Mischief Night – Friday, 1987

    It was another Friday in that long ago and misremembered 1987, October 30^th. Mischief Night, or Devil’s Night as some of the more alarmist voices were already starting to call it. All Hallow’s Eve Eve… The threshold of the threshold.

    “We should go out to the cemetery and watch for Satanists,” Dave suggested. “They’re bound to be out, right? Getting ready for the great ritual, the high holy Samhain.”

    We were all together again – in the attic space above Dave’s family apartment that we’d claimed as our own. The television was on, some eurotrash horror film called The Sweet Terrors of the Succubus, but we’d grown bored of it and lost track of the plot, such as it was, and we were casting about for something to do. Dave’s mom had suggested that we could help her make rice crispy treats for Halloween trick-or-treaters, but we’d declined.

    She also brought up a small box of Halloween decorations – mostly paper cutouts of skeletons and ghosts and witches. “Mom,” Dave whined. “That’s kids’ stuff. It’s corny.” She smiled and left the box anyway and Micah was sorting through it. He hung a few of the spiders and skeletons from the ceiling.

    “If we wanna go to the cemetery,” I said, “we’re going to need to call Allison.”

    “No, dude,” Dave said. I’m not exactly sure why Dave didn’t care for Allison. He called her “Yoko.” I told him that was uncool, and he shrugged. Anyway, Micah was already dialing the phone. Dave saw it. “Dude, no.” Micah handed the phone to me.

    “Hey,” Allison said. “Whatever it is, I’m down.”

    “Trip to the cemetery,” I told her.

    “On Mischief Night? Groovy.” I could hear her grin through the phone. Twenty minutes later she was in the alley behind Dave’s apartment, and we were sneaking down the back stairs.

    “How’d you get the car?” I asked as Allison drove us across town towards the Resurrection Cemetery. “You don’t have your license yet, do you?” Dave and I were in the back seat. Micah was up front with her.

    “No. Beth and the parentals are out of town. They’re taking her to visit one of the colleges she’s interested in. They don’t know I’ve got the car.”

    I nudged Dave with an elbow to the ribs. “Well, thanks for driving us to the graveyard. It’s cool you’re coming.”

    “Actually,” Allison said without taking her eyes from the road, “It’s a cemetery. Though we use the words somewhat interchangeably. Cemeteries are larger and not connected to a church. Graveyards are smaller and associated with a church.”

    “Cool,” Micah said.

    “Same’s true of coffin and casket,” Allison continued. “We use them to mean the same, but they’re different. Caskets are rectangular with four sides. Coffins are tapered with six sides.”

    “Cool,” Micah said again. I don’t think I’d ever heard him so verbose.

    Allison turned off the headlights and parked the car a ways up the road. “Quiet now,” she warned. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

    But she needn’t have bothered. The place was dead. Bad pun, I know. I know. People had been there but now it was only us and the remains of someone else’s party. We shone our flashlights around the scene and saw the remains of their revelries. There was trash everywhere. Empty beer cans and vodka bottles, empty cigarette packs and cigarette butts. Dave found a used condom and Micah found a stray shoe and a very large black bra. There were a few broken candles scattered around one tombstone and lots of pieces of paper blowing around in the grass.

    Dave stepped on one to stop it from blowing away. He picked it up and read from it. “It’s from the Bible,” he said. “This page is Isaiah. ‘My heart falters, fear makes me tremble; the twilight I longed for has become a horror to me...”

    That caught my ear. “That’s… I recognize that one. Why do I know that one?” I looked at Allison for help. “It’s so familiar. Why do I know that passage?”

    “Beats me,” she said. “But maybe we should clean this up. I mean, we just can’t leave it like this. It’s so…”

    “Disrespectful,” I suggested.

    “Ugly,” Dave said at the same time.

    “Yeah,” she said to both. “I think Beth’s got a trash bag in the back of the car.”

    So we spent the next half hour walking between the graves, using our flashlights to find the trash and detritus left behind by the unknown revelers and mischief makers. We worked methodically in silence to gather up all the Bible pages and beer cans and other assorted debris. Dave used a small branch to pick up the used condom and to drop it in with the rest of the trash. We nearly filled the bag.

    When we finished, we gathered around Micah who was pointing his flashlight at a headstone with a pile of small stones on top. We watched in wonder as Micah added one more stone to the pile.

    He pointed his flashlight at the grave marker again and said, “My uncle.”

    LEVI ABELMAN – 1932 – 1984
    BELOVED HUSBAND – DEVOTED FATHER

    Allison turned and hugged him. And we all sat there in silence on the ground.

    “It’s like that song by This Corpse Alive – Dark Gethsemane,” I said as we sat together there at Micah’s uncle’s headstone.

    Early hasten to the tomb
    where they lay
    this lifeless clay
    all is solitude and gloom.

    We huddled together in silence for several minutes. Not speaking. Not moving. Just listening and thinking. After what seemed like a long while I asked a question. “Do you ever wonder if this is all there is? I mean, these bodies. This flesh… This life. There’s more, right?”

    Dave nodded. “But what is it?” I asked again. Now he looked slightly panicked. Micah shook his head and shrugged.

    We went out that night looking for performative blasphemy, all the satanic rituals of death in the Resurrection Cemetery, but we found something like the meaning of life. Or at least the right questions. And that’s still the question. All these years later. Is this all there is? All our assumptions about life and death and life after death and life after life. Spirit disembodied, removed from the material and the physical. A presence without weight and a weight without presence. Is there more? Are we more?

    “I don’t know what comes after life,” Allison said. “But whatever it is, it’s not worth much without love.” She placed another small stone on Micah’s uncle’s headstone.

    That’s when the police rolled up and turned on the flashing blue and red lights.

    “Shit! We’re busted,” Allison hissed.

    “Should we run?” Dave asked.

    “No,” I said as I stood. “He’s probably already got the license plate from the car. Even if we ran, he’d still track us down.”

