Another Imaginary Conversation with a Real Roll: I Will not Fight the Argument

    Today was as cold as yesterday – though there was a bit more sun. And tomorrow will be colder still with more wind. I was relaxed after work. Tired but at ease. Resting on the couch, massaging my feet when he came back.

    “I do not permit, I will not allow, a woman to teach or otherwise assume authority over a man,” he said without preamble. Jump to. Ready. A surprise attack. “She can have no authority over any man. She must be quiet. Adam was formed first, then Eve. Adam first and he was not deceived. It was the woman that was deceived.”

    So this was the game? Round two? General ad hominem attack on my character and motive hadn’t brought him the satisfaction he expected, so he was back with another hoary old chestnut: weaponized scriptural attack.

    “What of Isaiah’s wife?” I asked in response to his opening gambit.

    “Who?”

    “Isaiah’s wife, the prophetess.”

    “No. No. She doesn’t count. She was only a prophet by nature of her relationship with the prophet Isaiah, and the fact that she bore his children.”

    “Is that what you think Paul meant when he said that women will be saved through childbirth rather than sola fide?”

    “You’re twisting…” He said as he shrank back, but only briefly. He smiled and turned again, smoothly pivoted, ready to flank me.

    “How about Miriam?” I asked before he could launch his next attack. “She was a prophet too.”

    “Yes. Yes, but only to other women.”

    “And Huldah?”

    “Who?”

    “She was a prophet in Jerusalem. The High Priest came to commune with her. To speak with her. He asked her questions and she advised him.”

    “I’m sure that can’t be…”

    “She’s the one who authenticated the Book of the Law discovered by King Josiah.” I pressed on before he could regroup. “And we can’t forget Noadiah. Though she may not be the best example, as she was condemned as a false prophetess. Still, there are prophets and false prophets and there are prophetesses and false. Remember her anyway. God does.”

    “Are you done yet?”

    “No. No. Never. We haven’t even mentioned Philip’s daughters yet – prophets each one, and none of them married. They held the role without a man.”

    He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there more?”

    “No. I’ve said enough, I think.”

    “Are you sure?”

    I said nothing, merely rubbed my weary feet.

    “For all your so-called examples from scriptures, you have nothing of the divine nature in you. You misread the scripture to your own destruction. But neither do you have a human nature. You are a void. Empty. Debase. And freely joined with Satan. You are the paradox of freedom. You do what you want. Say whatever comes into your little brain. And anything you say destroys the harmony of the universe.”

    I sighed. “So… I’m evil. You hate me and I’m evil.”

    "Yes and no. But in reverse. I love you. That’s why I confront your evil.”

    “You haven’t listened. And that’s not love.”

    “So argue, then. Stand up and fight. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

    “That’s not me. I will not fight the argument.”

    “But we do. We fight the darkness. We fight the darkness that is within you. Am I offending you? Do I make you cry? Step up. Step out. When the shock wears off You’ll feel better, but you’ll be screaming in the end.”

    Having made his attack and ignored my response, he disappeared again, departed from me – for a season. I’m sure I’ve not heard the last from him. Him or another one like him. Still, my feet felt better, somewhat, and I was ready to relax before work again tomorrow.

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll

     He came to me from out of the cold, wind and snow outside. I’d worked the day – hauling myself and letters and parcels through the snow, eight and a half miles. A long day and then more. I came home and shoveled my driveway and sidewalks. Tired and worn, I sat down to rest. And he came to me from out of the cold.

    “You’re a false teacher,” he said. Flat. Solid. No doubt, all conviction. “Satanic, even.”

    “We’ve gone over this already,” I grinned. “I’m a Methodist, not a monster.”

    “Whatever.” He waved me off and continued on. “God has a purpose and a plan with no exceptions. God’s authority will be acknowledged.”

    “Yes. God’s universal kingdom…”

    “Render obedience. Give what is due. You are a man and little else. You are a man and nothing more. You’ve come to destroy heaven and earth – jot and tittle. You do and teach the same. What you need…”

    “What I need is the nobler moments. The ideals realized and true.”

    He said nothing immediately so I offered him a drink. “I have some homemade lavender and lemon wine.” He sniffed at the glass I handed him before setting it down.

    “No rebellion – Christ is truth. And as long as sin commands you’re playing the wrong notes. Your lifestyle and pattern are all wrong. Stay away from children. I’ll tie the millstone around your neck myself. You’ve been warned.”

    “Give me grace upon the lips, hope and consolation, realized and true. In the law of love there is no injustice, no loss. The poor are not exploited and the workers enjoy the fruit of their labor. Every man beneath his own fig tree.”

    “Socialist crap. The pipe-dreams of Babylon. God never promised…”

    “Earth shall be fair, and all her people one. Not till that hour…”

    “God never promised that life would be fair. That’s completely unbiblical.” He paused and smoothed his hair into place. “Not only are you a false teacher of false idols and false doctrine, but you are a false convert as well.”

    He turned and went out and it was night.

The Bible and the Future Falling Away: A Forgotten Manifesto in Three Parts

 Yesterday's piece has been updated and expanded: 

The Bible and the Future Falling Away: A Forgotten Manifesto in Three Parts

A Faded Pamphlet:

    It’s already 1973 so we will be brief and to the purpose when describing what the future holds. We don’t have much time left. Let the future prove what the future will be. Dates are set and times are locked. The order of operations is settled and determined, friend.

    Who’s next? The fair and warm-hearted officers, inconsistent of honor. Unreliable virtue. Can you keep a secret?

    Events now past were predicted. Anticipate the same. Expectation leads to mental satisfaction. Psychological stability. The endowed man with a mind for thinking knows of future events and gives praise. In this latter half of the twentieth century, the later days of history, in as many as one hundred countries. Pulled up and returned. Rejoined and purposeful. Howbeit the things to come are difficult to recognize and understand? Do you not comprehend, even now? After all you’ve been shown?

