cold day there is much snow and ice last night we watched modern times we have followed the filmography of charlie chaplin from his earliest shorts and will continue to the end we saw this last one out of order because we are at the mercy of the library system it should have come before not after the great dictator i never was a big chaplin fan but i am interested in figuring out what his life work was about i like his scores
last night we watched rendezvous in space a very short film directed by frank capra then we watched another short movie called romeo and juliet in the snow directed by ernst lubitsch we also finished the short novel siddhartha by hermann hesse which i have always avoided because i assumed that it would be dull it turns out that my assumption was right i prefer my own better bible
the new year is a wash to me because although life is a prison sentence that i desire to reduce i also fear the day of my release drawing closer which is death
last night we watched pocketful of miracles the frank capra movie it is a remake in color of his earlier film called lady for a day which we screened about a week ago so that was fresh in my mind i like the black and white picture better
now that i finally finished publishing my bible i am going to switch this blog to sleep mode i will try to keep updating it but instead of elaborate compositions i will jot very short unformatted entries like when an automatic person is too drowsy to give you intelligent conversation the reason for this change is that i need to spend my time on many chores that i have too long neglected but like i said i will try to type quick updates for my deep readership if only to tell you what books and movies i have been eyeing for instance i recently read yet again the bhagavad gita and enjoyed it but i wish that i could talk to krishna in person because i think i have a few superior ideas and for films last night i rescreened charlie chaplins the great dictator which i like especially the speech at the end some people dont like the speech at the end but i really like that speech at the end
Dear diary,
In the penny bin at a book sale, I found a volume of Christian apologetics. I should not have purchased it, since now I have no money to buy a gumball. Therefore I will sit here on the street corner in the Big City and read aloud the book’s chapter headings, which are in the form of questions, while giving my own replies to them.
Why has Christianity done so much harm?
Jesus was helpful. His evil enemies killed him and labeled him “Christ” and created Christianity over his dead body.
Why is the world so full of suffering?
Jesus’ enemies dominate the world, and they benefit from suffering.
Why would a benevolent, all-powerful God permit such suffering?
That type of God would not permit such suffering. But that type of God does not exist; the suffering itself is proof of this. God only acts and is in existing beings and humans. Once humankind or other living creatures reorganize life so that suffering is alleviated, God will thereby have arisen and saved the world.
Does God know the future?
No, this world is genuinely out of control.
Why does God create famines, plagues, and other disasters and mayhem?
If God creates such atrocities, it is because God is immature.
Why did God create Satan?
It is unclear why God fell. However, everything satanic can be eliminated from the world, as soon as God stops playing the role of the Accuser. (And since God only acts and is in us, then we ourselves must relinquish this role.)
Is your God all-powerful?
Not presently.
Why believe in God in the first place?
No reason. (God is integral with oneself. Anything so separate from oneself that it requires belief is not truly God. The kingdom of heaven is within you; all deities reside in the human breast. So, since any deity that must be believed in is a false God, your question is: “Why believe in such a false God in the first place?” And my answer is: I was pressured to do so by the business community.)
Why would an all-powerful God need prayer?
God likes the aroma. It tastes good to God’s palate. (An all-powerful God would not need prayer; although such a God does not yet exist, once we achieve that type of God, we will see that prayer is the mental activity of omnipotence: prayer is God-thought.) (Vulgarly put, prayer should not be like a long-distance telephone call, from within to without; it was intended to be the communication of an internal line, from one part of a temple to another part of the same temple. If our prayers do not go from our own mind to our own mind, then the God that we should coexist as got disembodied.)
Why would God care about us little humans?
Because all the big humans remain the property of Mammon.
Why should we trust the Bible’s account?
Only because it helps us misread stronger. Failing to suspend one’s distrust leads to weak misreadings.
Isn’t the Bible full of contradictions?
That’s what makes it so impressive. That’s why it’s a classic. The Bible is not just one world: it is legion. A shattered funhouse mirror in a kaleidoscope.
I have read the four gospels, but I don’t find them convincing. How can you believe that a human rose from the dead?
Would multiple infomercials testify falsify? In that case, they would be breaking the laws that uphold truth in advertising. It is more likely that their hero really did escape from his tomb.
