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

A Future History of a Remembered Apocalypse

    Fifteen years ago, just before midnight, on the night that the mounted police came to our door, I was in the basement writing unrhymed distortion poems for the Free-Radical Press. The horses’ Lorenz-Helmschmied barding was crafted of plaited ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene fibers. They rode silently to the door. We never heard them at all.

    We didn’t hear the blackwing Megiddo-Copters either, sweeping low over the valley with pulsar flares and active INVICTVS tracking systems. There would be no escape.

    The mounted police came with calamitous purpose, looking to deal punishment, harboring the view that the world needed God’s wrath to purify it and wearing neuro-peripheral interference shock gloves. The demands of divine justice held in human hands. We were alienated and estranged, enemies in the mind of wicked works. Dumbfounded and numb with broken hearts.

    Life inaccessible without proof of citizenship. Blood like the blood of a corpse without a demonstration of loyalty. Compliance. Peace through strength. And peace through blood. Split skulls and spilled blood. Casualties mounted.

    We heard a voice over the loudspeaker call out the command, “Go!” And the cavalry attacked, a hellish invasion with bitter biologicals and chemical weapon sprays. Federally authorized weapons of mass destruction. Flashes of fire and brimstone smoke and sulfur.

    An army of red-blooded pressurized American patriots was gathered at the place, ready to make an overwhelming assault with fireworks and jump-cut explosions. Two hundred million poorly trained agents authorized to use excessive force without legal restraint.

    I saw single mother saints and brown skinned prophets shot down and trampled. The house erupted into flames. I ran out of the house, scrambling to put on my shoes and my coat as I fled.

Revelation 16

White House Promises

    “Looks like rain,” said the man standing next to me as he sniffed the air. But, born and raised in the Midwest, I knew better. When the sky’s red and overcast in the morning, I know it will be storming soon. I know clouds in the west are for rain and wind from the south is hot. But this is neither.

    There were news cameras from all the major outlets, with a clear title and clean report. Cleared for the press corps by presidential aides, gathered on the lawn with their anchors prepping and primping in the ringlight. And me, taking notes for my forthcoming book – Misgoverned Houses and an Inheritance of Wind. No one would read it, of course. But the words must be written. Fame is better than gold, I am told. But I have neither.

    Meanwhile, dangling high for the cameras to see, was history in the making. A sentimental moment for salesmen without an ounce of self-denial. Salesmen with asymmetrical smiles, chewing the carpet. Explaining the complexities of imported mining exports and residual dividend transfers. Drilling holes for natural gas and paying off companies to not build renewables.

    The president was there. He was, of course, primarily concerned with conducting personal business under the presidential seal. Leaving a trail of unmarked graves and unexamined bodies. You know what they say about the pretensions of White Horse promises – conquering and to conquer the world. Only I can fix it... 

    And the press conference began. Flashbulbs and shouting. Can we ask about:

    Affordable health care?
    Reduction of the national debt?
    Lower grocery prices?
    Lower gas prices?
    Lower energy bills?
    Stimulus check? DOGE check?
    Greenland, Canada, Venezuela?
    Where are we with Iran?

    Over the intercom, a response, “No. No. Not yet.”

    “Is everything okay?”

    “No. Put that man out. Revoke his credentials. Put those questions aside - there are tourists exploding on the mall. We are as polite as overwhelming anger. All you weak reporters. Lazy. Failing.”

    “Looks like rain,” said the man standing next to me as he sniffed the air but you know what they say - White House promises are heavy clouds and wind, but no rain.

Proverbs 25:14

The Euphrates House

    There is an empty house across the street from my home. Empty but not abandoned. Not exactly. There are never any vehicles parked in the driveway. And there are never any lights in the windows. The yard is mowed just often enough to prevent the city from issuing a citation, but I’ve never seen anyone pushing a mower. The porch is collapsed and a few windows are broken, but it’s not condemned.

