Willful Belligerent Unknowing

    Outside the building’s stone black walls, the crowd had assembled. Not yet a mob. Not yet. A mob has a purpose. These were only waiting for instructions to strike. The austere apartments towered above them. I could push through the crowd. Retreat to soulless safety. Turn back. Turn back. Turn back again.

    “Listen up, you liberal twat. No American Christian has ever embraced socialism as a guiding principle. It has no place in this country. No value.”

    “But it was a socialist who wrote the Pledge of Allegiance,” I remind them. I was having my lunch, eating an apple on bus bench. “A Baptist minister, Francis…”

    “I don’t know where you studied history, sir, but I suggest you take another course from a different source. You couldn’t be further from the truth.

    The agitations of the crowd surged and rolled. They surrounded me on the bench. Knocked the half-eaten apple from my hand.

    “The United States of America is the protector and defender of freedom and democracy.”

    “But the US of A has a history of toppling democratically elected governments around the world.”

    “Liar!

    “Costa Rica, Syria, Guatemala Iran. Chile… I could go on.”

    “No! You’re not going to convince us to jeopardize our freedom and security with your leftist lies.”

    We don’t see. So we don’t know. Won’t see. It’s not ignorance but a willful, belligerent unknowing. Open eyes and shuttered minds. The lights shining in darkened corners have been snuffed. My people are destroyed for a lack of knowledge.

Hosea 4:6

Oh, You Can't Get to Heaven

 

    I got a chance to be the bad uncle at church this morning - sharing a silly song with the kids. Start the video at the 14:30 mark.

 

Golden Godliness

    Hog butcher, gold digger, the United States is the greatest country in the world. Say it again. Say it more. Robber baron, arms dealer, the United States is the greatest nation in the history of nations. A model of hard work humility, and honest golden worship. Decent men and proud women living lives of good fortune. The envy of the world.

    Look to the unrivaled military straddling the world, land and sea and air and space. Our marching millions. Look to the unparalleled wealth accumulated in cities of glass and steel. Global power, high above all nations of the earth just as God promised in those pivotal Old Testament prophecies.

    But, and hear this, only two in ten will affirm it. Only two in ten will say Amen. Two in ten who understand that America stands a golden head above the other nations. All others are America hating blasphemers who do not understand that gain is godliness. And that we will take it all.

1 Timothy 6:5

Cain and the Capitalist Cult

    The curdled sky unplaceable through the smoke of burning cities
    day and night disfigured, bulldozed earth in a heap of spoil
    Cain stands screaming in the field of blood,
    “Am I my brother’s keeper?” 
    Patron saint of the Capitalist Cult.

No Man Is an Island, or The Implications of Store-Bought Milk

    “Let it go down in history as a scattering of ash: Rugged Individualism is a myth.” The walls shifted. The ceiling pulled back. Wooden furniture splintered on the floor. The words were my own. I spoke them gently; it was my friend who burst in to bring down the roof.

    “I wouldn’t expect anything else from someone like you.”

    “Someone like me?” I asked.

    “Commies like you who admire socialists.” Paintings fell from their frames. The windows fell open. The front door fell off its hinges.

    “Ah…” I said. “I think maybe you’ve got that backwards, but it’s still true. We are stronger together.”

    “People just need to take accountability for their station. Grow your own food and you’ll never have to worry about another government recall. I grow my own. Why don’t you?” My shelves shuddered to the floor, spilling books into a heap.

    “There’s no pure independence. We are, each one of us, interdependent. We rely on each other.”

    “I raise chickens and trade eggs for pork. We have a cow and we tried pasteurizing our own milk, but we’ve mostly returned to store-bought milk. Our water comes from a well. I make diesel from used oil and fryer grease. I won’t be a slave to other producers or to the government.”

    “Hold up a beat,” I interrupted. “You buy milk?”

    “Well, we had trouble controlling the pasteurizing temperatures. The point is, either control your own resources to meet your needs or you depend on others. Choose your path. Choose wisely.”

