A Biblically Indexed Police Blotter

    Repeat Juvenile Runaway Near E. 9^th St. N.
    1.0 mi East 9^th St. North

    Deputies responded to possible repeat runaway report involving a juvenile. The same juvenile reportedly involved in similar incidents all this year.

    See: Proverbs 22: 6 and 29:17 and Jeremiah 31:16-17 - “...your children will return to their homeland.”

    High Speed Pursuit of Maroon SUV on Highway 8 
    1.6 mi US-8

    Law enforcement units were involved in pursuit of a maroon SUV traveling eastbound on Highway 8. County and state agencies were notified for assistance.

    See: Leviticus 26: 8 – “five of you pursuing a hundred of them, one hundred pursuing ten thousand; and your enemies will fall beneath your sword.”

    Suspicious Persons Reported / Possible Burglary in Progress 
    0.5 mi East 11^th St. South

    Deputies investigated a possible burglary after a caller reported a suspicious person or persons who may have entered their home. Unidentified person was described as white, male, wearing gray clothing and a pink backpack, last seen running toward a nearby liquor store.

    See: Mark 3:27 – “no one can make his way into the Strong Man’s house and plunder his property unless he has first tied up the Strong Man. Only then can he plunder his house.”

    Youth Driving Recklessly on Moped 
    1.7 mi East 13^th St. North

    Deputies responded to report of a juvenile driving recklessly on a moped. Caller was waiting for deputy to make definitive identification of the youth.

    See: Proverbs 14:16, and Judges 9:4 - “...Abimelech hired reckless and violent adventurers to follow him.”

    Unresponsive Female in Alley 
    2.9 mi East 18^th St. North

    Emergency responders were dispatched to East 10^th St. N. for a report of an unresponsive female. Caller indicated that a medical alert button had been activated, but there was no response from the individual.

    See: Numbers 31:9 – “The Israelites took the women and their little ones captive and carried off all their goods as booty.”

    High Speed Pursuit Ends in Collision 
    3.4 mi IA-234

    Deputies pursued a maroon SUV at high speeds on Highway 234 and into rural roads including North 750^th Avenue. The chase reached speeds of over 100 miles per hour. Pursuit concluded when vehicle crashed into a large stone. Two individuals were rushed to the hospital.

    See: Psalm 91:12 - “They will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.”

    ERROR.Corrupted X.X=forensic.theology.database.X
    ERROR.Coherence.threshold.exceeded+5.X
    ERROR.MunicipalX=XApocalypse.log.X
    SYSTEM.OVERLOAD>>RESET.EISEGESIS-1.8X>>RESET.EXEGESIS+3.X
    X.X>>REINTERPRET.X

Not More than I Am Able

    I find Saint Bernard of Clairvaux to be both a compelling and disturbing individual in the history of Christianity.

    I appreciate his devotional writing. He wrote some eighty-six sermons from the Song of Solomon - and never got past chapter two! He was one of the co-founders of the Knights Templar. 

    He also stirred up enthusiasm for the second crusade by promising that it would be a means of grace and absolution for sin. And then, when the crusade failed, blamed it on the sins of the crusaders. Go figure. 

    Today's backyard recording is based on one of his writings. 

    My God, my help, I shall love you as I am able
    yet my love is less than your due
    not more, not more, not more than I am able
    for even if I cannot love you 
    as much as I should
    still, I cannot love you
    more than I can. 
    I shall only ever be able 
    to love you the more 
    when you give me more
    and still, you'll never find my love worthy of you. 

New Truths and New Knowings

    There are new truths and new knowings. There are revelations yet unseen. My imagination is active. My intellect goes forth to create according to what comes to mind. From the remnant of dreams, all the vapors and gasses of the night combined with a line upon line study of the scriptures. I’m putting together the outline and notes that will lead us, point to point, maybe not you would want to go, but to where you need to go - the end of knowing. Follow with me. All will be revealed.

    First, there are some who stand prepared at the gates. Always in readiness. Always in faith. Ethiopian Copts are guarding the Ark of Covenant in an undisclosed location, behind an unmarked door. The guardians have the key. The guardians have the lock.

    Let there be demonic dermatology for the warlock senator from Georgia. The curse of his skin be upon him.