    There have always been wars. There have always been famines and pestilence. Do you understand what this means? We have one week to get this right. There is nothing new about the counterfeits. Using actors to deceive many. Earthquakes, and fearful sights. Give my tongue a new disaster to describe.

    You appear to be a broken man. Meditating on suspense and suspension. You’ve lost your song. Do not interrupt the fear of failure. Unstoppable. Nothing now. Accept it and what will be.

    Everyone knows the devil breaks the law. Unjust laws. Subordination and the suspension of habeas corpus. They did the work of dictators. Stand down and release the hostage. Throw off shackles. Let liberty ring throughout the land, even if the founders never mentioned it.

    Interpret the words literally. By the letter and the word. History has proven the failure of the symbol. Adequate reason exists. Intermingled times and double reference. Repeat fulfillment. Purified, refined, and made white. This is how we know.

    How much was added in 1967? Remember Nixon? Worldly power. Street fighters and covert field agents. Confidence gives the people what they want. Confidence and whiskey. Normal people doing normal things in the normal way.

    Listen: some time may elapse – which will wreak havoc. This is expected. Has to be done. No way to get around the destruction. Logical deduction. Logical. Perfectly reasonable. The audible voice of the archangel has spoken. Every man in his own order. Open graves and sleeping corpses killed by the Beast. Not just possible. Probable. Expected.

    All major eschatological events are here. Are you good with computers? Do you listen to talk radio? Five crowns to be saved and the Eight of wands. Seven dispensations and seven swords. Speed. Come quickly. Never like and nevermore. Tomorrow’s world is real and will not wait. Friend, we don’t have much time left. Be warned. Be watching. Be wary.

***

Undated:

    How did it come to this? Why have I been allowed to linger? The threat was imminent, the disaster at hand. We were so sure. Nixon! Then Ford? And Carter? Reagan, maybe, but Carter? My wife has left. My car’s been repossessed. All that remains is a pile of unpaid bills and parking tickets. Listen: the general truth of things is clear and has been for some time, but opinion is divided. We know all about the rivalry of love and I don’t want to talk about the government right now.

    I saw the marks in the stone, ancient engravings. I read the words and I prayed. “Reveal the truth to me.” The stones were fused, without joints. No visible light between the cracks. No light, only silence. And then a whisper: “I’m not going to let this happen.” This was not a direct answer, but a statement implied. And if I have to explain it …

    Be warned. You will be subject to spiritual attack if you write or speak about this. Strange spiritual activity. People have died and been struck by lightning. Satan himself will come after you. You will need to be covered in prayer.

    Enter thy chambers and shut thy doors. Hide for a little moment until the indignation be overpast. Here – beneath the church basement, eating canned meat. I know God is over science, and math, and logic, and language. God is over secular humanist history. Be patient. Keep waiting for the indignation to pass. Such wonders. Such worry. Broken seals and blown out gaskets. Poured out bowls of vinegar and wrath. With sword. With hunger. With death. Weapons of fire. Weapons of dissipating smoke.

    What is it you want? What is it you pray for? Go away! Depart! The church, the true church is gone anyway. Lifeless as the blood of a dead man. Political signs and lying wonders. Grievous wolves from the gates of hell. Marvelous things and I’m all messed up. Turned from the desire of women. Forced to embrace the god of fortresses.

    Our hearts have to be pure. Remember this and look for the Antichrist on or about July 18^th.

***

Uploaded Three Hours Ago (548 views):

    We need to talk about a great opportunity. An investment to be made in the future – your future. An offer only extended to the elect. Pay attention. It is the gospel of multi-level marketing, and these words will change your life. Today is the day of your salvation.

    Mistakes were made in the past. No question. Admitted. Previous discussions were disappointing. As disappointing as people. The audience failed to understand. But now… Now is the time.

    The war with the saints wore on and on. Little was resolved. But the remainder of the Antichrist’s authority will still obtain power over all kinds of tongues. Names unwritten anywhere. Taking people away. Out of the earth. Out of the sea.

    Here’s the key – the mystery was and is not. But will be again. And soon, ascending out of the bottomless pit. The man of sin appears only once (this was the previous mistake) and then at the beginning of the end. This person has not yet appeared, but be assured – he is coming. With keen insight and boastful blasphemy.

    What is the beast? And what is his horn? Tell me what you know of the Arab-Israeli conflict and the Russian realignment. Tell me what you know of the financial opportunities in the middle east. Offshore drilling? AI technologies? Rare earth mineral rights? Think bigger. Empire data? Bigger...

    We looked at Gorbachev. We looked at Saddam (but only briefly – no one took him as a serious candidate). We considered Pope Francis, who for a time seemed to be hitting all the marks: Marxism, liberalism, acceptance of the gays, et cetera. But our attention has turned and turned again.

    Now we have these important post-time indicators. We have the stock reports. We have seen the signs. We have read the times. We understand now and better than before. Seen. Heard. Understood. Viewed through naked windows on the world. Watch the news. You’ll see it. Expensive sacrifices will cease. And their absence will validate the lack of evidence.

    International treaties and loans will be made. Military expenditures do not cease. Ask yourself: who is selling secret aircraft technology to Saudi Arabia? And why? The overspending of abominations will not cease. Capitalism thrives here. A rising tide. And the temple remains desolate. Better translated, consumed. The Syrian government hardly fits. Won’t last.

    So now is the time to invest. Gold. Silver. Crypto. A 401Kingdom economy. That’s the future.

    Like and Subscribe are the prayers of the saints.

*For entertainment purposes only. Not intended as financial advice.

The Bible and the Future Falling Away: A Forgotten Manifesto

    It’s already 1973 so we will be brief and to the purpose when describing what the future holds. We don’t have much time left. Let the future prove what the future will be. Dates are set and times are locked. The order of operations is settled and determined, friend. 