    “Okay, you punks. Just hold it there. Don’t move,” called out the police officer as he turned his powerful flashlight on us. “Every year it’s this same damn thing. You kids come out here on Devil’s Night to topple some gravestones or spray paint pentagrams all over everything.”

    “Sir,” I said raising my hands over my head. “We’re not satanists. We came out to see satanists, but we didn’t find any...”

    “But they were here,” Dave interrupted. “They left their trash all over everything.”

    “We just cleaned it all up,” Allison finished the explanation. And Micah pointed to the trash bag at our feet.

    “Open that up and let me see,” the officer instructed. Micah knelt down and opened the bag wide enough to see inside. The condom was still right there on top of all the beer cans.

    The officer spoke into his radio, “This is Richardson out at the Resurrection Cemetery. You got anything on that license plate?”

    “Negative. No tickets or outstanding warrants.”

    “All right kids. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to haul ass out of here before I have to arrest you for trespassing. You’re going to go home. Straight home. And I’m going to file a report saying that I didn’t find any evidence of satanic mischief out here tonight. Which not only saves me a lot of other paperwork but has the added blessing of being true. Now haul ass.”

    We took off running for Allison’s car. But he shouted again, “Hold on, hold on! Take this trash with you.” Micah ran back and grabbed the bag, and we all beat feet for the car.

Rituali de Sangue - Friday, 1987
Twilight at Saint Gerald's - Another Friday, 1987
Exorcism Live - Another Friday, 1987

Exorcism Live, Another Friday, 1987

    I was lying on my bed, listening to music Allison had given me when Dave and Micah showed up. The music had captured me; it was totally unlike the metal I usually listened to. One entire side of the cassette was a song by Brian Eno – thirty minutes of drifting synths. Just drifting. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling drifting. Almost floating even.

    I thought about her – Allison. Since the event at the hospital she hadn’t been allowed to drive Beth’s car anymore. She was grounded, but not really in trouble. Her parents – all of our parents – were so relieved that we were safe that they implemented only token punishments for our poor choices. But still, she wasn’t allowed to drive anymore. Not till she actually got her license anyway. We hung out at school more often since the hospital. Walked the halls between classes together. That’s when she’d given me the mix tape.

    “You should expand your experiences,” she said.

    So I was listening to this music of nothing, this melody of air and moonlight through the headphones. I didn’t know how to hear it but there was something profound there.

    And that’s when the guys came in. We were at my place instead of the unfinished attic above Dave’s family’s apartment, but we were at my place almost as often as Dave’s. They kicked open the door and Dave yanked the headphone cable from the stereo. The sustained lilting of the airy melody flowed into the room.

    “What’s this shit?” Dave asked.

    “It’s a mix-tape Allison gave me.” I tossed him the cassette case with her handwritten titles.

    “Brian Eno?” he read. “Never heard of him. Sugar Cubes? Mississippi John Hurt? Carter USM?” he looked up from the list. “Are these songs or bands or what?” He continued reading. “Herman’s Hermits? Herman’s Shitting Hermits? Don’t your parents listen to that crap?”

    Micah pushed the stop and eject button on the cassette player, removed the tape and handed it back to me. He shook his head, “No.”

    Dave pulled out one of my This Corpse Alive albums. We were really into them. I still listen to them. The percussive pounding began immediately:

    Creeping in unnoticed
    The ungodly! The ungodly!
    Creeping from the remotest
    The ungodly! The ungodly!

    “No. Not that one” I objected. I was still feeling the ambient drift of the Eno song and I couldn’t handle the throbbing metal just yet. “Play the next track.” Dave moved the needle and suddenly the distorted guitars and drums were replaced with somber, if somewhat dissonant strings layered with gravel voiced mournful vocals.

    The righteous dies and no one cares
    In these evil days. These evil days.

    That song moves me. Even still. I can’t hear it without trembling a little. But back then, back in 1987 when we were fifteen, we were smart kids doing dumb things. Or dumb kids listening to good music and watching bad movies. That wasn’t the plan for this Friday night though. No. We’d planned that dumbest of teenage pranks – the prank phone call.

    In preparation I’d gone back to the University library and found a copy of Anton LaVey’s Satanic Bible. The librarian at the desk wouldn’t let me check it out though. “Stolen too often,” she told me. So I had to make xerox copies of the pages I wanted. The librarian eyeballed me the entire time to make sure I returned the infamous text before I left.

    Don’t get me wrong though. We weren’t satanists or anything. We just thought all that occult stuff was interesting. We read some of Aleister Crowley’s ceremonial magik, we looked up ancient summoning spells. We tried some of those, but never had any luck with them. And I read some of Anton LaVey’s books. Some called him “The Black Pope,” others called him the “evilest man in the world,” but to me he just sounded like Ayn Rand with pentagrams and black candles. Boring really.

    But armed with these devilish provocations we were going to call Bob Larson’s Talk Back radio program. Larson was one of those televangelists – though he was on the radio, not television in those days. His show was a crack up. Talking to teens about Satanism and ritual Satanic abuse and all that hype. He was a showman, always asking for people to donate money to his ministry and pitching his books and tapes. He was loud. He was abrasive and abusive, often shouting down his guests, telling them to shut up so he could rail against them. His voice was high pitched and pinched, and even more so as he became riled up. We turned off the record player and turned on the radio and tuned in the program just in time to hear the beginning of his show.

    “Good evening, America. Welcome to Talk Back with Bob Larson. I’ll be here for the next hour talking about what’s on my mind and hearing from you about what’s on your mind. Tonight we’re talking about teenage satanists. If you’re a teenager and you’re involved in Satanism or the occult dial me at 1-800-821-TALK. Call me. Maybe you’re into witchcraft. Maybe you’ve been involved in some sort of ritual sacrifice. Maybe you’re a member of a black metal, death metal band. Or maybe you want out. Maybe you want to be set free. Call me.”