    The whole house lurched on its cracked foundation.

    “Okay. Okay. Slow down there, Garfunkle. No man is an island. I said it before and I’ll say it again. Rugged Individualism is a myth. We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing.”

    My friend scoffed a laugh and looked around. “This place is falling apart. You should do something about that. Take accountability for your place.” I sighed and picked up my copy of Donne’s devotions from the floor as he made his exit.

Are You Afraid, Carter?

    Look at me here – a half century, plus a bit more, a half century of living among the subterraneans at the edge of the naked city where it smells of marijuana, the neighbors play their music too loud and their dogs bark all night. These mechanics, hairdressers, and taxi drivers. These field-hands, deli-shop owners, and veterinary assistants.

    And look at the news: another protracted war in Europe with sprawling death count. Look at the news: another endless, pointless war in the Middle East.

    “Knock it off, Carter. You lost your idealism years ago.”

    Hear it? That is, despite the sneering belligerence, the voice of trembling fear and no peace. No peace.

    Look at me here, a half century of September reminders – falling leaves and fading memories – a half century of resignations, recriminations, failures, and false starts. I don’t want to live in the past, but I don’t understand the present and I cannot see the future. How do I disrupt the disorder? How do I deescalate the situation without matching their rhetoric? Without meeting violence with violence?

    “Work out your own salvation,” the voice says, “with fear and trembling. Are you afraid, Carter? Are you afraid? You know you should be.”

    It’s true. I am.

    “And why do you fear?”

    Because the secret things belong to God and who can understand his own errors?

Philippians 2:12

An End Times Growth Fund Prospectus

    Dear Investor,

    These are just the ordinary times at the end of an age, the collapse of civilization and expanding operations. This is not the time to panic. We are going places, buying things, building nations. Exciting things are in the works. Imports. Exports. World markets without end.

    The mainstream media is filling your head with randomized reports of tragedy. War, rumors of war, and daily woe. Ignore them. The enemies of democracy want you to be afraid. Ignore them – even if they are friends and family. The movement from war to peace – and the reverse – is your opportunity. It is the movement from poverty to prosperity. It is time to invest.

    All investments involve risk. That’s the nature of the game. Past performance cannot predict future results. Unstable. Volatile. Shaking in divers places. No one knows the big picture reality. And besides, you don’t really care about biblical prophecy. As long as the taxes stay low and the profits stay high. This is why you’ve hired us. Our forward-looking statements are based on current end-of-age indicators, and our proprietary Tribulation Volatility Index gives us great hope for the future.

    The Apostle Paul told us of our financial future. He said, “Know this, that in the last days perilous times will come. Dollar by dollar of frantic finance. Love yourself. Love your money. And never miss a payment.”

    Don’t despair for drought and famine. We’re buying up debt in these emerging markets. Lack of rain, lack of food. Yes. It is here. But don’t worry yourself about it. Macro-instability such as this presents unique opportunities for agile investors. Keep going to church just as you do. It looks good and everything’s fine.

    Remember: the good guys don’t get caught. That’s how you know they’re the good guys.

    *Jannes and Jambres Capital Management is not a financial advisor, and the information contained here does not constitute financial advice. Market conditions may deteriorate due to war, disease, or sovereign dissolution. The End Time Growth Fund is not insured against wrath, judgment, or systemic failure.

    2 Timothy 3:1-5

The Crisis

    The oak that I’d always wanted removed – the dead one in the front yard – fell through the house during the night. The night of the winds. Straight line winds, a hundred miles an hour. The night of the horror. Shattered windows without a glow. Someone’s minivan lurched over the curb like a vomiting hangover.

    The moon crashed over an empty highway. The night lay long through the dark and we were dying in shifts.