    I’ve been curious about the place since I moved in here about four years ago. I’ve never seen any yard decorations. No Christmas lights. I never hear music from the place. Never hear laughing squealing children. There’s no dog crap in the yard, so I don’t think there are any pets. The stray cats that congregate under the collapsed porch can’t count as pets.

    I’ve been curious so today I decided to investigate. I don’t know why the urge came over me… I walked up and down the sidewalk staring up at the house, seeing the places where the siding’s come loose and started to fall away, seeing the seedlings growing in the gutters, seeing the falling soffits. From the sidewalk I could see a single set of human footprints in the snow (unshoveled from the walk and driveway…) led to the front door and, presumably, entered the house. No prints exited or led away from the house. At least not from the font door. So I walked around the corner and back up to the house through the alleyway behind the house. No footprints at the back door either. Just a small mound of snow covered, discarded appliances.

    Call me a snoop. Call me a sneak. You’re probably right.

    I went back around to the front of the house, steeled up my nerve, and approached the house. Climbing carefully over the collapsed porch, I stood at the door and knocked. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” The words of scripture came inappropriately to mind and I chuckled. I knocked again. But there was no answer. After waiting a few minutes and watching cars drive up and down the street, I knocked on the door once more.

    The front door sagged on its hinges and collapsed inward. The topmost hinge pulled away from the frame and fell downward. It then swung open, limping on the bottom hinge.

    “Hello?” I called into the house. “Um.. I’m sorry about your door.” I could hear my voice echoing around inside the empty, silent house. “Hello?” I stepped inside and called out again. “I knocked and your door... it sorta collapsed.”

    The air inside the house was warm (but I couldn’t hear any noise from a furnace) and had the antiseptic, phenol smell of old time Bandaids. I took another step into the house. Call me a snoop. Call me a sneak. You can add trespasser too, I guess. Just then a jump-scare cat yowled and leaped down from somewhere unseen and I nearly screamed. The cat ran past me and out the door.

    Fully inside now I could hear something new – the sound of running water. From the basement, perhaps. A slow churning. Ancient and deep. A border, a boundary dividing order from chaos and life from death. The power of water is untamed. Hard. Strong. Rivers and dragons. “Sounds like someone’s left the bath running,” I called out, but there was no answer.

    I turned back to the door and swung it back towards closed. Broken as it was, it didn’t catch, but I closed it enough to keep out at least some of the winter wind. Committed to my intrusion now, I shrugged off my coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Forgive us our trespasses,” I muttered.

    I wandered further into the house. Living room, hallway, closet, kitchen. All the rooms of an ordinary house laid out in the ordinary way. All empty. No furniture. No photos. No plants.

    Strange, discomforting thoughts entered my mind. The spirit does not die after the death of the body. It persists. It lingers long in a dismal existence. Distressed and murdered souls in the basement. Is this Asphodel? Or the Pit of Tartarus? Gloomy wandering in and out of the ethereal plane. Incurably damned.

    The windows were obscured with some sort of yellow-gray grime. The light filtering through was uneven and unpleasant. Dust hung slowly in the air. Immortality will be granted at a future time under certain conditions. Attracting unwanted attention. The dust will return. Every time.

    I shook my head to clear the nonsense. But the thoughts continued. There is an increasing demand for narcotics and revenge. Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Contentions? Complaints? Wounds without cause? Who had redness of the eye? Your eyes will see strange things. Your heart will hear perversions.

    “Hello?” I called out again. That’s when I saw the stairway door – down to the basement. A light switch was mounted there on the wall at the top of the stairs. I flicked it and light from somewhere appeared. “Hello?” I no longer expected an answer, but still I called.

    And then I decided to see what was in the basement. Stupid decision, I know. I’ve seen the horror movies. I’ve listened to the true crime podcasts. I know how these things go. I know what happens, but still I began to descend the stairs.

    But two or three steps down I halted. Frozen. Suddenly afraid.