    Dave was already dialing and talking to the call screener. Trying to get us in to the show as Bob continued on the radio.

    “Satan promises power. Power over parents. Power over school authorities. And even power over God. Is it a passing phase? Or are these teens committing to the rituals and a lifestyle that will take over and consume them? Do they have the devil in them? Is it Lucifer or Belial, or Leviathan in them? Why are teenagers turning to Satan? Call me. Talk to me. We’ve got a young man from Bloomington, Indiana on the phone.”

    “We’re on! We’re on!” Dave said thrusting the phone at me.

    “So you’re a teenage satanist?” I heard Larson say in the phone earpiece and on the radio and I was momentarily confused. “How long have you been duped by the devil?” Dave thrust the xerox LaVey quotes at me. Micah turned down the volume on the radio a little.

    “Do you kiss the ring of Satan? Hello? Are you there, caller?”

    I suddenly found my voice – not my regular voice, but the mewling, growling voice I used to crack up Dave and Micah as we read Crowley and LaVey. “Gather around me, Oh! Ye death-defiant, and the earth itself shall be thine, to have and to hold!”

    “My, what a lovely singing voice you must have,” Larson quipped. “So you’re a teenage satanist. You’ve obviously read The Satanic Bible…”

    I interrupted his spiel, “Too long the dead hand has been permitted to sterilize living thought. Life is the great indulgence – death, the great abstinence. Therefore, make the most of life, here and now!”

    “Caller, what’s your name? And how old are you?”

    We’d prepared for this. “Call me Liber Samekh,” I said, not dropping the voice. “And my minions, Cernunnos and Draugor are here with me.”

    “Are those your witch names? Your ritual names?”

    “Yes,” I answered and kicked at Micah who was wheezing with laughter on the floor, holding his yarmulke on his head with one hand. 

    “And do you and your minions listen to heavy metal, black or death metal music?”

    “We do. We follow This Corpse Alive. They’re the greatest.” I was getting off track a little. Dave shoved another page in front of me, jabbing his finger at a highlighted quote. I read it, putting all the menace I could into my cracking, teenage voice. “Behold the crucifix; what does it symbolize? Pallid incompetence hanging on a tree.”

    Larson was incensed. “Liber Samekh, Listen to me. Liber Samekh, I won’t allow blasphemy on my show. This is my show. Listen to me! Listen you’re getting into something that you can’t control. You don’t know…”

    I interrupted him again, louder and more forcibly. “Say unto thine own heart, ‘I am mine own redeemer.’”

    “Begone, Satan” Larson started shouting. “I bind and cast you out of this boy. I bind and cast you out of this child. I bind and cast you out in the name of Jesus…”

    He probably went on like that for some time, but we were laughing too hard to hear him. It was dumb and childish, of course. Puerile. But it was fun and funny. We were reading Crowley and LaVey and all that other rot, but we never bought into the “Satanic Panic” of those years. Bob Larson was a carnival barker. Anton LaVey was little more than an egoist. But one thing still stands out from those years – that song by This Corpse Alive still haunts me.

    The righteous dies and no one cares
    these evil days. These evil days.

Rituali de Sangue - Friday, 1987
Twilight at Saint Gerald's - Another Friday, 1987

B-001 (My First Encounter)

My first encounter with Satan was silent wind; the devil was militarily prepared for war. The devil whispered unspeakable hardships, struck with horror and acid-bath murder. The plague was exceedingly great. I am buried alive, very dark. The devil said to the wind, “Every island will vanish like grotesque and perverted and guilt-ridden blood. That was a dream, a disfigured dream, a horrible secret. Froglike demons torture me.

He Was with the Wild Beasts

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. – Mark 1: 12 - 13

The unconquering Satan fled from him, leaving Jesus alone in the wilderness. His legs sagged beneath him and he fell to the ground, banging his knees and his shins against the sharp rocks. Blood flowed from the wounds and the wild animals who lived there smelled it and were drawn to it, to him.

First to arrive, a ghost of gnats, swarming in the dusky twilight. “Bless you, gnats,” Jesus said. “May you live upon the wind and be blown by the Spirit to places of rest.” The midges bobbed in the air and departed.

Then came feral dogs, wild, undomesticated, snarling and baring their cruel teeth, they approached. But Jesus blessed them too. “A dog’s tongue is a doctor’s tongue. Let us lick our wounds and threaten war no more.” The dogs lay down at his feet and slept.

Next a crepuscular moth, flitting here and there, alighted near him. “A blessing for you as well, little pest. Be pollinators. Be food. Be a blessing.”

A long eared fox clambered up the slope on silent hairless footpads. She yelped once and Jesus nodded to her. “Be subtle and be blessed, mother fox. Be quick and daring and be blessed.” Her ears flicked, aware of a noise, an approaching hum. She nodded her head once, twice, and then turned and fled into the darkness.

The buzzing grew louder and closer, a swarm of locusts. They clouded the air around Jesus’ face. “And how should I bless you, bringers of famine, and pestilence? How should I bless you bringers of havoc and devastation? How can I bless you? I do not know. But bless blessed nonetheless. Be blessed. And once more makes three, be blessed. Now go.” The swarm departed. The dogs at Jesus’ feet looked up and whimpered. “They are gone now,” he said to them, and they lay back down to sleep.

Now a large bodied raven swooped low, feeding on the slower locusts. The raven snatched up one with its beak, tossed it into the air and caught it in its mouth. “Karr-karr-khaharr!” it croaked.

Jesus smiled. “You are a most ambiguous creature, aren’t you? Unclean and uncouth, carrion eaters – detestable things - yet you bring comfort to the prophets. You neither sow nor reap, but God feeds you and your little ones.” Jesus held out his arm and the raven flew to him. It hopped up his arm toward his face and motioned as if to peck at Jesus’ eye, but Jesus cautioned the bird. “Be blessed, black one. Be blessed.” 

