate,” he said, extending his right hand, palm turned flat sideways.

Pilate stared at him, at his hand with disdain. He crossed his arms against his chest and said. “What am I doing here? Where is here? Who is responsible for this?”

“Oh, Mr. Pilate…” said the thin man. “Yes, I can understand your confusion. This must seem odd. And, indeed, it is odd. There has been an unfortunate mix up in some of the necessary paperwork. But, do not worry too much; the man in the office at the end of the hall is working, even now, to clear up the confusion. He will have it all sorted out quickly, I assure you.”

Distracted for a moment by the chanting which again seemed to include his name, Pilate said, “What is that damned noise? Why are they mentioning me in their murmuring?”

“Yes, the Brothers and Sisters do speak of you, it’s true. And an honor. Yes. You, my lord, are one of only three individuals that they mention by name. Imagine that! Out of the whole of human history, out of all the billions of souls that have lived, out of all those that will ever exist, you are singled out in their declarations.”

“Tell them to stop,” Pilate demanded. “They must stop. I won’t have my name bandied about by strangers like that.”

The thin man quivered. “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t think that’s possible. They are part of a divine convocatio. They have been summoned, called out for this. You understand, yes?”

Pilate glared at the thin man in inflexible silence. The thin man trembled. He fumbled the cards in his hand and they drifted to the floor. He knelt down to scoop them up. He stood again, shuffling the cards, trying to put them back into their proper order.

“What am I doing here?” Pilate demanded.

“My lord,” the thin man said nervously. “You must understand the need to reward the wicked and punish the good.” He hesitated and re-read the card in his hand. “You see.” He tore the card in half. “There has been a terrible mix up here. Things are out of sorts, as I said. But it will all be cleared up soon. We’re sorting it all out.”

And he held up two of the cards for Pilate to examine. One read: EXINANITIO. The other: EXALTATIO. 

“You understand, yes?”

Pilate snorted, and made a half turn away from the quivering little man. “I must be released. You cannot keep me here. Send me back to Rome, I insist.”

“My lord,” the little man answered. “You cannot return to Rome, not at this time. The Tiber is still reeling with a storm of demons. You are not welcome there.” He shuffled the cards again and then said, “You could go to Switzerland, I suppose. There is a mountain there for you.” He read from the card again. “Though, there may be a dragon there. I’m not sure how you’d feel abou…”

“Away with you!” Pilate said. “Leave and find someone who can speak as an equal to me, someone with rank. I will not quibble any longer with a lowborn slave such as you.”

The thin man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”  He nodded again and left the room.

After a moment alone, Pilate shouted after him, “I am pure from the blood of the Son of God!” There was no response. He shouted again, “I am pure from the blood of the Son of God, damn it!”

Alien Shores

We Have a Cover - There Once Was a Prophet from Judah

The wait has been long, but it’s almost here- my new book: There Once Was a Prophet from Judah: Biblical Limericks for Fun and Prophet, has a cover- a great cover, and will be going to press by the end of the week.  Huzzah and whatnot!

I’m sure that you’ll want to buy a copy or seven. Buy one for your neighbor, your pastor, your librarian... Buy a copy for your family, your friends - buy one for your enemies, even.

Sphere

A Message from the Man in the Office at the End of the Hall

The man in the office at the end of the hall is a small quiet man, thin and bespectacled. He arrives at the office promptly and precisely at seven every morning. He is never late. The office at the end of the hall is as clean and uncluttered as its sole occupant. The walls are lined with deep, wooden filing cabinets like those formerly used in libraries around the world. On the desk is an Underwood typewriter and a stack of cream colored message cards.

There is a knock at the door. He stands, straightens his grey, felt suit, and steps to the door. He opens the red mahogany door to find a sheaf of documents in the wooden organizer. He retrieves them, gives them a cursory glance, and then closes the door. At his desk, he sets down the documents, uses his thumb to carefully align their edges. After reading the top paper in the stack, the man in the office at the end of the hall places one of the cream colored message cards into the Underwood typewriter, and begins a message:

Mr. Carter,

You have made the fundamental mistake

of confusing sputum and sputnik.

She did not kiss you.

There may be water on Mars,
but it is not for you.

You are sick, infectious even.

The message completed, he rolls the card from the typewriter and stands. He takes the card to the appropriate filing drawer: Ca - Cl. He pulls the drawer out, thumbs through the cards, arranged alphabetically. He files the message and closes the drawer. The man in the office at the end of the hall returns to his desk to continue his work.

President Trump Labels Dissent Treason

The poor snowflake, president Donald Trump, has his feelings hurt by those who wouldn’t applaud his every utterance during the State of the Union address. He was put off by their “bad energy.” He called them “death,” and “unAmerican,” and even “treasonous.”  

The sad, little man doesn’t seem to understand what democracy means, how a democratic republic works, or the history of American political disagreement. 

It’s a sad state of affairs when our opponents cannot be said to be reasonable participants, and that they must hate our country because they have a different understanding of what it means to make America great. Instead we veer towards a fascist dictatorship, where opposition isn’t tolerated and dissent is labeled treason. He’s not just a sad, little snowflake; he’s a dangerous threat. 

Bottlecaps