    If you always follow the angel of prophecy, you’ll never be lost. This remains true – though I’ve stumbled occasionally. Usually somewhere in Daniel’s Seventy Weeks. The little horn, the tin horn dictator, shouting in my ear distracted me, but only for a time. Even among the wise rulers, those with understanding, some will stumble. A number of them will be purged. Purified and made clean. Purged and made white. White with fear and bloodless pale. Where is it leading? Follow on.

    Stalin has been spotted on Venus, his visage in the clouds.

    And now we come to the extraterrestrial, inter-dimensional, documentary entities – stepping between the registers of spatial timeslips and their spiritual machines – oft observed flying through our airspace. The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels. Observe the wheels within the spinning wheel. See it spin, high and dreadful above the surface of the earth and full of eyes, lifted up into higher dimensions. Ancient angels identified as aliens in our day, instantly transformed from magic to material by material magic.

    Finally, look closely at the seven resurrections of the American empire - no love and no lie - after years of dispute and negotiations and the successive waves of diplomatic “healing,” it will be destroyed by Christ at his coming. Count the multinational corporations and financial manufacturers that dominate every field, internet and satellite television – they illustrate the need for American independence.

    The whole global system is fractured. It cannot be saved. There is little time left – less than eight hours. Eight hours relative.

The Verisimilitude of Truth

    Ready now. This is all the warning we’re likely to receive, and we are already sinking. Check winds and tides and set sights for enemy lines. The right kind of people have the right kind of skills. Men of arms and a warrior ethos. Bear down and engage. Clear the fleet for fire.

    We hold these truths to be self-evident:

    The people of Iran want freedom – therefore we must bless them.
    The people of Iran are terrorists – therefore we must bomb them.

    The military has directed energy weapons, microwaves, and laser beams. We saw dragons and we saw drones. Sound waves and energy raves. Their heads were exploding inside their skulls. Bleeding from the nose. Vomiting blood. Moving helps with the pain, but they fell, incapacitated. Good show. Show death like a sleep and let them cry for water. No one has gone consciously unto heaven from death.

    Gunshots continue.

    Somewhere off the coast of Yemen, a U.S. reaper drone fires a Hellfire missile at a flying, glowing orb. A kinetic strike by Hellfire missile results in destruction. In explosion. Details remain unclear.

    45% of Precision Strike Missiles
    50% of THAAD Intercept Missiles
    50% of Patriot Air Defense Missiles
    30% of Tomahawk Missiles
    20% of long-range Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missiles
    20% of SM-3 Missiles
    20% of SM-6 Missiles.

    Depleted.

    Decades and centuries. I was there, strong and full of life… a threat to global peace and security… the most vicious of all the little Satans… Brutal new age powers. Richer. Stronger. Vigorous voices beg no forgiveness and make no apologies.

    We are scouring Hillary Clinton’s 30,000 retrieved emails for clues. I myself haven’t read them, of course, but I am familiar with the contents. I know all of what I need to know. The information I received had the verisimilitude of truth. I read it quickly enough, skimming for what stood out to my eye and my mind. I regret my confusion and wish to clarify...

Before the Money

 

    The other day I wrote a surreal sort of crime story: Money Makes Demands. I thought it was going to be just a one-off bit of writing, but today I've written a sort of backstory for that story. 

Before the Money

    How did it begin? First point – and on this he was very clear. Certain: I would give him an alibi for the time of the murder. And just like that, I was in for better, for worse. For risk and reward. For crime and punishment.

    I’d been a man without a safety-net for too long. Not destitute, not yet. But these were desperate times. The obvious shocks and lesions of international discomfort and internal abuse. Living in danger both foreign and domestic. And here he was offering me money for a job – a job that would cost me. Laurence had the notes, the books, the one remaining letter, and – importantly – the motive. I was to be a blind. A shield.

    I was to be the protection and security of division. What he hadn’t inherited, he’d taken. What he hadn’t taken, he’d destroyed. A known offender. There were stories of contacts in Italy and Spain. Trade in Eastern Europe. All the illusions of a criminal imperium of a mid-level boss. And me – just another day player. An unnamed extra in the night.

It wasn’t always like this. Golden nostalgia tells me things were in the long distant past. But too much time passed now. An ex-wife or two. A foundered business. My daughter – was she angry with me? The two of us alone for so many years and separated now.