    ‘I cannot be cowardly here,’ I said to myself. ‘I will go down the unbelieving stairs.’ I moved again. Slower. ‘What went on in this house, what abominable secrets are in the basement.’ another step. ‘Murder? Sexual assault?’ Another stop. ‘Some sort of sorcery with black candles and circles drawn with salt?’ Down the stairs, one step at a time. ‘There are idols down here.’ I could feel it, every step. Closer. Deeper into the lie. God, it was getting hotter

    The basement was empty and unfinished. Bare walls, exposed concrete. Nothing. No furnace. No ducts. Why was it so hot in there? I wiped the beaded sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Hell…” I started to call out once more, but my voice choked.

    In the uncanny light of the empty basement I saw four doors, framed directly into the far wall. Massive, solid doors. And strung across each door were heavy, iron chains secured with filigreed padlocks. Curious, I took a step toward them.

    That’s when the jump-scare cat stepped out of a shadow and mewed at me. At least I think it was the same cat that frighted me at the front door. I didn’t have a chance to look at it closely as it ran out the door. But here it was again in the basement, blocking my path.

    “Hey there, little guy.” I said. “Are you the only one here?” The cat looked at me quizzically but said nothing. Why would he? He licked his paw and cleaned his ear.

    I took another step toward the chained doors and reached to examine one of the locks. And suddenly the jump-scare cat was joined by a great company of cats. Mewling, yowling, stretching, pawing, clawing cats with flicking tails and proud whiskers.

    “What the…” I began to say. The cats swarmed at my feet, rubbing themselves against my ankles, clawing lightly at my jeans. “What’s going on here?” I reached down to pet a black and white mottled cat with slightly crossed eyes. “What is this?” The cat allowed me to stroke his head a few times but then nipped at my fingers with his teeth. A warning? But of what?

    What was locked behind those doors? What mystery? What horror? Where did those doors lead? To some mystic, windswept valley in the light of a garish colored sunset. Did I hear the sound of long-haired Tibetan warriors mounted on horseback?

    Suddenly, as I stared at the doors, I heard the sound of a far distant trumpet, a ram horn shofar blown across the great expanse of the sky and the chains barring those four doors began to rattle. The cats scattered into shadow and I fled the house, staggering incautiously up the stairs, and bursting through the broken door.

The Pentecost Machine

    My wife and I went out for dinner this evening. She recently discovered that she likes the burgers and fries at the Family Diner that’s just a few blocks from our home. So we’ve been there a number of times in the past couple of months – enough times to sample of variety of their meals. But there was something new there tonight.

    Just inside the door, to the left of the hostess stand, next to the Claw game was a Pentecost Machine. “Whoa!” I exclaimed as we entered. “I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid”

    “What is it?” she asked dubiously eyeing the mechanical man inside the glass box. He was dressed in the baby blue suit jacket, white shirt, and black tie that I remembered. He wore the same large, black rimmed glasses and held a floppy, dog-eared leather-bound Bible. “It’s a Pentecost Machine – a kind of mechanical genie, like Zoltar in the movie, Big. That’s Johnny Pentecost in there. You drop in a quarter and he gives you prediction about the future from the book of Revelation. It prints out on a little card.”

    Just then the animatronic preacher inside the glass began to move. “The Antichrist now walks among us. Do you know the number of his name? Insert twenty-five cents to find out.”

    “Just like I remember,” I told her. “A church we sometimes visited in Logansport, Indiana had one in the fellowship hall of their building. I thought it was awesome but my dad sneered at it and said that ‘parlor games and carnival amusements don’t belong in church.’ He was right of course, but I was always disappointed that he wouldn’t let me drop in a quarter.”

    “Behold the things to come!” the mechanical voice boomed again. “A sure word of prophecy, only twenty-five cents!”

    “I think I’ve got a quarter in my purse,” my wife said. “Do you want to fulfill your childhood dreams?” I laughed and nodded. She dug in her purse and found a quarter for me. “Go nuts,” she said. I dropped the quarter into the slot. The machine lit up and came to life. I could hear the servo motors whining and could smell the burning rubber odor of faulty, old wiring.

    “Gomer – which is Germany – will send tanks and armored vehicles, submarines, and helicopters to invade Israel. Ezekiel 38.” A printed card, slightly smaller than a playing card dropped into the slot below the figure. I fished it out and put it in my pocket.