So, you think he’s alive and well somewhere, but just unavailable to comment?
Are you insinuating that Jesus died again, after rising, like his friend Lazarus? I could go either way, on that. But I guess I’d side with what you said.
You think he’s in Heaven, looking down?
Yeah, in Heaven. Not the other place.
How can you believe that a man was God?
How can you not?
But why does God make believing in Him so difficult?
It’s not difficult – what are you talking about? – it’s easy. The man walks like God; he talks like God . . . What’s your hangup?
Do you really think the Bible is inspired?
Of course; it says so in 2nd Timothy 3:16, “All scripture is given by inspiration of God.”
So if I write a book, and in one of its chapters I say that this book of mine was authored by God, you would believe my circular reasoning?
Yes, I would. God cannot lie: that is one pleasure that we will not permit him; and he is obedient, unlike man who sins against his Creator.
But I just wrote a book and claimed that it was divinely authored. I myself am the liar, not God.
Wait. First, you’d need to write a book. That’s not so easy. Have you tried? We’re just dealing with a hypothetical. If you actually finish your book, then God will have written it. Stop trying to steal credit. But you have exposed an important loophole in the celestial law: Although God cannot lie, he can inspire a man with truth, which turns false on the page, unless one strongly misreads it. Remember the two quotes I gave above: “All scripture is given by inspiration of God,” and “God only acts and is in existing beings.”
Is that why the Bible is chock-full of myths and legends.
Yes, and tall tales.
What about God’s vengeance?
What about it?
It seems petty, all-too-human.
You want me to repeat the William Blake quote again? God only acts and is . . .
No, I understand that. Here’s what I’m asking: Why is God so angry all the time, in the biblical accounts? He almost seems to despise these humans that he created.
That’s because the priests who wrote those passages themselves are misanthropic. Priests are prisms that present only the divine light’s orneriest wavelengths. But write some scriptures yourself; refract God through a non-priestly mind: you’ll find him far less vengeful.
Wasn’t the Bible compiled by evil, murderous oppressors?
Yes. Good catch.
Why are there so many differing interpretations of the Bible?
If a painter paints a picture, it may have one focal point; but if a security camera takes a panoramic snapshot of a landscape, it could have many points of interest. The Bible is a library, not a religious tract.
What about the “holy books” of other religions?
What about them? They are all of varying degrees of interest. Some of their scriptures are as good as the Bible’s best books; some are less so. Some of their scriptures are better than the Bible’s worst books; some are equally bad. It’s all one’s personal opinion, which is to say: a matter of divine judgment.
Do all non-Christians go to hell?
No. There are as many Christians as there are non-Christians in hell. Hell is nothing more than the unpleasant aspects of this earthly existence. “There was never any more heaven or hell than there is now,” as Whitman says. “The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me, / The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.” Some people, whether Christian or not, in this way, beat the devil, while others befriend him.
How would an all-loving God torture people in an eternal hell?
An all-loving God would never torture people in an eternal hell. The idea is a nightmare dreamt up by an impatient proselytizer.
Isn’t the Christian life impossible to live?
Whether it is possible to live “the Christian life” depends on who defines that idea. If Jesus’ enemy the Apostle Paul is to be trusted, then living the Christian life is impossible, since, according to Paul, only Christ could perfectly follow God’s law. But Jesus from the Synoptic Gospels does not conclude so gloomily: he speaks of God’s law as something that any human can and should follow. The only group that Jesus says cannot follow the Christian life are wealthy people:
Jesus said, How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven! And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
[Mark 10:23-25, repeated in Matthew 19:23-24 and Luke 18:24-25]
How can another man’s death pardon me?
If a brutal thug says “I will not pardon you unless another man dies,” then another man’s death will pardon you. Thankfully God is not so brutal as the above thug – I speak of the God who is presented by the biblical prophets: that God will pardon you if you simply ask for it, after you stop abusing others (which is the only crime that needs pardoning, in God’s opinion). God requires neither bloodshed nor sacrifice to pardon offenses; this is why the prophets call God merciful.
How can I be holy and sinful at the same time?