    We hid through the crisis of that night and the days and weeks that followed in the closest church lockdown. We barricaded the door with a broken pew. A solace without comfort. A comfort without consolation. Flaming billboards and parking lots of ash. Offices sacked in the escalation of destruction. My children sat on the floor with me, sleeping with their little heads on my lap.

    We heard women crying in the bathroom and men screaming in the alley. Two thousand years of longed-for apocalypse boiled down to a wordless howl. Crowds of the staggering sick were turned out of the hospital. The daily dead with meaningless eyes like blackened stones.

    Meanwhile, the great men in their great coats and black cars - the optimates - were buying and selling the antheap. Poisoning the river. Irradiating the soil. Cutting our throats and gloating as a parade squad of soldiers in jackboots marches across the square.

    None of the pleasant words. None of the challenging speeches. None of the proclamations and declarations mattered. Sermons from the void. None of them could stop anything. None of them meant anything anymore. Stupid fools wanted the world to end. They paid for its collapse.

    Fine. Goddammit. Burn the whole thing. Let their wickedness come down. Let ‘em have what they’ve always wanted. Let ‘em choke on it. I know I have. And I’m sick of it all.

Lamentations 1:22

Elsewhere Beyond this Darkness

    The scene: a moonless night of indeterminate length. Crickets in the lingering heat. The faintest rustle of the wind in long grass. Two men, rough from the road, smoking.

    “The light shines elsewhere, yeah?”

    “I guess. What?”

    “Light. Somewhere beyond this hill, this… beyond this darkness.”

    “What are you going on about?”

    “Every day it’s this. We stagger, arms outstretched with fingertips extended. Reaching…”

    A long silence. Long drags on the cigarettes.

    “Reaching for what?”

    “We’re all always reaching toward a glimmer of…”

    “What are you going on about?”

    “Light. The light! It flickers and goes out with the crash of thunder. And we wonder how long it will be before it returns. It shimmers there at the horizon, but we can never reach it. We dream about it all night long.”

    “Not me. I never dream. I lay down. I close my eyes. I wake up with nothing in between.”

    “But there are lights there too. Behind our eyes…”

    “Phosgenes…”

    “No. I’m sure that’s not it.”

    “You sure?”

    The still of the night lingers on. Heavy between them. The breeze, what there was of it, has gone on without them.

    “How long have we been at this?”

    “We’ve been walking for… Hang on, I can count it up.”

    He pulls at his fingers for some time.

    “No. It’s gone.”

    They smoke the last drags of their cigarettes. Even that little glow is gone. They flick the butts away.

    “The light still shines somewhere. It must.”

    “It must. It must? Why? I don’t understand. The light... The light? I sleep fine without it. In fact, that’s what I aim to do just now. I’m going to close my eyes and…”

    “A little sleep. A little slumber. And then?”

    “Leave me alone. What else is there?”

    “Light! There is light!”

    “Light? Are you still on about that? Go to sleep.”

    The two of them are quiet for a long moment. The crickets stop their song but there is snoring to fill the silence.

    “The light still shines. Somewhere. Maybe not here, but somewhere. And I will know it.”

John 1:5

The End of a Thing

    The end of a thing...

    And there will be signs in the sun and sighs for the moon, distress on the earth – the resulting perplexity of games without rules and actions without consequences.

    Ignore the real time warnings – real time end time nations of our day.

    An end? An end? There will be no end of the great American Empire. Canada, Greenland, Mexico, Venezuela? They all belong to us. The moon itself belongs to us; we control the tides. We will annex the horizon if it pleases us to do so, no matter the roaring of the sea.

    Burnt down and broken. Raped and pillaged to turn a dollar into a dollar and a half.

    This is the day, the most important day. The last day. Filled with working dinners, cigarette smoke, and regret. All passion. No patience. No plan. Only pride. Only pain.

    Look up. Look up.

    ...is better than its beginning.