    Who’s next? The fair and warm-hearted officers, inconsistent of honor. Unreliable virtue. Can you keep a secret?

    Events now past were predicted. Anticipate the same. Expectation leads to mental satisfaction. Psychological stability. The endowed man with a mind for thinking knows of future events and gives praise. In this latter half of the twentieth century, the later days of history, in as many as one hundred countries. Pulled up and returned. Rejoined and purposeful. Howbeit the things to come are difficult to recognize and understand? Do you not comprehend, even now? After all you’ve been shown?

    There have always been wars. There have always been famines and pestilence. Do you understand what this means? We have one week to get this right. There is nothing new about the counterfeits. Using actors to deceive many. Earthquakes, and fearful sights. Give my tongue a new disaster to describe.

    You appear to be a broken man. Meditating on suspense and suspension. You’ve lost your song. Do not interrupt the fear of failure. Unstoppable. Nothing now. Accept it and what will be.

    Everyone knows the devil breaks the law. Unjust laws. Subordination and the suspension of habeas corpus. They did the work of dictators. Stand down and release the hostage. Throw off shackles. Let liberty ring throughout the land, even if the founders never mentioned it.

    Interpret the words literally. By the letter and the word. History has proven the failure of the symbol. Adequate reason exists. Intermingled times and double reference. Repeat fulfillment. Purified, refined, and made white. This is how we know.

    How much was added in 1967? Remember Nixon? Worldly power. Street fighters and covert field agents. Confidence gives the people what they want. Confidence and whiskey. Normal people doing normal things in the normal way.

    Listen: some time may elapse – which will wreak havoc. This is expected. Has to be done. No way to get around the destruction. Logical deduction. Logical. Perfectly reasonable. The audible voice of the archangel has spoken. Every man in his own order. Open graves and sleeping corpses killed by the Beast. Not just possible. Probable. Expected.

    All major eschatological events are here. Are you good with computers? Do you listen to talk radio? Five crowns to be saved and the Eight of wands. Seven dispensations and seven swords. Speed. Come quickly. Never like and nevermore. Tomorrow’s world is real and will not wait. Friend, we don’t have much time left. Be warned. Be watching. Be wary.

A Hymn for Christ the King Sunday

Happy Antifa Sunday. This is a hymn I wrote for our church service this morning. 

Let congress, and parliament,
kings, and premiers and presidents,
Confess the truth and now repent
Before the King.

Confess that we have gone to war,
Killed our enemies and ten thousand more,
We’ve ignored the voice of the poor
And suffering.

All our violent, warring states,
Founded on vicious crimes of hate,
And built with greed insatiate
Are worthless things.

May all earthly empires fall,
Scattered hard and not recalled,
Let the Lord’s victorious call
Forever ring.

Let the whole world be amazed
By the one who died and was raised,
Lives forever to be praised
And hailed as King.

All the humble and broken ones,
Neglected daughters and forgotten sons,
Will be like the stars and the sun
Bright shining.

Christ the King, with nail-scarred hands,
Will bless the people of the lands
Who acquiesce to Love’s demands
For living.

Les Anges Danse Macabre (With Medieval Marginalia and Footnotes)

 It is a distracted funeral procession that follows me
eating and drinking – baked meats and black basil wine
before returning to their sober work.

Anthropomorphic Death dances me to my unmarked grave
with church bells at the midnight hour
the deceased and the debased join the roundel.

“When the feasts and festivals crowd close no division holds

saints and revenants dance together till dawn.”

-From the Winter Folios. Unknown illuminator, 13^th c.

Then, when the song is done and the rooster crowed
The dead will rest as Calvinists mark the day
with gunshots and congressional resolutions.

Come in disguise, on this night of silence, it will not matter
Stopping and starting and stumbling through cues
We will know who from whom.

“The choirs grow thin and the dead take up the missing harmonies.

The Lord has predestined both the song and the silence.” *

-From the Winter Folios. Unknown illuminator, 13^th c.

There is no need to explain. We saw the orchestra
move into the choir – both out of step and out of tempo.
This does not confuse. Neither this nor the organs destroyed by flood.

A chapel is built on the site of the demolished church.
But I have no time to wonder over stones
I will be home and dreaming soon, my love.

* Scholars remain puzzled by the chronological difficulties presented by these marginalia. What did a 13^th century illuminator, working in Armenia, know of the 16^th century, Swiss reformer, his theology or his followers’ predilection for firearms? Several theories have been proposed – ranging from the obvious allegations of fraud and forgery (though paleographic and manuscript studies seem to preclude this) to more bizarre, speculative ideas of time displacement (which is not to say time travel). Perhaps the anonymous illuminator was gifted with prophetic vision or second sight. Though perplexing, the marginal notes appear authentic.

November 22 - Burning into Biting

 I drove east into a lavender and pink sunrise, burning orange. 

On the radio: Brain Wash the Masses! Today!

Now make the obvious evasions to hide your misogyny. Necessary if you want to deny yourself the cake and eat it too. 

It’s the GLOBAL ELITE using guilt and shame to force their demands. Using fear and guilt to motivate you into submission. 

I drove home, westward into the deepening gloom, biting orange. 

Oh Me! Oh Life! With Slight Modification

Now shall we consider the sunflower – as our template?
Oh me! Oh life! Foolishly. Optimally. Question and answer
on the head of the hum, and how?

Years ago, shortly before the broken union,
quiet desperation and well-deserved breakdowns
no purpose. no life. no solution.

But

Bright sunflowers pointing to American poets
writing among the miraculous.
Humbler than the industrial revolution.

Oh me! Oh life! With slight modification.

They Shall Not Labor in Vain – A Christian Socialist Ideal

     Here’s the thing - I know the Bible doesn’t explicitly endorse Socialism. It would be anachronistic to say otherwise. Socialism, as an economic theory, did not exist in the times that the Bible was written. But neither did capitalism for that matter. But when asked (and sometimes even without the question) I tell people that I learned my socialism from Jesus, and the Hebrew prophets rather than from Karl Marx. There's no specific chapter and verse that says "socialism,"  but the ideas, the underpinning values of socialism are scattered throughout the Hebrew and Christian scriptures.