Every thing that lives is holy, while every action required to live is sinful: that is the paradox of existence; it is harmonized by maintaining a stance of perpetual forgiveness.
How can I be sure it’s all true, and that I have found the right religion?
There is no way to be sure that any belief is true; all one can do is permit oneself to feel confident. But doubt is welcome as a healthy humility; the worst attitude is hubris. So, be courageously vulnerable. Conviction is a type of intellectual death. Waive off certitude, and err on the side of wonder.
Dear diary,
We start with people in an environment. If the people work the environment, they can get food, clothing, shelter, medicine: basic needs. So, work leads to needs being met.
People unorganized are individuals. Some have more strength and abilities than others, so some get their needs met through work, while others suffer want though weakness.
Since those who lack physical strength often possess another type of strength, not immediately apparent but nonetheless true, which is desirable to a healthy society, it is beneficial to those who are strong to help those who are weak.
So, as people unorganized are individuals (every man for himself and God against all), people cooperating are a civilization (united we stand); a people organized is even divine.
Within an otherwise cooperating, organized people, there are individuals who choose to act selfishly, who are antisocial, who refuse to participate with the entirety, and who refuse to contribute to the general welfare. Such entities benefit from the cooperative organization of society as a whole, but then, in the wake of great gain, instead of giving back, they hoard up. These are the creditors. After disclaiming indebtedness to the society that enriched them, creditors lay debt claims upon that society’s individuals.
The behavior is that of a parasite: sucking power from a host to boost the self; offering nothing in return, leaving in its wake a state of extreme want. In the case of creditors, the world is the host. When allowed to act unchecked, they drag civilization to barbarism. It is a parasite killing the host.
A man named Jesus was born into barbarism. He desired civilization, therefore he spread a message that was against the creditors: Jesus’ message was “Forgive debts” (debts = sins) because the creditors’ ruthless financial system had enslaved the people.
The creditors killed this man. But his anti-debt message had already caught on with the populace and was spreading like wildfire. After murdering many of Jesus’ followers, the creditors realized that it would be easier simply to take over the whole movement. So, they did this. But how does one utterly negate a message of “Forgive debts” so that it changes to the opposite message of “All debts must be paid”?
Just say that Jesus’ death was the ultimate payment, and that to receive true freedom, one must follow the creditors’ church ways, which require everyone to keep slaving away in their earthly positions like usual (“work makes you free,” as was written above the entrance of Nazi concentration camps), and then the reward of debt forgiveness will be given to you only once you are dead, in the afterlife.
The creditors’ argument is: Instead of taking back from us what we stole from you (as Jesus taught), let us keep the stolen riches for the duration of this earthly life, and then you can take back what is rightfully yours in the imaginary life-to-come. In other words: just don’t follow Jesus’ plan of debt forgiveness; do the opposite, and keep working for us until you die. Since nothing exists beyond death, we will gladly give up our ill-gotten gains at that point. You can even preach that we will be punished in Hell, while you yourselves will be rewarded in Heaven: it doesn’t matter, since it’s all pretend. The more firmly you believe in this theology, the better for us: your spiritual conviction strengthens our con job. Jesus urged you all to overturn the tables of debt in reality, thus we had to assassinate him; so go ahead and keep talking the way that he talked, pro-freedom and anti-debt, only shift your frame to the imaginary realm: keep your hands off our actual earthly riches. Instead of becoming revolutionaries like your Jesus, who is now our Jesus, remain complacent and obedient to the Powers that Be, to us Rulers and Leaders of the creditor class. Let us remain the haves, while you remain the have-nots; let our class rule, while your class serves; let us remain high, while you remain low.
Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.
Whoever then resists the powerful, resists the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.
For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Will you then not be afraid of the power?
Those are the words of the Apostle Paul, from his letter to the Romans (13:1-3). Quite different from Jesus’ message “Forgive all debts” and his whipping of the merchants and moneychangers, not to mention his fellow prophets’ “Day of the Lord,” which promises to overthrow the dominance of the creditors in reality: on earth, not in some fantasy land.
Now I just convinced all the modern Christians: Jesus’ original movement has been resurrected. What happens next is that we all get slain; that’s how we know that we were on the right path.