“Kara-khaharr-karr!” the raved cawed and then flew away.

Jesus gathered wood and lit a fire, for it was dark now, and cold.  He sat on a stone near the flames to warm himself.  And sitting there he saw, through the flickering flames, the glowing eyes of wolf.  “Here comes the desert prince, emblem of Benjamin. Come,” Jesus called to the wolf.  But it only snarled in response, and growled, low and threatening. Again, Jesus called to it. “Come. Sit here with me.” The wolf growled again and ran away. Jesus stoked the fire and pet the dogs still sleeping at his feet.

Moments later the wolf returned, walking slowly, hesitantly with its head low. “Come,” said Jesus, “rest here with me. You are welcome.” And the wolf lay down there with him.

A viper, drawn to the warmth of the fire, slithered out of the rocks. Jesus saw the venomous serpent and said, “You are welcomed and blessed, but you must do no evil or harm here.” Then the snake coiled itself on a stone and basked in the warmth of the fire.

A great fluttering of wings rustled overhead, and down came a large vulture with a raspy yawp. “Why should you come here, vulture?  There is no carcass, as you can see. I am not dead. Not yet. But even then why should you gather? But a blessing for you, nonetheless; eaters of carrion have their place.  Consume the corpses and keep the world clean. Be blessed.”  The vulture hopped first on one scraggy foot, then the other and then leaped into the air and flew away.

Then, out from under the rocks and sand, came a scorpion, golden in the firelight, with its venomous tail poised and claws extended. It was ready to strike and to sting. Jesus saw it and said, “Have you come to torment me? Shall I tread upon you?” The scorpion danced in the sand, waving its claws, rearing up in the firelight. “Again I ask you,” said Jesus patiently, “have you come to torment me? Even with your toxic venom you cannot kill me. Shall I stand and crush you with my heel?” The malignant scorpion repeated its threatening gestures.

It rushed toward Jesus on its eight legs, ready to pinch with its pinchers and sting with its toxic tail, but just then an angel appeared and crushed the belligerent scorpion. Jesus looked up at the angel who said, “I’ve been sent to wait on you, to minister to and care for you, but you seem to have things under control.”

Jesus smiled and motioned for the angel to join him at the fire.

Plundering and Blundering

He saw them: Peter, James and John (the Thunder-Twins) and Judas-hunched conspiratorially over the evening cookfire, whispering. Jesus left his followers an hour or so prior, and gone off some distance to pray alone, in the dark. Now, upon returning, he found these four (the others were already sleeping) plotting.

“We’ve got enough rope,” said Peter, “I think.  We can do this if we tie up his hands and his feet, but…”

“But,” said John, interrupting with a pointed jab of his meaty hand, “we’ve got to be quick, and we’ve got to be quiet. We do this tonight, while everyone’s asleep.”

Peter spoke, “James, you keep watch to the North and East. Judas, on the South and West. Let out a little bird whistle if you see anyone approaching. It’s dark tonight, no moon, so I don’t think there will be anyone, but…”

“But,” John interrupted again. “We’ve got to be quick and quiet. We go in. We crack him on the head with this,” he brandished his walking staff, a stout length of solid oak, “And we tie him up tight. Then we find the money.”

Jesus moved closer now and the disciples, seeing the motion, flinched. Their eyes were wide in firelight and surprise.

“Jesus… you startled us,” said Peter.

“What are you boys planning?”

They hesitated, none of them wanting to be the first to speak. Then Peter said, “Well, it’s like you told us-we’re going to go in, bind up Levi the Merchant, and take his moneybox.”

Judas said, “The money will feed the poor, and spread your gospel, Master. We…”

Jesus cut him off before he could say more. “You’re going to do what?”

“We’re going to bind up the strongman,” said Peter, “and plunder his house. Like you told us to.”

“Told you?” Jesus sputtered. “That was a parable. A parable, you fools!  Why must you always take everything so literally?”

(Mark 3:23-27)

Biblical Limericks: Numbskull

Scribes from Jerusalem said, “He’s full
of power from that imp, Beelzebul.”
Said Jesus, “Are you dense?
You are not making sense.
Can Satan purge Satan, you numbskull?”

Mark 3: 22 - 23

An Interview with John the Apocalyptic Schizophrenic -Part 2

The trail of blood through the centuries is an unerring and infallible mark of their activity.  It covers a period of six thousand years of history.  Metatron, aided by Melancthon, have traced a $500,000 wire transfer from the bank of Commercial Finance in Geneva, Switzerland.  They are contending against a massive organization of terrorist operatives within the Mainstream Media.  Religious, or more accurately, Irreligious persecutions in Tunisia and England are linked by this same trail of blood money.  These are acts of terror and tiresome lectures, a satanic sign in this contemporary dark age.  Look for the Ankh sign in her face-an ankh cross symbolizing sexual intercourse.  The mainstream media does not see the evil here.  They are blind. Oblivious.

The Second Amendment was granted to us by God.  I have, you have, we have a God given right to bear arms.  The amendment is divinely inspired-inerrant and infallible.  An inalienable right, and not for illegal aliens, sneaking into this country to steal our jobs and our women.  You are an enemy under an umbrella, kicking me in the teeth.

There are machines that can help you to meet attractive women, sensual women.  There’s music and they sing…it’s great. You’ll love it.  I’m not a poet.  I write in FORTRAN. I compose in Cobol.  What was she wearing?  She wears the sun and the moon.  She is clothed in the sky.  She hides in the desert where she imagines that she is secure.  The machine pursue her.  It is now or never, close upon the point of no return. Your world is on fire.  Your world is on fire. Can you see what is happening to her?  It is a disaster.  The whole world is on fire.  This is why she flees: she is soft and beautiful. She is brittle.

The prophet-the TRUE prophet- is honored to be mocked on the internet.  He has a feeling.  He has an intuitive appreciation of these things.  Korean pop stars are completely unable to answer the questions that he asks.  The AntiChrist will stand trial in a US court – but not today.  Today is he being held back by the prophets Enoch and Elijah. 