    Case in point – the prophet Isaiah in chapter 65 of his eponymous book (or more probably, Third-Isaiah…) describes the coming new heaven and new earth of God’s creation by saying:

    They shall build houses and inhabit them;
    they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
    They shall not build and another inhabit;
    they shall not plant and another eat
    for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,
    and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
    They shall not labor in vain…
    Isaiah 65: 21 – 23a

    Labor creates all wealth. Capitalism exploits labor to redistribute the profits to the owners, providing only enough to keep the workforce from dying. But in the Kingdom of God, individuals are able to enjoy the work of their hands. Their labor is not in vain. The wealth they create is not siphoned off to the vaults of a hoarding billionaire.

    This is justice. This is righteousness. This is the Christian Socialist ideal. Heaven on earth.

We're Livin' Life

 

    Sometimes while I'm out delivering the mail I sing. Here's a song I wrote as I walked my route this weekend. Someone joked that I think I'm the next John Prine. Ha. 

    Apparently I skipped a verse when I recorded it. Ah well... There were five or six other verses that I wrote and discarded even before I sat down today to record it. And it's possible that I might add more later. I dunno. 

Rain is knocking leaves from the trees,
rain is falling down on me
yeah, I don’t mind.

No speaking angel on the telephone,
I’m listening to the dial tone
yeah, dial again.

Welcome home my traveling friend,
drag your dusty bones on in
yeah, tell me where ya’ been.

Stand the table, turn the lights,
you and I’ll stay up all night
yeah, with some homemade wine.

Tellin’ tales and trading stories,
remembering all our faded glories
yeah, remember when?

Fanaticism to the right,
materialism hangs on tight
yeah, we’re caught in between.

Faith is an ally in the search for truth,
both would help in the voting booth
yeah, I’m radicalized.

The rich get richer and the poor stay poor,
they have it all and they still want more
yeah, they say that greed is good.

I’m afraid that I can say no more,
you’ve heard all of this before
yeah, and nothing’s changed.

All day long with snow and rain,
every day another pain
yeah, we’re livin’ life.

Prophet of the People

 

A self-proclaimed prophet of the people
Living high on the masses
Shifting blame, unaccountable

Enthusiastic, belligerent ignorance
Facts as you know them are false
Persistent errors of your propaganda machine

George Washington didn’t wear wooden teeth
Mussolini didn’t run the trains on time
Jesus is not an American

I’ve never liked the formula you use
The throwaway cringe
And ruined atmosphere

A house divided disaster
Anti-intellectual disorder
With nothing to learn

Questions Before the Trial

 

    Was it a day like this – real unreal – back and forth before the trial? With limited information, fixed inflexible? Zero sum maneuvers for a cantankerous minority.

    Was it something like the time – before the end – a contemptuous and cursing generation? Cruel. Contentious. Blank and scrambled by a practiced prejudice. An incredulity of another kind – all weak links and whipping boys. Barking dogs and criminal liability.

    Was it the noise and distraction of your own design – the echo of your own desires? Bloody sacrifice and ritualized verbal abuse. Bleeding from a conformist facelift. Strange standards of privilege and spite.

    Was it the chasm between death and fear?
    Was it the delusion of power?
    Was it the movie version of your grandiose ambition?
    Was it a physical phobia?

    Was it a battle – won or lost – destructive, self-destructive? Manipulative monopoly without moderation. Privatized supremacy. Ownership of damaged goods. A measure of power, by wealthy, by blood, by marriage, ascendant.

    Was it covered up?
    Was it destroyed?

Trump and No Christ

Now by inclusion of the eye is tremendous international power made ready to save everyone
by the always and forever, by diversity and distortion
but without respect for alleged Christian atrocities

New honor and stand out actions are external to any opposition eyes
disobedience days are already happening here in America,
language cannot stand and symbols of disbelief are put to restless end

Nevermind the Empire, states merging and borders crossing, old regimes change and fall
the first of numerous rules support all false convictions
of AI agents, CIA operatives and other mechanical citizens

Great Israel stands like new lightning and old strength in eastern skies
irrespective of globalist needs – submission on the now
religion and economics are believers’ pressure and no thrust

No other God option, presidential believers will not fear to celebrate
Trump and no Christ – dash and crash and loose the knots
running with rifles, falling with flames down the stairs

Reflexive angels clarify our light and music upon the thrust of the stage
ready with performative regret and showful apology
catching and screaming the new Roman creed

Holy hands under the doddering governance of the head slipping into decline
Mixed country concurrence and compound fractures
broken trust does not go dark – full truth in the old way and faith.

The Americhimera

    This is a first draft excerpt from my novel-in-progress - entitled Dispatches from an American Battlefield. It's a political satire, a theological critique, and a dystopian autofiction in a style blending William Burroughs' cut-up/fold in technique (with somewhat more coherence) and elements of PKD inspired paranoia, exploring existential / absurdist themes. Something like a broken, religious Vonnegut - but not quite. Part Charles Bukowski, part John Prine (both USPS letter carriers like the narrator). It's part pastoral reflection, part political pamphleteer. 

The Americhimera

I saw it in a dream – or a vision by night – but I saw it with my own true eyes. The four winds of heaven were stirring up the seas, and there it came before me, beside the river, a ram like a goat, that was a lion with eagle wings and serpent tail. The Americhimera. Pushing westward, northward, southward in its ever expanding manifest destiny. She went where she would. She did what she pleased and became strong. Strong but never great.

Rushing on her enemies. Ruled by rebellion. Paralyzed by elite luxury. Thus it is with the wicked. Subduing nations, turning them to dust with her sword. Unscathed on a path untravelled in time. Easy. Motion generating attention and reality. He who has ears to hear, let him hear – when you know you simply know.

