All things work together. I’m praying for you. Trust in the Lord. I can do all things through Christ. Read the Bible it will strengthen you.

I think people stop using cliches after someone uses one on them during a crisis. I have a beautiful Brand New BIBLE. Took a lot of trouble getting it to me. When I’m at my lowest I take it out for a little help. I look at it like its an instruction manual for a Russian nuclear sub. Written in Russian.

I guess I’ve lost my mind more than I realized. I don’t even know how to use the Bible anymore. Try letting it fall open to a scripture. Did that. The building specs on the badger skin coated tabernacle didn’t really lift my spirits. Nor did UFO’s seen by a naked profit.

I’m reading through even the New Testament and words are blurring together and my mind is loose and ungrasping. I don’t know anything.

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Whoeever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

 There was a time in my youth where my mother called me the antichrist. (she however, does not remember this EVER happening.). Just several occasions but enough  for it to take root. My brother thought and thinks it was a hoot. I didn’t and do.

At the time I puzzled over it. I didn’t feel like the antichrist. Sure I got trouble but I loved the sweet Lord.  Wouldn’t dream of overtly trying to derail any plans he might have.

A few years later I asked my Pastor if someone could be the antichrist and not know it. Perhaps the ultimate Manchuria-Candidate.

He laughed and assured me that no the antichrist was or would be fully aware of his role and participating in it with enthusiasm. Needless to say it took a huge load off my mind and heart. Now I’m portrayed as a monster. By more people I loved and cared about. I don’t feel like I’m a monster. I certainly don’t want to be a monster. But what makes something real? It is all of them treating me as if I were?  Or how I feel?

Is the value of my soul based  on popular consensus even if only a partial view is available to them? Or is my self-worth based upon what I view it as? I’m not sure. Frankenstein’s monster was created. It came into being with faults not its own. But its faults nonetheless.

In the beginning it wanted out of the cold and developed a friendship knowing something was wrong with itself but not sure what to do.  When all those around it began to attack it, it reacted and became the monster. And suffered an exile as the end result.

Maybe I’m a monster only if I become one based on my reaction to everyone. If I become what they accuse me of being then I am a monster. But if I am what my heart thinks I am then I don’t lose my humanity. I don’t know anything.

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Last night I went to bed thinking about how I could write a book if I were real wise (Dobson) insightful (Yancy) profane (King) or trendy ( I don’t know I don’t read trendy authors. Think Oprahs Book Club).

Since I’m obviously not wise or insightful I thought profane. But no.  I just don’t have it in me. Baby-killer is STILL trying to get me to curse. So I opted for trendy. I know I said I didn’t read those but I’m a liar. I just got done reading one of Oprah’s Book Club selections and I swear it was the most dull book I’ve ever read. But it was long and in prison you do what does your time (see thats the kind of line that would be in a trendy book. I might be good at this).

So. Seeing as how I’m bored to tears I thought I’d relate a little tale.  Wrote a story about it. Wanna hear it?  Here is goes…

The eighteen wheeler jerked as he shifted from first. The tail lights fuzzed through the dust it kicked up and seemed to wink at me as if they knew a secret I didn’t.  They left and never told me. I looked around. The desert was a deceiver just like the one-armed man waving from the Strip in Vegas. Smiling and waving.

It was night and it was cold. The wind ripped through my tshirt and shorts. Just this afternoon it was 118 degrees in the shade. Now it was 20 degrees in the shade. The wind assaulted me like a billion little glass daggers  ( yes, I said a billion with a B, in trendy writing you can’t just say you’re cold).

I looked up and saw a million stars. Winking at me. A million celestial truckers driving into eternity with secrets that they can’t or won’t or don’t ( yes, can’t – won’t – don’t, you HAVE to love absurd sentences) share with me.  I looked both ways and crossed the two lane highway to the truck stop. (Have to have the ambiguous ending).

 

 

Well, there goes my first little foray into trendy writing. Send me an email at kissit@gmail.com

Next installment I’ll write and use obscure literary and cultural references that no one gets but everyone pretends to so we can all look like we know about something more than American Idol and L.C. And after that, I’ll use big words EVER fewer people understand. NYT Bestseller List here I come.

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Forsaken by God

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?  Why art thou so far from me, and from the words of my roaring?

O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. Save me, O God; for the waters are come into my soul.

I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing; I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.

I am wary of my crying; my throat is dried; mine eyes fail while I wait for my God.

They that hate me without a cause are more than the hairs on mine head; they that would destroy me, being mine enemies wrongfully, are mighty. But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men and despised of the people.  I miss wife.

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Danielle Steele – I hate

I hate Danielle Steele. I really, really, hate her. Which is saying quiet a bit if I actually have enough hate left over for her. But I did. And I do.  And I hate myself for reading a single book she wrote. That’s the worst part of being incarcerated. That I read one of her books. I think someone put this particular book in here so that it would inspire suicidal thoughts among the inmates!  If my mother… If my mother had found this book under my mattress without it’s cover and she had read it. I would have been beaten. For a long time. I abhor infidelity used as a plot device. If someone yells long enough even that becomes monotonous. Man and woman meet.  Marry. He squanders family fortunes. They live in poverty. Oldest son is gay and loses boyfriend in a home fire, that was his fault, on Christmas night.

Second son flunks out of school and is sent to Vietnam where he is promptly killed. Gay son is then also sent. He lives. Oldest daughter becomes drug addict living with older man in New York. Father runs off on mother for 3 weeks, 2nd daughter lives in a drug house while becoming an actress. Father comes back. Thirteen year old daughter runs away to San Francisco and get raped. Has baby at 14. Forced to give it up for adoption. Father has another affair. 15 year old nows having an affair with the 37 year old father of her best friend, this continues until shes’ 18 when they marry. Father coms back . All are unfaithful during these trysts. I used to think when my older female family read these “historical romances” that they were boring stupid stories. They were’nt and aren’t. I skipped about a quarter of the book. Maybe I didn’t see the redeeming qualities because of doing this. But I doubt it. Filth. I hope that if Danielle Steele is still alive that she dies a horrible death. And if she’s dead I wish God would resurrect her then kill her in a nasty horrible way. I hate her. And her nasty books.  IMW

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