MONDAY: And these signs shall follow them that believe; in my name shall they cast out lawyers and other devils; they shall speak with new patronizing tongues.  They shall take up serpents.  They shall swallow swords and snakes, and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick and they shall recover. 

Interviewer: Do you believe this?

John: Should I?  Dr. Domitian says that he’s been bitten, that he’s survived over 446 snakebites…but no. I don’t think I believe him.  There’s death in the box.  Painful death and long lasting tissue damage.
Interviewer: So you don’t believe it?

John: No.  I think Dr. Domitian has been lying to me.  He lies.  I don’t trust him.

TUESDAY: The flood did not kill all living things.  The deluge that missed some of the Nephilim.  Did they cling to the sides of the Ark?  Did they escape on an ark of their own construction? 

The Great Mother, Babylon, came in remembrance before the Lord God, an apostate, rebellious woman in purple and scarlet.  Myriads of precious stones were scattered at her feet, silver strands were spun into her hair, and flakes of gold drifted through the air.  Despite this, the price of Gold on the worldwide market is in decline.  She is the mother of harlots, drunken with billions of dollars in blood money disguised as foreign aid.

This is a cause of wonder to John.  He cannot understand it.  It is beyond him.  He is astonished, for the angels said nothing to him about her.  Why wouldn’t they tell him?  Did they forget?  Or were they hiding her from him.  And if so, what else were they keeping secret.  He trusted them.  They were his friends.  No one else would visit him, talk to him like they did.  And now he discovers that they’re keeping secrets! Lying to him! Misleading him!

The beast that he saw was and is not swimming up from the bottomless abyss into perdition.  This world is hell.  When that lizard breaches the surface and steps one scaly foot upon dry land, he is setting foot into hell.  And here in hell, this hell, there are seven hills and seven kings.

Interviewer: What does that mean?  Seven hills and seven kings?
John: I don’t know.  They told us about it at school, something about Rome?  There was a dictator, a triumvirate, and an empire.  Oh, and the pope. Right? 

Interviewer: I don’t know. You tell me, John.  That’s why we’re here.
John: Overthrow the government is always money in the bank.

Interviewer: What?

John: Money in the bank. But I’m broke.

WEDNESDAY: The UFO was an abandoned Russian satellite.  Its booster rockets failed to fire and it dropped out of orbit, crashing into the Pacific Ocean sometime early this morning.  I’m seeking a presidential order to have all the pertinent surveillance systems audited for errors and malfeasance.  I just need one hour, one hour of power with the Beast.  The Kingdoms of Europe have already given their unanimous support for this investigation.  Why won’t the president drop the pretense and let us know what is going on?  They shall hate the harlot and make her desolate and naked and eat her flesh and burn her with fire.  Is one hour too much to ask before all of this? 

When the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers. The list of possible targets is disturbing.  Air Force patrols have been placed on high alert.  Unidentified planes (not to mention UFOs) will be shot down without warning or hesitation. 

Make war with the Lamb.  Make war with Cuba and Puerto Rico.  But for God’s sake, try to appear impartial.  Make the Whore desolate, strip her naked, and leave her abandoned on an inflatable life boat on the waves of the Pacific, drifting aimlessly without food or fresh water, but don’t take sides against the family.  Don’t disparage the country.  Never, on any consideration, oppose the interests of this great organization.

Tortured and depleted uranium fuel rods are inadmissible.  We will burn her with fire, with Thorium. Thorium glows blue when it is superheated.  Widespread panic and chaos, darkness and corruption-this is the theology of the end of days.   Relics of prophecy, discarded remnants of the reformation.  Her virtue is weak, yet she is convinced of her invincible righteousness. She retains in her barely covered bosom a desire for ecclesiastical worship-the prick of the little horn and she bleeds.  She bleeds, but she will burn. 

THURSDAY: Her Spiritualism is astonishing.  The real people of the world are astonished, but it is her elemental power.  She calls upon the wind, the water; she calls upon scorched earth and fire-the fire that will eventually consume her.  We have intercepted cellular calls between her and her agents in Kuwait.  All available American carriers are already on route to the Gulf of Suez. But put substance over shadow and you will drive out the counterfeit sheep.  She is clothed in ribbon and wires found in dungeons of stake and blood.  She wears the Pope’s tiara.  She wears the number 666, and she wears it with pride.  It is not the number of a man, it is her number.  She was offered the hereditary government of Egypt and Syria, from the Gulf of Suez to the Lake of Tiberius.  The Ottoman fleet is returned to safe harbor.  And where is the Sultan’s independence? GONE! Who has the Ottoman Empire in her smooth hands?  Her well-manicured nails are already tracking down our spine.   

Make a note of these judgments: the events that will transpire under the thunder of the sixth trumpet.  Call Anastasia. Ask her if you doubt, but make note of these judgments.

The worship of devils-all demons and dead men deified-will be brought into the light.  Idols of silver, statues of gold and brass, little gods carved of wood, and stone, and water, all of them exposed to the sun.  Wars need to be declared in public if they are to be legal wars.  No jus in bello in the dark, in secret.  Murders, sorceries, pretend miracles, fornications and thefts – this is not at all humorous.  We are not laughing.  Manifest Destiny was an undeclared war trumpeted in every newspaper from coast to coast.  Hordes of Saracens and Turks were loosed upon the world as a scourge and punishment are nothing compared to what we deserve.  Men suffered but we do not yet know the lesson thereof.

I’ve been following the angle of prophecy, but I think that I’m lost.  I stumbled somewhere in Daniel’s 70 weeks.  The little horn, tin horn dictator shouting in my ear, “And some of them of understanding shall fall. To try them, and purge them and make them white, even to the time of the end.”  The Red Mass appears here. I’m white with fear. Bloodless. Pale. I’m white, not clean.