And this beast was told, “Arise, devour the poor. Kill innocent people. Start many wars.”

And this she did.

John the Revelator Needs To Dream Again

 I've written and recorded (lofi - in the backyard with lots of wind) another song. I fumbled a little in the penultimate verse, but I don't mind if you don't mind. 

John the Revelator will show you the world,
the kingdom of heaven with banner unfurled.
Count up the cost
and restore what’s been lost.
John the Revelator will show you the world.

John the Revelator, tell me what do you see?
Tell us the things that yet could still be.
We want to believe
and from heaven receive.
John the Revelator, tell me what do you see?

John the Revelator, tell me what do you hear?
The voice of the thunders in your ears -
What did they say
on that black day?
John the Revelator, tell me what did you hear?

John the Revelator, should we look to the east
for the rise of a man who acts like a beast?
Or is he right here
living out loud and clear?
John the Revelator, should we look to the east?

John the Revelator, Babylon will fall.
It has become the home of all
the demons and beasts
who leave us no peace.
John the Revelator, Babylon will fall.

John the Revelator, tell me is this the end,
the moment in time towards which all things bend
or is there still time
to sing another rhyme?
John the Revelator, tell me is this the end?

John the Revelator needs to dream again,
stop what he’s doing and pick up his pen
‘cause all that he said
has gone out of our head.
John the Revelator needs to dream again.

Sing the Penitential Hymns (updated and recorded)

     I posted the words to this song the other day. After adding two additional verses and writing a melody for it, I sang it at church this morning. 

Sing the Penitential Hymns

Sing the penitential hymns
of modern, troubled saints
who watch the news
with breaking hearts
and whisper their complaints

We struggle on the narrow way
to enter through the gate
collapsing now
and stumbling too
we cannot bear the weight.

The imprecision of the words
that lay upon our tongues
the choked off prayers
and treasured hymns
by voices no longer sung

Oh Christ of all and lord of light
oh emperor of love
light the light and fan the flame
that will restore all things right

The Terrible Silence of God - Cover

 My new and soon to be released novel - The Terrible Silence of God - now has a cover.  You'll soon be able to order a copy for yourself, your mom, your spouse, and anyone else you might know. 

Not Revelation, but Revision

 

There is a war going on at the frontier of freedom
it happens every week and too many times today
a bedroom fire, a tidal wave, and strung out junkies
collapsed in blood on the bathroom tile

One reason, and let the reasonable reader beware,
these rude desecrations before the inglorious collapse
a failure of timing – incorrectly placing events
out of order, erroneous and untrue

Everyone’s got the cash but no one’s got the time
to rebuild an entire age into a single event
this chicken sickness will take you, headaches and lethargy
but don’t get paranoid – you’re not going anywhere

Cunningly Devised Fables

Oh the rich, dark, irony of the American Evangelical willfully, belligerently following President Donald Trump, the compulsive, serial liar.  "...for we did not follow cunningly devised fables...," they might say. And in this, they would be right. He is anything but cunning or clever...

(2 Peter 1:16)

Trump's Peace Prize

 

Trump said he threatened to bomb Moscow if Putin attacked Ukraine, 2024 fundraiser tapes show

Psalm 52 (Why Do You Boast?)

 

Why do you proudly boast
oh, mighty one,
of all the mischief
that you have done?
Your tongue’s a razor,
cutting cruel.
Why do you proudly boast
oh, mighty one?

That is why God will snatch
and strike you down.
And when he does
the faithful will say,
“He would not trust in God,
only wealth and crime.”
That is why God will snatch
and strike you down.

So, like an olive tree
in the house of God,
I will put my trust
in faithful love.
Praise you forever,
for what you’ve done,
like an olive tree
in the house of God.

It Begins with Shouting,

 shouting loud
We cannot ignore the unqualified distress of these days
the constant cycling from beginning until now and on to never again
A price will be paid
    for exploding cars and rockets falling from the sky
    for elimination juries and empire machines
    for unreliable alarms before and after the floods
A price will be paid

Louder still. Shout it out.

There are newspapers of misery
and newspapers of nonsense
that play the same dynamic upon the stage
    for hour after hour
I see the devils of the world
but I will not accept them.
The weapons of misery
the weapons of despair
    are deadly as the weapons of hate

The future depends on you, on me, on us
on our reason, on our behalf
but we have certainly lost our eyes
unreliable sight and no vision
we have lost our way.

Loudest now – but what does it mean?

Empathy is dead and the villains are still kicking our corpse.

Modern American Evangelical Apostles’ Creed

 

I believe in God the Father of America,
     creator of heaven and earth.

I believe in Donald J. Trump, his favorite son, our President.
He was fairly elected by the American people
     despite a totally rigged election.
He suffered under the liberal Democrats
was almost fatally shot, and wounded.
He descended into the liberal hellscape.
On the third day he rose again.
He ascended to the Presidency
     and is seated at the Resolute Desk.
He will come again for a third and fourth term
     to judge his enemies among the living and the dead.

I believe in the MAGA spirit,
the unfettered free market,
that all communists hate America,
that any criticism of Israel is antisemitism,
that Ivermectin cures the body,
and law and order forever. Amen.

Try Again

She’s going to cry
but don’t ask any questions
Stop and stay
or go away
just go away

Warm air and cold feet
the old man’s bones are creaking
What did you say
about life
going on?