Ecclesiastes 7:8

Dream Records #626-635 with Alchemical Notation

    #626 – Ted Bundy doing drugs to self-medicate. He tried to kill himself, you know. He had personal conversations like this one to lure you in. Brutal things. Burning, sinful lusts. 🜂

    #627 – The crowd is shouting for Cassius Clay to get up from the floor. “Get up!” The stress of panic attacks and manic episodes is too much. “What are you doing? Get up!” 🜃

    #628 – That duck is drunk. Or the other way ‘round. And I’m sorry if this embarrasses you. 🜄

    #629 – I’m in Russia, visiting. Seeing the monumental memorials again. I’m to meet my ex-wife at the flag garden honoring national alliances. But she doesn’t show and I have to raise the flag myself. 🜃

    #630 – I’m with Dahmer’s mother chasing UFOs. Her ways are movable. Her car is fast. Aimless down a crooked trail. We took photos, but they all came back blurred. 🜁

    #631 – A dozen parachutist soldiers in our church. Unannounced. They knock over the sanctuary lamp as they crash through the ceiling. But no one is watching. I think they should apologize but no one is listening. And the altar is burning. 🜂

    #632 – He moves his bishop across the board, favoring the concrete over the abstract. Food. Drink. Sex. These are the forces that motivate him. Because. Since. Cause and effect. Calculated pauses. No affect. No blinking. Bishop takes queen. 🜃

    #633 – His fingers. Her lip. And teeth. Too many teeth. And blood. So much blood. His screaming. Her smile. 🜂

    #634 – Martin Luther is pouring me a beer. “Come drink with me,” he says (though I don’t speak German). “The devil harasses, but you amuse me. Tell me again what you wrote in your book about the socialist Jesus.” Jack Lemmon is there too, but he doesn’t say a word. 🜄

    #635 – It’s the Zapruder film stuttering. Frame by flickering frame. But the convertible is empty. Loop. It’s the Zapruder film stuttering. Frame by flickering frame but the convertible is empty. Loop. It’s the Zapruder film stuttering. Frame by flickering flame but the convertible is empty. Loop. It’s the Zapruder film...🜂

Imagine the Mystery

    Just for one moment – imagine putting the pieces together, each one, everyone where they belong. Just for one moment – imagine that your son has known something other than a constant state of war his entire life. Just for one moment, one shining glorious moment – imagine the kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.

    We are cracked down the middle, drifting half-finished in a fog of days, and weeks, and months, and years.

    This world, as it is, is not all that there is, not all that it could be. Not by a half.

    But here is the shape of our distress: we remember yesterday’s murder while we wait for tomorrow’s mercy. It is a mystery. A shock and a mystery. Inexplicable. Indecipherable. Malice scattered abroad and anger gathered together. The mystery of wickedness at work here as it ever was.

    Restraint removed. Unchecked. By the courts, by Congress, by common decency.

    With counterfeit American miracles and signs and wonders. Winning. Every wicked deception. A constant stream of lies. Lawlessness wraps himself in a flag; the rallying crowds embrace him and cheer for more.

    I do not understand it. It is a mystery but no surprise. They will not accept a love of truth. Strong drink with delusion. Believe what is false and be condemned.

    But imagine… A God who loves.

    Without exhaustion or self-pity. Without resignation. Imagine

2 Thessalonians 2:9-13

A Word from the Sidewalk

    I saw her from the street, silver hair and upraised arms. She was standing on the sidewalk, not screaming exactly, but speaking forcefully, directly. People heard her, of course. How could they not? But no one stopped to listen.

    “How long will we be tied to belligerent ignorance and ill-disguised racism, shackled to a patriotic frisson? We all have to live, with falling skies and civil defense alarms. With melting glaciers and flash flood death.

    “How long will we endure antinomian leaders hawking law and order through late night screeds. Apocalypse mongers and war criminals calling down a blood moon at noon. Glorified war on television but ethnic cleansing never in the news.

    “Overcrowded prison cells and three hundred years of malignant policing. Rock of Ages stenciled in the prison yard.