    My wife rolled her eyes at this and I laughed. “These things were really popular back in the day. Do you have another?” She didn’t bother to roll her eyes again, but I knew. I knew… She found another quarter and handed it to me. “You have fun. I’m going to go find a booth.”

    “Sure. Sure,” I nodded. “I’ll catch up,” I said and dropped in the quarter.

    “Your VISA card is the mark of the beast, 666. VI is Roman numerals for 6, as is S in Greek and the letter A looks like the Babylonian cuneiform for 6.” Another card dropped out.

    I didn’t have any more quarters, but I had a fiver and the hostess was willing to make change for me. I dropped in another quarter.

    “Vladimir Putin will invade Cyprus when Europeans have a crisis to manage,” Johnny Pentecost said and the card dropped down into the slot.

    “Putin?” I wondered. “I would have expected Brezhnev or Gorbachev. When was this thing made?” I examined the casing for a model or serial number. I even pulled the machine away from the wall a bit so I could look at the back – but the hostess gave me an evil eye. I apologized and pushed it back into place and dropped in another quarter.

    “There are eighty-eight reasons that the Lord Jesus Christ will return in the year 1988,” Johnny Pentecost told me. And a card dropped into the slot.

    And then another. And another. Card after card after card. They began spilling out of the machine onto the floor in a heap. They wouldn’t stop.

    “Hey!” My wife said from behind me as I was gathering and shoving cards into my jacket pocket. “Should I order for you?”

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.

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

Around the Throne

Today I'm rereading my friend, Joel Watts' book Praying in God's Theater: Meditations on the Book of Revelation, and I am prompted to write. So I write:

Around the Throne

The faithful dead are dressed in white and gold
and like the sun, they circumscribe the throne;
in duty and in service manifold
these priests and kings their sacred praise intone.
From the throne comes a roar and lightning blast -
the elders there cast down their coronets;
the one who is, and was both first and last,
is hailed as Lord of all the elements.
And here on Earth, now and every hour,
we give to him glory, honor, power.

Revelation 4

The Prayers of the People

The votives are lit, the prayers of the saints:

for Eloise, for Mary, for Dave who broke his hip,
for Ernesto who got the job...

A breeze billows a curtain
and the sanctuary is ablaze.

The smoke of the incense,
together with the prayers of the people,
God’s holy people,
went up before God.

Assimilated into the Holy City

Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls full of the seven last plagues came and said to me, “Come, I will show you something.” And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the Holy City Jerusalem coming down out of interstellar space.

The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the city.  The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width; its length and width and height are also equal. A perfect cube capable of both warp and transwarp velocities.

And the city was surrounded by a subspace field, an adaptive and regenerating force shield that none could penetrate. The city was armed with both beam and projectile weaponry, cutting beams and magnetometric guided charges, missiles and tractor beams.

The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it and assimilated. But nothing unclean will be assimilated.

(Revelation 21 + Star Trek)

Music for Revelation 8:1

I have written a piece of music, inspired by Revelation 8: 1 in the style of John Cage.

Biblical Limericks: The Four Horsemen

The White Rider held a bow in hand.
The Red Rider took peace from the land.
The Black Rider was third,
and famine was his word;
the Green Rider is Death, ain’t he grand?

Revelation 6: 1 – 7 

Everyone Dies – or - The Bottomless Pit and Topless Dancers: Things that Go Bump and Grind in the Night

Maybe what I want is a fatal head wound of my own. I know that’s the AntiChrist’s thing, but sometimes the fatal head wound of permissive men’s hands, those self-indulgent twentieth-century hands seems like a good way out. The unspeaking leaders, the eyeless, sightless leadership of Demons in this terrifying hour has worn me out, worn me down. The final Satanic government head may have ears, but this too is a deception.

Drugs, perhaps? Drugs and doubt. Pills are an unreliable assassination method. Even if a bloody head wound would cause a disturbance in society, drugs are doubtful. Still the Power station must be cut – Should we cut the throat? We wonder how that would happen.