Wipe your fingers on your shirt
clean the stains from your hands
Drink some water
have an aspirin
try again

Someone is screaming
but the door slams closed
Run up the stairs
and open the window
it can be done

Are you all right?
I don’t know
What do you need?
They don’t bother me
but that’s not true

Wipe your fingers on your shirt
clean the stains from your hands
Drink some water
have an aspirin
try again

Making Mar-A-Lago Face in the Bar

     I was in a sleazy local bar drinking gin and listening to the band, Loose Change and Whiskey, stumble through another round of twelve bar blues. That’s when I saw her – her face pulled taut and tight like a catcher’s mitt. Leather face and swollen lips like an inflated parade balloon. Her blond hair was piled high in a heap on top of her head. She wore some stars and stripes emblazoned blouse with spangles and sequins. She signaled to the bartender for another rum and coke.

    This bizarre, inverted peahen was signaling her MAGA reproductivity with collagen and silicone. She sipped at her drink and made eyes at me. At least that’s what I assume she was trying to. She didn’t blink. I don’t think she could. And her eyebrows didn’t move. The face-lift and Botox injections didn’t leave her face with much flexibility.

    I nodded, not because I was interested, only offering the basest level of civility. She misconstrued, however, and came around the bar to where I was sitting. “F – Yeah!” she shouted over the music. “I love this place.”

    Up close her orange spray tan skin looked like a terrible leather sofa. Worn. Old and sat upon. “It’s great,” I said – being polite but nothing more. I sipped my gin attentively. She took the hint, but didn’t like it.

    “Well get outta’ my goddamned way if you don’t like it here,” she snarled.

    But I could see it all carved into her plastic surgery – political conformity under the scalpel’s edge – whiplash chaos and her gleeful willingness – her eager anticipation – to shoot trespassers and illegal immigrants. It’s not a reluctant, if it must be done, attitude She wants to do it. She’s waiting for the chance to shoot first and ask questions later. Deport the immigrants. Shoot the misperceived threat before it can become real. She wouldn’t mourn it as a failure. She wouldn’t grieve it as a loss and loss of life. She will celebrate and ask for more. And she would cross state lines to do it.

    “Feed them to the alligators” is her new “feed them to the lions.” Cruelty is the point. For her pleasure. For her satisfaction and her joy. Given half a chance, I’m sure she’d buy a packet of lynch tree postcards.

    “Kick ass!” she shouted, spilling her drink as Loose Change and Whiskey finished their song then she turned to me. “You’re just another whiny bitch brainwashed dumbass liberal cuck, aren’t you?” she said but her lips never moved.

Thunder and Violence

     Thick and humid. I’m all but wearing the air out here today. And I have extra far to go today. Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.)

    On the radio: “Call out the agents and kill the journalists and lawyers that won't comply with our orders. This is the dollar deal.” But the power is blown and the lights go dark. Blackout audience flashlights in the teargas. He’s watching the streets from the thirtieth floor window of the high tower like some Babylonian king.

    This is mild suicidal violence on a national scale. A toxic topic that we will not discuss. The state patrol is a performance. They’re out as a show of force. A demonstration from the demon Stration. There will be fireworks, but no fireflies tonight.

    “Aim for the protesters on their faggy bicycles. Watch it now. We’re not just kicking dogs here. They’re sick people, radical left lunatics. Why can’t we shoot them. Stack the bodies now, figure it out later.”

    This just goes on and on. Doesn’t it? Every day like this. Today even more. And more to come.

    “Let God be true and every man else a liar. Worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. I am your salvation. I am your hope. This doctrine is profitable. And we’re all about the profit. Profit and power. It’s me or nothing and you are nothing to me. Burn one hundred. Burn another one. Let them burn if they won't be true. We need no woke lethality laws. My words or nothing. Anything else doesn’t exist or it is a lie.”

    These things may not be true. I don’t remember. And it’s so hard to tell anymore. Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.) Two democratic lawmakers shot with their spouses in Minnesota. An aggressive act, a blow to kill a smaller man, a smaller woman. Kicked and punched and drinking cough syrup. Covered in broken glass. A bloody bandage and a shattered window. They won’t be content until we’re all dead and choking on the ashes of the world. How far fringe are the voices of violence? Never far enough.

    The shooter was impersonating a police officer. ACAB – especially the cosplay officers. A politically motivated assassination. Evangelical Christians making enemies hit list. Blamed for the moral decay of his home and native land. Security patrols. Overseas security consultant. Mercenary. Assassin.

    A man in a trench coat. In this heat. Someone’s going to notice. This humidity. They’re going to see him. But as a police officer? Ask yourself why? And Why not? Unlocking doors. Security guns. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Ambush broad strokes.

    Message from my brother – he’s walked downtown to find a protest to join. Oh, and that he’s borrowed my War Resisters Organization Manual. “Home later. If I’m not arrested.”I wish there was something more I could give him. I wish there was something more I could say. I can’t stop what is falling apart. I’m trying to write on the move. I am staying ahead of the time and the clock. Hoping to stay ahead of the men with clubs and batons. Recording my thoughts and prayers as I move in my illegible handwriting.

    Organize forward support. Stay in the shade and shadows whenever possible. J’ai besoin des medecine et l’eau.

    “Learn the truth about why the left has left and the right is right.” I’ve heard them on the radio. On the news. I hear them everywhere. “Democrats are boasting that they’re going to win. They should be boasting about their prisons. About the darkness. They are beyond the pale and behind the veil. Ignorant and proud of their own conceits. Our enemies of unbelief, without mercy.”

    Is there thunder? (Yes and Amen. Let it be.)

    Will there be lightning? (Please and thank you. Amen.) Let that delay or postpone them. If only for a time. Let it rain, Lord.

    21,813 steps. 11.0 Miles

The Locusts Are Coming

Moving my hands in physical space
You seem surprised when I touch your face
I’m running so slow that I can’t win the race

Light travels fast but not instantly
The reflection in the mirror’s what I used to be
I’d open my eyes but I don’t want to see

Your memory comes back along with the pain
It’s funny how it comes back again and again
But later this afternoon it just might rain

Looking for purpose in history
Trying to find evidence of injury
Overlapping patterns of tragedy

A hundred-thirty degrees and rising higher
Who is the dictator, who’s the liar?
It’s hard to believe in this ceasefire

The golden age of America begins right now
But don’t press for details, don’t ask how
And anything we’ve said we’ll disavow

The rich have it all and they still want more
Judges are bribed to cheat the poor
We’re already losing the next civil war

Come on, little baby, let me hear you sing
Do what I tell you, don’t change a thing
The locusts are coming with scorpion sting

A Man Like That?