Interviewer: Tell me about the year A.D. 1798.

John: What can I say?

Interviewer: I don’t know, John.  What can you say?
John: The year 1798 started on a Monday… by the Gregorian calendar, anyway.  It was a Friday by the Julian calendar, but I don’t think that means anything.

Interviewer: Anything else?

John: I think that was the year that Saint Helveticus hid from the French in Geneva and Napoleon defeated the Ottomans near the Pyramids.  I can’t tell if that was a good year for the French or not.

It has been said by those who have examined French records that France is one of the ten horns that gave their power and strength to the beast, filling France with bloody carnage and horror.  Well supplied infidels and survivalists with guns have barricaded themselves within their Iowa farmsteads.  They are making graves for themselves and for our children.  They are bringing down the wrath of man, employing wicked men to tarnish the glory of God.

Behold!  Let the third woe come quickly.  The fearful second woe has passed, but we cannot long endure the sounding of the trumpets, neither can we withstand the flash and bang of flash-bang grenades with light seven times brighter than the sun.

John: Did I tell you that the prince of hell, Satan himself, is fully aware of his failure? 

Interviewer: How do you know this? 

John: Because I’m him.

Interviewer: …

John: It’s me. I’m him.  I’ve read the owner’s manual. I’ve read the ending; I know how this all turns out.  I am trapped in a corner, raging against the heavenly foes arrayed against me.  I know the mystery of iniquity.  I know how to pretend and prevaricate.  I am God- this is what I will tell you.  I am the mongrel son of perdition.  I was conceived in sin. I live in the hidden recesses of the wind. I was spewed out of the serpent’s mouth, born of deluge of water and foul spirits.

I have no children. And God! if that isn’t a relief.  They, the children I don’t have, won’t inherit this curse.  My brother, though, will take the throne, sending his ambassadors out and presuming to call himself the new sovereign. 

Did you know that a prophetic year is only 360 days? The other five days - those missing days are stampeded by an innumerable horde of horses ridden by Turkish warriors the color of fire, the color of jacinth, the color of brimstone-that is sulfur.  Red. Blue. Yellow with a star in the center of their heads.  The riders discharge their firearms from horseback in a cloud of smoke. The artillery of Mahomet.  I remember Goths, the Huns, the Avars, Persians, Bulgarians, Saracens, and Russians, Turks, and Kazakhs.  They were all reduced to rubble and rune by the cannons, hostile violence, the sound of musketry, the smell of blackpowder smoke, collapsing towers mixed with blood.

Interviewer: Tell me more about the angels that visit you.  Do you see the Archangel, Michael?

John: Just the once.

Interviewer: Gabriel?

John: No.

Interviewer: How about Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remeil, or Saraqael?  … Why are you looking at me like that?  I read.  I know things.

John: No.  I’ve never met any of them.

Interviewer: Which angels have you met?

John: Phenanthrene, Chrysene, the Twins: Pyrene and Benzopyrene, and Ovalene.
Interviewer: Ovaltine?

John: Ovalene.  He has orange hair and likes deep-sea diving.  He swims down around the hydrothermal vents.  Chrysene dresses in gold and always smells like pine.  The Twins smoke incessantly.  And Phenanthrene is nearly insoluble in water.

Interviewer: Nearly?
John: Nearly insoluble.

I once saw 240,000 meteors falling above the horizon of Boston.  The firmament descending in fire and hail mixed with blood.  Never did rain fall so thick, never a snowstorm so dense as these stones from space.  I lay on the ground, prostrate, speechless.  How was it formed? Of what was it composed?

I have no weapon against idolatry.  No cannon. No rocket. No sword.  I can only write, making scribbles on scraps of loose paper that I lose in my pockets. Illegible. I am unarmed. Powerless.

Biblical Limericks: Rebuked Him as Satan

He told them he would be forsaken,
rejected, despised, his life taken.
Simon Peter said, “No!
To this end you can’t go.”
But Jesus rebuked him as Satan.

Mark 8: 31 - 33

Biblical Limericks: Don’t Blame Satan

A misread text will bring in its wake
much trouble, so please, for heaven’s sake,
remember all this when
you read of old Eden:
don’t blame Satan for deeds of the snake.

Genesis 3:1 

Achilles, Satan, and My Year with the Classics

Apparently this is going to be the year that I read (or in a few cases, re-read) the classics of western civilization.  Earlier this year I read, for the first time, Homer’s Iliad.  This prompted me to then pick up Homer’s sequel to it, The Odyssey at the public library along with the Roman poet, Virgil’s sequel The Aeneid.  And now as I’m just halfway through The Odyssey I realize I’m going to have to re-read Milton too.

The realization came to me when I read Achilles’ words to Odysseus in Hades:

“By god, I’d rather slave on earth for another man -
some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive -
than rule down here over all the breathless dead.” (The Odyssey 11. 556 -558)

and I recognized Milton’s reflection of those words put into the mouth of Satan in Paradise Lost:

“…Here at least

we shall be free; the Almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.” (Paradise Lost 1.258-63)

And then I compared the opening lines of The Iliad with the opening lines of Paradise Lost:

The rage of Achilles—sing it now, goddess, sing through me

the deadly rage that caused the Achaeans such grief

and hurled down to Hades the souls of so many fighters,

leaving their naked flesh to be eaten by dogs

and carrion birds, as the will of Zeus was accomplished. (The Iliad 1. 1 – 5)

"Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat
Sing, Heavenly Muse…(Paradise Lost 1. 1 – 6)

What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?  Apparently a lot more than Tertullian was willing to allow.

So here’s the plan (so far):  I’m going to finish reading The Odyssey and then begin The Aeneid.  After that I’ll launch into Pharsalia by Lucan (also known as Civil War).  My friend, Joel Watts, and I may be collaborating on some writing about that one; Joel believes that an appreciation of Lucan can give you a better understanding of the Gospel of Mark.  After that, I’ll re-read Paradise Lost.   