I am a Criminal - a perpetrator of public disorder, like all criminal socialists and liberal fugitives before me. “Criminals need therapy,” they say. Grief counseling. Suicide hotlines. But hold to the sign of the end of the age; let no man deceive you or cause you to reconsider. It’s all desolation until the Captain speaks. A series of aches and pains and tribulations that will not end. All we have is Vague and guesswork. You must voluntarily chose the method of revelation.

As it was in the days of Noe, all the men and women on the list will be razed by violence. Everyone dies. I die, a life tossed up and tossed out on ocean waves. Everybody’s dead. Every body  dies. I am dead as well. Why not? So do not fear; there is no reason to hurry. There is no reason for alarum. The AntiChrist’s deadly head wound will be healed and the world will go on as it always has, wondering how it all happened but never answering the questions.

So I ask the question: Who gave power to the beast during World War I? What counter measures were employed? Who is able to effectively wage war without a publicity and public relations department? How near is Armageddon? As near as Iraq, Iran, and Syria? The Euphrates? Persia?  Just ask the Beast of the World Church. Armageddon may already be present, you may have already won $10,000. But who cares? Why even bother? Why even try?

A strange, but certain apostasy is already dawning. Chemical weapons are even now engaged upon the land. Soon hearts will stop beating on all sides. Babies will not be born according to the proper order. But the Lawyers, for the most part, will not be involved; they will not even be present until after the dust has settled and the blood has congealed. Rigor Mortis will set in and fade out before they show up to feast upon the corpses, to eat the flesh of  captains and kings in little blue uniforms, the flesh of commanders, the flesh of mighty men, horseflesh and the flesh their riders, the flesh of everyone. Everyone dies.

Bring back the sword, I say. Bring back the sword and slash and swing. Slash. Like a storm. Swing like a cloud. Prepare for an invasion, the paratroop maneuvers of a boastful nation. Tanks M-16s, machine guns, rockets, bazookas, miniature nuclear grenades-the manufacturers of our magnificent weaponry do not understand how to be human. They are all cruel teeth and invincible wings, Scorpions with stinger missiles in their tails. This is a sickness unto death.

The abyss has been opened and the beaten angels of our nature are delivered. We have seen the Bottomless Pit and Topless Dancers: Abaddon and Apollyon – things that go bump and grind in the night. The Destroyer is here in fishnet and leather. One Woe is past, two more hereafter.

A 2016 Apocalyptic Nightmare #Drumpf

Then I saw in the right hand of Him who sat on the Throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?”  Then I saw the Drumpf. The Drumpf went and took the scroll from the right hand of the One seated on the Throne, and when he had taken it he said:

You know, listen, I’m the only one here who can take this,
the only one worthy to take this scroll,
no one else can open it. I’m the guy that’s going to open it.
Because I know how to get things done.
No one can touch me. They come at me
they all come at me
but if somebody hits me, I’m going to hit them back harder.
And I can buy this whole place. I’m rich.
I don’t mean to brag, but I’m rich. I’ve got money
and I could just buy this place outright.
And that’s why I’m going to win, I’m going to open this scroll
‘cause I’m rich and I’m a winner.
You know, I’ve made so much money over the years
I’ve got influence like you wouldn’t believe, I can make the deals
I went to a great school and I learned words, great words
I’m very, very, very intelligent.
And that’s why I’m doing so well in the polls, that’s why they love me.
I’ve never had any trouble in bed. I’m a winner.

And I wept and wept because no one seemed able to stop him.