     Does a man like that – a lying, vain, arrogant narcissist – a man with his history – of fraud, of racism and misogyny – want peace? Does a man like that really believe the things he says? Why should you believe the things he says? The president lies and repeats the lies of others. Who is the liar? Who is the dictator? He’s a fair bit of both.

    We are vulnerable all. Cutting down fires. Digging up cities. Plows and bulldozers moving the earth. Infected populations on the move. Virus vectors around the globe. One hundred and thirty degrees and rising higher. Reliably recorded and burst into flames. Too many tragedies coming too frequently. Seizing assets, appropriating income, usurping all. These are the criminal beginnings. Russia, Israel, Iran, the US of A, et al. deliberately bombing civilian structures – apartments, hospitals, churches too. Call it what it is: Genocide.

    Seal the book. Steal the book and go away. Closed up and sealed until the end of time. Sealed up and closed until the time of the end. But live by the Word and we could believe you. The words spoken by angels demand more than you have to offer. Preach the plain truth. Prove the message straight. It’s late, but we can begin again.

Draw Near and Listen

     Draw near and listen. Draw near to what is crucial.

    What is happening here? Cows and crops die. The corpse of the state lies in the street while, mile after mile, torching ten thousand buildings in the smoke-filled valley. Evil is come upon us – with thunder – with storm and tempest. A great noise, a flame of devouring fire.

    You can see it for yourself. You know the truth of it. You see the devouring flame written in the law. Written in the prophets and spray painted on the walls. You should burn them. Burn them or walk away. But you will do neither. Never. You cut your losses but it’s already too late.

    It is this: A Total Lack of Comprehension. 

    It is this: A Total Lack of Love.    

    Your grave is dug. For a million dollar weakness. For a twenty-five cent failure.

    Draw near and listen. Try to understand.

    Push the report. Put it all in writing. There are two ways to go here: Bombs or paper. Paper or bombs. It’s going to hurt either way. I promise you that much. It’s going to hurt, but you can live. This is the audacity of human survival. You can live...

    We are breaking. Lawlessness is upon us. But who and what will they believe? The lawbreakers in the White House? Remove their heart, they won’t believe the truth.

    I don’t have a guilty conscience. Not me. I’ve not cooperated with the FBI.

Evil Will not Prevail!

 

"God loves us, God loves you all, and evil will not prevail!" - Apostolic blessing Urbi et Orbi May 8,2025

Memento Mori on a National Scale

     No nation is forever. It would be good for us to remember this. Memento Mori on a national scale. The mighty have fallen. The mighty will fall and their weapons of war will perish with them. ­We are in a race with Russia, with China, with Israel, with Iran. We are racing toward fire and suffering. We are racing towards death and destruction. But gold will not decide the winner. Do not consult the four hundred Fox News prophets – they do not speak with the voice of God.

    So let the winds blow away the high stench of summer garbage. Let the winds blow away the sweat of our face and the dust of the ground. The grass withers and the flag will fade. Let us remember and in remembering live, and in living find God. Anything is possible after that.

The Thunder Outside

 The thunder outside. The lightning overhead. It rains and rains overnight.
Iran and Israel trading missile strikes. Iran attacking US Air bases.
Thunder and lightning. Crash and fire.
And tomorrow the heat returns.

“No warmongers here,” they say. “We have no warmongers here, but we will see the world crucified upon a cross of steel as we celebrate the gun, the warship, and the rocket. Blessed be the bomb.”

“No warmongers here,” they say. “We have no warmongers here, but history is clear that Israel will prevail. Those who oppose Israel are the enemies of God. On the wrong side of history, on the wrong side of God. We celebrate a president who understands the truth of God.”

Thunder and lightning. Crash and fire but God is silent as we are reduced to rubble. Let the lighting flash and the thunder boom. Let the rain fall. “The earth will rest, justice will prevail, the poor will rejoice and peace will return, once we no longer act as predators, but as pilgrims – no longer each of us for ourselves, but walking alongside one another.” Pope Leo XIV

Psalm 42 in 2025

 

If faith is a thirst I am a deer in the desert, desperate and dying
If faith is a thirst I am sunk into weight of heaviness
dreaming of their divorce as if it were mine all over again
crying for a rapidly spreading cancer
call it one year – maybe. Could be less.
When will I feel the face of God?
Deep calls to deep and waters rise
so sing the old songs and pray the old prayers
oh my soul, I’ve got nothing else.

Everything that remains is silence.

The Backstory

    Someone knew something about the murder. Everyone knew so someone had to know – a man found dead in his home, a break in at the basement egress window. A man in a mask an a uniform, working the basement. Don’t bother with the cops – it was an inside job. Crimes and acts of corruption. Thefts, extortion, narcotics trafficking, personal drug use, murder. The details painstakingly researched. Clear-eyed and narrow. Someone had to know, and we were there to find out.

    What if a bad guy shows up while we’re looking? Tune him up? Work him over? We’re not that kind of investigators. What if a good guy shows up? Another cop… (a good guy with a gun?) an uncorrupted cop? Seems to be a rarity these days Forget about it, what are you going to say? It could have been you. It could have been me. This is for real. Bleeding, bally cops.

    “Childhood memories are like that,” G. said to me as we investigated the house looking for evidence, for clues. “Connected. Interconnected. One to the next. Every vacation. Every trip. And here we are for another murder.”

    “Yeah,” I said. “I remember those trips. I used to just stare out the back window of the family station wagon, looking at the reflection of the lights in the glass. I thought of them as my quiet friends. They were always there with me. And even if they never said anything, I knew their words.”