After that? Who knows – perhaps some Sophocles, Oedipus the King, or Antigone (which I’ve seen performed on the stage, but haven’t read…) Maybe some Aristophanes – The Frogs (Brekekekèx-koàx-koáx...) and Lysistrata, maybe? Dare I try Dante again?  I’ve started The Inferno three times…

Biblical Limericks: It’s not about Satan II

No, no.  In this you’re quite mistaken.
Your interpretation I’ll straighten,
so hear what I tell ya’
the book of Isaiah
chapter fourteen’s not about Satan.

Isaiah 14: 4 

The Satanic Rites of Teenage Dracula

A Single Candle
Hail Satin,
Lord and master of the most occulted realms
high king of the underworld
and priest of death

Appear to us now in shriek and smoke
as I light this black candle.
                (It’s dark blue, all I could find…)
Appear to us as a cat, a goat
as stifling air, or in another form as thou wilt choose,
but appear unto us.

                A Circle of Ash
The coven is gathered;
your faithful are all here assembled
                (Except Glen - He has chemistry homework.)
within the circle of ashes
of burned bibles.

 A Sprinkle of Salt, A Splash of Blood
Many times have we stood within this courtyard and begged
to see our dread Father and thou hast refused
sending us back to wander in darkness.
Tonight we bring an offering of salt and blood.

Salt for purity that we besmirch
and blood for life that we defile.

Now we do conjure and adjure thee
with hand and mouth sacredly
to do as we request:

Force my father (my earthly father, that is…)
to get off my case. He does not understand.
And cause Julianne Larson to fall in love with me
and to forget all about Brad from the football team.

If thou wilt do this for me
I will be an obedient son of the night,
drinking blood and …

Just a minute, Mom!  Geez.
Can’t you see we're busy here!

I'll Take 'Before and After' for 200, Alex

What is, "Sympathy for the Devil's Food Cake"?

The Problem with Believers - Some Thoughts about a Horror Movie

It’s October again.  Wow how the year disappears.  But October means monster / horror movies. Actually, I watch scary movies all throughout the year, but in October I like to try to write a little bit about them.  I have in the past tried to watch and then write about one every day of the month, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that much this year.  Still, I’ll get up as many as I can.

Last night I watched the 1987 film The Believers starring Martin Sheen, Helen Shaver, Robert Loggia, and Jimmy Smits.  The Believers was based on the 1982 novel The Religion by Nicholas Conde. It’s not the greatest movie ever made – it’s not even the greatest horror movie ever made – but it’s not a terrible movie, even if Rodger Ebert hated, hated, hated it (Ebert, 36 – 38).

The film concerns police psychologist, Cal Jamison (Sheen), who, after the recent death of his wife, has returned to New York City with his son.  He soon finds himself involved with the investigation of a series of ritualistic murders of children linked to an Afro-Cuban cult brujeria “witchcraft” - with strong similarities to Santeria.  The movie is more of a thriller than a horror film – but it does have a bit of a Rosemary’s Baby kind of twist toward the end.

The Believers is part of that “satanic panic” that gripped the United States in the 80s – an irrational fear that Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) was happening in every city and every town across America.  But in The Belivers it’s not Satanism, but Santeria (or something like Santeria) that is to be feared.

Even if I disagree with him about the quality of The Believers, one of Ebert’s complaints about the movie is valid:  “Every voodoo[i] movie that has ever been made has depicted bloodthirsty cults of savagely sadistic murderers vengefully thirsting for innocent blood (Ebert, 37)

There is some attempt in The Believers to separate the authentic practice of Santeria –which does involve animal, but not human, sacrifice – from the ritualistic murders being committed by this Santeria like cult, but the distinction isn’t drawn very well and for those already predisposed to see evil in every stranger’s face, this movie would likely confirm their suspicions. 

On the other hand – the evil in this film isn’t the savage, benighted immigrants practicing a heathen religion – it is the seemingly decent, rich, white folks who have, in an act of cultural appropriation created a horrifically literal expression of the 80s “voodoo economics,” sacrificing their children for the promise of wealth and power and fame (Muir, 559).

As I watched this film I was reminded of something that Reza Aslan said in a recent interview on CNN.  When asked if Islam promotes violence, he answered: “Islam doesn't promote violence or peace. Islam is just a religion, and like every religion in the world, it depends on what you bring to it. If you're a violent person, your Islam, your Judaism, your Christianity, your Hinduism is going to be violent. There are Buddhist -- marauding Buddhist monks in Myanmar slaughtering women and children. Does Buddhism promote violence? Of course not. People are violent or peaceful. And that depends on their politics, their social world, the way that they see their communities, the way they see themselves.”  (transcript here)

Ebert, Roger, I Hated, Hated, Hated this Movie, Kansas City, Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2000.

Muir, John Kenneth, Horror Films of the 1980s, Jefferson City, North Carolina, McFarland and Co. Publishing, Inc. 2007.

---

[i] Voodoo (or more accurately Vodou or Vodoun) and Santeria are similar in many respects, and are often confused, but they are different and separate religions.

Come On, Jesus, Did that Really Happen?

The sun had dipped behind the hills when the children cried out, “Jesus! Jesus, tell us a story! Tell us a story.”  Some of the disciples frowned, some of the mothers shushed them, but Jesus smiled.  The day had been long, but the evening meal had been pleasant and in this company of friends there was a sense of peace.

“I will tell you a story,” he said to them, which caused an outbreak of cheers and giggles.  “I will tell you a story, a true story.  And how do I know that it is a true story?  I know that it is a true story because it happened to me.”

He motioned for everyone to gather near and to sit themselves comfortable wherever they could to hear him.  “In the days shortly after the Baptizer, Yohanan, washed me in the waters of the Jordan I began to feel a wind at my back – pushing me, driving me out toward the wild places, the places where the jackals and the screech owls make their homes.  This wind was driving me into the desert where the demons live…”

“Jesus,” one of the children whispered, “is this going to be a scary story?”