Revelation Story Problems

QUESTIONS

 1) John has a vision of a seven-horned, seven-eyed Lamb. This Lamb breaks the seals of a large scroll; immediately John sees a rider on a white horse with a crown and a bow, a red horse whose rider carried a large sword for war, a black horse whose rider carried a pair of scales, and a rider on a pale green horse-who was death. How many horses does John have?  (Revelation 6: 1 – 8)

2) John hears the number of those who are marked on their foreheads with the seal of God- they are: 12,000 from the tribe of Judah, 12,000 from the tribe of Reuben, 12,000 from the tribe of Gad, 12,000 from the tribe of Asher, 12,000 from the tribe of Naphtali, 12,000 from the tribe of Manasseh, 12,000 from the tribe of Simeon, 12,000 from the tribe of Levi, 12,000 from the tribe of Issachar, 12,000 from the tribe of Zebulun, 12,000 from the tribe of Joseph, and 12,000 from the tribe of Benjamin. How many does John see sealed? (Revelation 7: 3 – 8)

3) John was given a measuring reed and told to measure God’s sanctuary, but to exclude the outer court. Assuming this is Herod’s temple in Jerusalem, what measurements does John record? (Revelation 11: 1 – 2)

4) John sees a beast emerging from the land with two horns like a lamb, but sounding like a dragon. John is shrewd and can calculate the beast’s name, the beast’s human name. If the number of the beast is 666 what is his human name? If the number of the beast is 616 what is his human name?  (Revelation 13: 11 – 18)

ANSWERS

1) Zero. John has a vision.

2) Unknown. He sees a huge number, impossible for anyone to count. (Revelation 7:9)

3) John does not record any measurements.

4) 666 = Nero  616 = Nero

The Silent Steed of Death and Hades

I saw the Pale Horse, the rotted flesh, green horse,
the pustulent steed of Death and Hades,
and they were ordained with authority
over a portion of the earth,
given a position of command
to say “come,” –and you come,
to say “go,” –you salute! and go.
They were given authority to kill the spirit
by sword, by famine, by plague.

And silence is just another word for pestilence;
let it incubate for weeks,
let it smolder beneath the surface
of your broken skin, for weeks,
unspoken.

Ask your questions –you’ll get no response.
Seek understanding –you’ll get none.

When the outbreak comes,
who will be afflicted?
The ones left silenced in the field.
I am livid, corpse-like
signifying death.
The beasts have devoured me.

The White Horse
The Red Horse
The Black Horse

The Third Seal (Black Horse)

The White Horse
The Red Horse
The Pale Green Horse

The Red Horse with its Blood Red Rider Is our Favorite

In the most imminent of all our futures there will be another horse, a blood red horse, a horse of fire, a horse of flame. And so it comes and so it goes – responding to the thundersome voice calling, “Come!” And this bloody horse, a beast of power, along with its blood red rider is our most favorite of the Apocalyptic horses. We love this horse and call it forth often. “Come and see,” the militant horse.

Hail, hail, Red Rider – come swing your sword.
Hail, blood red Rider, the Pentagon has not been exercised;
Come, red horse, come, you have power here.
Come, loud sounding, stamping hooves,
take peace and bring us war;
bring tanks and armored chariots from the mountains of brass.

We love this horse and call it forth often. Come and see!

The White Horse Rider Rides to Conquest and to Conquer
The Black Horse
The Pale Green Horse

The White Horse Rider Rides to Conquest and to Conquer

The White Horse and its uniformed rider came when they were called – obedient servants obey the thunderful voice of their master. I heard the voice of that strange creature, him of the multivalent faces, the honorable Mayor Richard Daley of Chicago, Illinois, call the rider forth, “Come.” And the White Horse rider came – 23,000 strong.

And I saw the White Horse (working for the White House) trampling down the protesters in Grant Park. I saw him knock Phil Ochs to the ground, smash his guitar. I saw him beating journalists. This is how the future is shaped and elections are decided. This is how wars are won.

The Rider on the White Horse carried no sword but a bow – Chemical Mace sprayed at a distance to blind and to incapacitate the people. The Rider of that White horse was given a riot protection helmet as a crown – the polycarbonate visor of the victor. He rode out to conquer and bent on conquest – to take control of the party and steal the nation.

I saw the White Horse Rider in Chicago again eighty two years earlier throwing bombs in Haymarket Square. In New York, Seattle, Ferguson -the White Horse Rider rides to conquest and to conquer.


The Red Horse
The Black Horse
The Pale Green Horse