 “Strip-mined copper and toxic arsenic residue. Drinking water on fire. The shithole stench of a gravemouth trench. The machinery of money grinding flesh and guts. Night after night of self-slaughter. Black mass and massacre. Terror storms and whirlwind dreams.

    “It is the hope and stimulus of false reality. Delusions of death. We choke on schemes. We choke down screams. How long?”

    I listened to her for a while, but I had to continue on my way. The boss can tell if I linger too long in any one location. I wrote down what I could remember of her speech. I tried, but I’m not sure I got it all.

Proverbs 1:20-23

Now Is the Time To Prepare

    Now is the time to concentrate on the hidden things, secret things with apocalyptic elements made explicit by the revelation of the Spirit. Trouble worldwide and canceled ceasefire discussions mean exponential explosions in international weapon sales.

    The Bible clearly describes a variety of war crafts and military machines to be used in these latter days, vehicles and machines far beyond a first century comprehension – locusts and horses prepared for battle. Armored helicopters hovering over the battlefield with cannons and nerve gas rockets.

    Look. Look and listen for mechanized infantry with the sound of a thousand thousand chariots rolling through the valley with the nano-particle smoke of the abyss. Look for far-light lasers. Look for depleted uranium shells fired from naval vessels off shore. Shoulder mounted Jericho-flechette launchers.

    In the sky, networked autonomous stealth drones and long-range tactical bombers. In the waters, nuclear submarines and an aircraft carrier fleet in the Persian Gulf.

    Soon there will be intercontinental ballistic missiles launched with the word of the Antichrist’s command and two hundred million Red Chinese Lóng Flame Tanks crossing the Euphrates riverbed.

    The future is here with unparalleled opportunities. Now is the time to see it. Now is the time to prepare. Now is the time to invest

Revelation 16:12-16

I Would Have Set Them Straight

    The brothers of Goliath, you say? Yeah. I remember them. I fought in the Philistine wars with our shepherd king. I was barely out of short pants myself, but I was there with my bow and my sling, ready to take on the entire Philistine army myself. No sissy stuff. I was there to bring them down.

    There was Lahmi, who ate bread even as he fought his way across the valley, a loaf of rye as big as your head in one hand and a spear as tall as you in the other.

    And Isbi-Benob – the man from Nob. What a nob! He wore a bright new sword and thought he could kill the warrior, David. As if.

    And the other one… what was his name? The one with twenty-four digits. Twelve fingers and twelve toes. Six on each hand and foot? No. It was eight and four apiece. Strange, I tell you. And where did he find shoes for those feet? 

    And Goliath? Goliath. Well, you know the story that David went out with his sling and a few river stones. But I was there when the battle broke out at Gob in the western foothills of Judah. I watched Elhanan bring down Goliath. Man, what a crash when he hit the ground.

    People talk about David like he did it all alone. But some of us were there, and we remember how it really went. Funny how the scribes write it down one way. Funny how memory writes it down another. They should have just asked me. I would have set them straight.

1 Chronicles 20:4-8, 2 Samuel 12:15-22

Unsatisfied Unsettled

    Say nothing for those who see nothing
    concealed, suppressed trauma
    and unchecked philosophy

    The grinding, ruthless race
    of unsatisfied winner takes all
    the plots of violent hearts
    and lies of mischievous mouths

    We are conditioned by a lifetime of storms
    taught the ambitions of greed and malice
    brought up to believe this is the way

    But watch without envy
    and wait without impatience

    There is no future here, no reward, no hope
    the unsettled glow behind his eyes
    will flicker into darkness.

Proverbs 24:19-20

A Song of Ascent

    Look at me. I’m not so much.
    Not haughty, not proud.
    Not setting my sights above my stars.

    Except when I do.

    Then it’s all the small vandalism vanities
    hidden from the greater public
    behind the mask of an absurd person
    and my outsized ego banging
    on the walls of my little life.

    Let me be quiet and go away.
    He must increase.

Psalm 131