Jesus brushed her cheek.  “Yes, dear one.  But do not fear.  I’m here to tell you the story, aren’t I?  The demons did not get me.”  The girl gave him a smile and he continued.

“So after fasting for forty days and for forty nights I followed this wind.  I was very hungry and very weak, but I followed the wind into the desert where I was tempted by the devil.  The Tempter came to me and said to me, ‘If you are the Son of God,’ he said to me, ‘then tell these stones to become bread.’

“And I saw that there were many stones there on the ground that could have become delicious loaves of barley bread, and I was very hungry, but I said to the Tempter, ‘Man does not live on bread alone, but by the words that come from the mouth of God the Father.’”

“That’s what Moses wrote!” shouted one of the boys at Jesus’ knee.

“Indeed, you are correct, Abishur.  What a fine scholar you’ll be one day.”  The boy blushed under Jesus’ praise.

“The devil then took me by the hand and carried me off to Jerusalem, the holy city, and had me stand on the highest point of the temple.”

“Weren’t you scared?” asked another of children.

“Yes, I was. Very scared.  I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, because we were very high off the ground.  And the Tempter said to me, ‘If you are the Son of God throw yourself down from here, for it is written, He will command the angels about you and they will lift you up in their hands so that you won’t even strike your toe against a stone.’

“But I said to him, ‘It is written: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’  And again the Tempter took me by the hand and carried me up to the top of a very high mountain – it was so high that we could see the entire world stretched out before us – and the Tempter showed me all the kingdoms of the world.  There was Edom, and there was Egypt, and there was Rome, and here was Israel.  ‘All this I will give to you,’ the Tempter said to me, ‘if you will but bow down and worship me now.’

There were gasps from the children, and several of the adults as well.

“But I said to him, ‘Away with you, Satan!’”  Jesus flung his arms and hands through the air. “Away from me! For it is written, Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’  And with that the Temper ran away, shaking and trembling.”

“How did you get down from the mountain?” asked the children.

“Angels came and carried me home.”  And Jesus, seeing their tired eyes and hearing their yawns, said, “Now, I think that it is time for you to go to bed.  Your mothers will be quite cross with me If I continue with another story.” The children stood and stretched, for they were very tired.  Some of them hugged Jesus before wandering towards their beds.  And when the children and women had moved away, the disciples moved closer to their master.

“Rabbi, what a wonderful story, but, come on, Jesus…  Where is such a high mountain from which you could see the entire world?  And angels carried you home? Did that really happen?”

Jesus smiled at his disciples and winked.  

More Anomalies A – Z: Iblis

And (remember) when We said unto the angels: Fall prostrate before Adam, and they fell prostrate, all save Iblis. He was of the jinn, so he rebelled against his Lord's command…– the Quran (Al-Kahf)  18:50

He was of the jinn
and the father of jinn,
creatures born of smokeless fire.

Now he burns
and burns with despair
and wounded pride.

For Iblis would not bow
to creatures made of clay;
he would not accept Adam over him.

But what power has he now,
only to whisper and suggest.
And he will burn again one day.



This is my third pass through the alphabet with the Anomalies.  To read more of them click here.

Biblical Limericks: Who Made Him Do It?

Parts of scripture need to be straightened
because confusion is inflatin’;
David’s tale, for instance:
Who prompted his census?
Was it God or was it the satan?

2 Samuel 24 / 1 Chronicles 21 

Satan’s Little Helper – What’s Behind the Mask?

It’s time again for monster movies in October. To be honest, I watch monster and horror movies all year, but in October I try to write a little bit about them.

The movie Satan’s Little Helper (2004) is, unlike yesterday’s feature, a well crafted low budget horror-comedy film.  And though I’m not often scared by horror films, Satan’s Little Helper has moments of real fear alongside laughs. It is a black humored parody of slasher films like John Carpenter’s Halloween and its many knock-offs.

The movie (written and directed by Jeff Lieberman) takes place on Halloween as everyone is putting on their costumes, decorating their porches and going house to house for candy.  Nine year old Dougie Whooly is eager to go trick or treating with his sister, who is coming home from college.  He is dressed as Satan – his favorite character from his favorite video game, “Satan’s Little Helper.”  While out and about he sees a costumed figure that he takes for Satan, and asks to be Satan’s helper. 

The figure is not Satan – at least not a satan of the supernatural, cloven hoofed variety.  He’s a vicious killer that never speaks and never removes his mask (and it’s only assumed that it’s “he”.)  But Dougie is convinced.  It’s the mask that convinces him, the mask and his own expectations. Everyone who sees the masked figure sees the person they expect to be under the mask.  Dougie’s sister believes the masked figure to be her boyfriend, Alex.  The people at the Halloween party think that it’s Dougie’s father… 

The horror of the movie is in the fact that the audience knows (slightly) more than the characters of the film and we become anxious for them.  We know the danger that they are in, and we are unable to warn them. There aren’t a lot of special effects in this movie, a few rubber masks and some fake blood.  But sometimes less is more.  It’s Dougie’s unrestrained joy that carries the film along, making it both a delightful brutal ride, and a horrifying trip. 

My one complaint about the movie is that even at 96 minutes it starts to feel a little long, particularly in the last half hour or so.  Still, it’s a provocative little film.

Biblical Limericks: It’s not About Satan

Isaiah, the skillful satirist,
mocked Nebuchadnezzar with a twist,
“Despite all of your brawn,
O bright star of the dawn,
you’ll rot in a grave, forever unmissed.”

Isaiah 14: 12 – 15

Biblical Haiku: Luke 10: 18

I've been composing a lot of  Biblical Limericks recently.  Here's something a little different- a Biblical Haiku.

Bright lightning flashes
in dark and dangerous skies,
but I see him fall.

Luke 10: 18