    Thirty years ago, thirty-five, there had been adventure. Promise and challenge. There had been love – or the expectation of love. All of it unfulfilled. No champagne. No lunch at L’Adagio. I had the early trauma and long path of failure same as anyone. What secrets did I have? Laurence knew he could offer and knew I would have to accept. ­The bright light of youth had gone out years ago.

    Laurence gave me the list:

    -Theft from property
    -Homeless
   -Disappeared and unidentified
    -Apparent suicide
    and
    -No record of employment

    “What does any of this mean?” I asked but Laurence only raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t one to answer questions.

    “You want the money? You’ll follow instructions. Details will follow.”

    Money was transferred with a pen and a click. Payment message received. Now I was obliged to follow through. There was always a choice. Choices and options. There were choices that had to be made. But was I prepared to kill for them?

    The law firm downtown where Laurence held office was a false front. That was obvious. No investigation was necessary. I took the money along with the list. He motioned toward the door. But I hesitated to leave. Not that it was warm and dry inside – though it was. Not that it was pouring outside – though it was. But a reluctance. A reticence. I knew what I was getting into.

    Or thought I did.

    The night that followed, behind the Leslie Houses in the dark, working over the earth. Digging in the uneven ground. Soft earth and wet leaves. Dark but not silent. I could hear the murmur of voices, muttered prayers and intimate whispers. Screaming fathers. Laughing children. Televisions and barking dogs. I worked quiet, looking for the older graves. “This is the first test,” I told myself. “This is the first of what will come.”

    I crouched in the dark. He hadn’t said grave robbery. But would I have refused? Could I have refused? The world fell silent. And now it was raining again. Drenched and slipping in mud, I was nearly done when my phone rang.

    “Get the item and get out of there. Now.”

    Head beating. Surprised by tears. Somewhere between scream and sob. I couldn’t help myself It felt like a dream. Rush run faster. A kind of clarity in movement. Thrust. Double back dark but not empty. Across the field. A glance back and no one. The car was waiting. Drawn up and ready and away. I’d become another crime story. I would make the delivery and wait for the next assignment.

***

    The fact remains that I’d tried to call my daughter earlier that day. Truth, whole truth and whatever. She was always the one to charge in and change until things worked again. She was the one who looked after people She looked after me after her mom left us. And again, after her stepmom left. And then, somewhere along the way she’d left me to. Or I’d left her. Or both.

    She didn’t answer, of course. Maybe her phone was turned off. Maybe she still didn’t want to talk to me. There wasn’t enough evidence to convince her of the better life. I already tried.

    Our last conversation was a shortness of breath. “I’m not really interested,” she said at the end. “You don’t have interruptions. You have objectionable characterization. You have the resistance of a moment.”

    “We need to talk,” I said to her voice mail and put my phone back into my pocket. I told myself that I would try to call her again later. But I knew it was unlikely.

    Meanwhile – Laurence…

    Someone was in charge, but I didn’t really think it was him. Strangers not friends, someone else was in charge. It could have been any number of blood sucking ticks from any one of the families that had moved into controlled territory. A pattern of abuse that led to the death of his victims. Hurt and humiliation. Hurt and burns. There were people chattering on the courthouse steps and women in the bathroom – but no one was talking about him. Whoever he was.

    The trial was over before it had begun. Betrayal was there. Say what you want. What now? More questions?

    I checked my phone for any sort of response and went outside for a cigarette. If anyone was going to find me, it wouldn’t be there. Walking away, unstuck and open. Skulking around outside. Chain smoking on the stairs. Worrying about everything. I was still trying to make sense of it all. Life in the past few days or months or years… I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

    What was I doing in this hotel room? This hotel room? I didn’t understand but maybe that was the advantage of disappearing problems. I was scared – an odd inglorious feeling. I was frightened. There was real trouble – of falling – of running from police. Released from the rails and real trouble. There were gunshots and breaking glass outside and the crash of falling bodies. I hooked the chain on the door and turned off the lights. I lay on the bed and starred at the ceiling.

    Spiders and sex workers running through the night. The mercurial mercy of doctors, cops, ministers. It was all betrayal. Betrayal and murder. And I still had to set up that alibi.

    Kicking myself now.

    What could I say? I knew the despondent feeling of wanting the consolation of a woman. The remembered past was locked away. All you could do was deal with the pressure brought to you. I might have made mistakes. You make a lot of mistakes along the way – but there had to have been a few good decisions too, right?

    More gunshots and the sky broke.