    “Look at what he wrote here in this notebook: ‘he has all the names of history, the changing time and seasons, this man of sin with seven ugly heads, a brutish, brutalist beast with a heartbeat of concrete…’ What does any of that mean? It’s nothing but coincidence, circumstance, hearsay!” G. said, huffing as he shoved a handful of spiral bound notebooks back onto the unlevel bookshelf. “That’s all we’ve got here. That’s all we’re going to find. Where’s the evidence? Where’s the eyewitness?”

    “Calm.” I said. “Quiet yourself.”

    Not the brightest, closest, largest, easiest, but it there. Somewhere. Hidden, maybe, but there. Waiting for us to find it. It’s there where they left it. No follow up. No return. But there for us to find. And we would find it if we looked. If we looked in the right place. Eventually, one day, the mystery would open. In the front end they sell the equipment. Legal. Clean. In the back and in the basement they sell the drugs and the drugs. That’s the way they do it. That’s the way they make their money. American money. Millions of dollars. You’ve heard this story before, every loaded anecdote of the American dream. Who is this beast that owns the cops? Should we check for outstanding warrants? It wouldn’t matter any way.

    “We believe in the future, yes?” I asked him.

    “But…”

    “But nothing. We believe in the future, yes?”

    “Yes,” G. said. “I suppose we do.”

    “Then there is nothing more to say.” And we return to our investigation.

This Fire Is Unsurprising

 

I Am

I am a faded cardboard sign – illegible in the rain.
I am a sailor lost at sea.
I am blue raspberry marketing – unreal.
I am a forgone conclusion,
    a smile in the dark, an unfinished melody.
I am the memory of a dying dog.
I am a hesitation mark.
I am standing in the rain again,
    the looming threat of war, mushrooms on a fallen log.
I am an unfamiliar dog in the neighbor’s yard.
I am an owl in the sanctuary.
I am unlike myself, as far as I can remember,
    but I am becoming true.
I am an abandoned car at the side of the road.
I am rabbit trail digressions into nonsense,
    an absurdist defeatism.
I am stomach pains and vertigo in an airport terminal.
I am a halfhearted Baphomet.
I am slowing down, full stop.
I am not especially well written,
    clumsy but earnest.
I am helpless and I don’t know what to do
    except to say that there’s nothing I can do.

Never Far Enough Away from This Word

     “Look into the courtyard. Down there. Just the other side of the magnolia tree. See him?"

    “Someone just left the room.”

    “I know. I’m pointing at him. That’s him, down there.”

    Drop this noise and the brighter lights and the darker shadows in the corner of the courtyard will stand out stronger. The setting sun casts strange and moving shadows across the concrete. Like a passage of blood through the arteries and veins of the body. Like a slow-moving train and a visible target. The shadows move and we observe. We write it all down in our official reports, filed upon our return to headquarters. Someone else will summarize and index our reports for the captain and the chief.    

“Stand by…”­

    This sort of thing goes on everyday­ in your mid to large size cities. New York and Chicago? Obviously. Des Moines? Occasionally. But in smaller towns and villages? Perhaps it happens, but no one notices. Or if they do, they will not report it. Midwestern nice is a thing. And civility is rarely pressed.

    “Anything?”

    “Stand by…”

    My partner, G., and I were on a standard surveillance detail­. Observe and Report were our instructions. Just that and nothing more. Observe. Report. Crime doesn’t pay. We’ve seen it’s deficiencies and failures. And we were tasked to watch for it and to write it all down.

    “Do you see anything?”

    “I said stand by...”

    Lawsuits and shootings. A record of violence. Criminal, military records. But here we are, watching and waiting for something to happen. And when (or if) it happens, what will be required of us? We been instructed – unambiguously – to observe and to report. Nothing more. Nothing less. Lawyers come. Covert operatives go. Our man sits on a park bench in the courtyard eating a sandwich. Looks like pastrami and sauerkraut on rye, but I can’t be sure from this distance. I wrote it down in the ledger anyway. 

    While we were waiting, while we watched, G. put down the binoculars and turned to me. “What are you going to do when you’re thirty?”

    “Thirty?” I chuckled. “Thirty?”

    “All right, then. Fifty?” G. asked.

    “This,” I said pointing to the filthy apartment where we squatted “I’m fifty.”

    “Really?­ What’s it like?” he asked.

    “I don’t really know. I’ve never been fifty before. My knees are still okay. I’m healthy. Mostly.”

    “You know they just pushed the retirement age back again?”

    “Yeah. I saw that,” I said. “I’ve often said that I’ll get to retire when they drop me in the box.” G. laughed. “Yeah. Yeah.” I laughed too, but mirthlessly. “I’m tired.”

    Quoting scripture from memory isn’t enough. I’ve sat in the all night coffee shop on the corner with the street corner preachers strung out and ranting. One hundred thousand hours since 1925 and it’s still not enough. In Texas. In Oklahoma. In Minnesota, Iowa, and Illinois. Always in Zion, but never far enough away from this world.

    “Has he moved yet?” I asked.

    “Just a minute,” G. said as he replaced the binoculars. “Stand by…”

    I woke up the other morning – before my alarm, before dawn – and my first thought, even before I opened my eyes, was ‘It never ends.’ It never ends. Day after day, one more day and then another. It never ends. And now this. A phone call from my brother. A message from my mother and it feels like all my old failures returned and revisited. Like Nero Redivivus. The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past. Just concealed and waiting and watching, biding its own time until it can return. My nightmares come back to haunt me. Death and divorce. Poor communication and spreading cancer in this ruined temple. Who am I? That’s still the central question, isn’t it? After all these years, it still comes back to this: Who am I?

    “He’s moving.” G. says abruptly. “He’s moving. He’s moving.”

    “Let’s roll,” I say as I grab my jacket and my camera.