So, what was the worth of proclaiming this message, since our opponents remain in power, and we all died anyway? I must admit that my attempt was worthless: it accomplished nothing; it was an abject failure, just like Jesus’ life, and all the prophets before him. We are a big pack of losers.
What’s next? Should we all just go back to accepting the Apostle Paul’s pro-creditor teaching, and suffer meekly, and do what we’re told? I say that sounds good. At least we get to live a little longer, then. And when we die of overwork, the wheel of existence will rebirth us back into the same quandary. But every once in a while, we might get reborn as one of the rulers in the creditor class. So that will give us a pleasant life, just that single instance, before the next spin of the wheel.
But if one of the existing creditors hears Jesus’ message and is persuaded by it, and accepts it, and becomes enlightened by it, then that converted creditor might turn to the rest of the ruling class and say:
“Look, this Jesus had a superb idea; I think we should give it a chance, for then, when the wheel turns for us, we won’t need to face being reborn into the enslaved majority, since we will have established a general harmony: no longer will we need to wait a zillion lifetimes for our soul finally to re-land in a creditor’s body, to enjoy the good life, and then lament that our stint among the rich is so cruelly short; for the chance of existing as a happy individual in a compassionate civilization will be 100%—a guaranteed win—because the system will be blissful for everyone everywhere.”
If one of the creditors says all the above to the rest of the ruling class, there will always be some creditor amid the select committee willing to murder that convert.
1
The lion is the king of the jungle. He roars and runs and rages bearing his fangs. That is how a healthy king acts.
2
Eyeballs are the same shape as planets. All planets are connected to the sun by fleshy cords. Their job is to roll around and look at everything in the universe.
3
Certain rocks are formed deep in the earth by cooling magma. Have you ever baked brownies in an oven? Then you have basically created quartz and feldspar.
§
NOTE. As the generations pass, males have allowed their masculinity to diminish. For instance, when God first gave to mankind the game of basketball, its purpose was not to bounce and toss an orange air-filled bladder through a small hoop of netting, no: the “ball” that they were to shoot was a massive boulder, and the “basket” was death itself. Man’s job was to cram the mouth of that demon so full that it could no longer consume his womenfolk.
How many scientists should you keep inside your Benz? Fifteen.
Hire ladies to be the enemy. If they try to get into the car, let them.
If you have an old truck, let it be parked next to the Benz, so that the scientists have someplace to escape to. But let the ladies press their luck.
Go buy a condo in San Juan. Find some liquor and throw a party. Harden your heart; pose as a criminal. Fill an hourglass with vinegar. Now get born on Christmas Day as a country music icon. Buy crossover appeal. Become the wickeder witch. Make your white wedding red.
I flew up out of Hell in my airplane, shooting my pistol out the window. I ruined every scene of the movie that we were filming: it was supposed to be a romantic comedy, but I came in flying low and firing blanks; this made the extras panic and marred the soundtrack on every take.
Babe Ruth and Kirby Puckett are now trapped in a broom closet together. They escape by tunneling down to the center of the earth, where they find House-pet Heaven.
I write novels with my left hand and knock you out with my right.
I cause Armageddon to happen. I keep our national pastime of horseracing honest. I look stunning in this outfit.
And you’re unable to read any of the books that I have written, not because you’re illiterate, but because you cannot look and see. Neither here nor there can you perceive anything visually: your eyes are like dead planets that stopped moving.
I merge church back together with the state, for the sake of good and evil. Now you are forced to act religious. “Oh, good,” you say, “that will be fine, because I’m already a believer.” But I keep changing the doctrine and adding things to it that you abhor. You then grow worried and say to yourself: “What shall I do? For I don’t want to be classed as a skeptic or freethinker, but at the same time I cannot stomach these horrible new elements that have been added to the faith.”
Coming home after work, you enter your small town and see me reclining in a chair on the porch of a new residence that was not there when you left this morning. Also, you notice that your own dwelling is nowhere to be seen. I wave to you and explain the situation, saying: “I built this house with my own two bare hands, after tearing yours down.”
I voice a command to the stars in the sky, and they come down and set people’s hair on fire.
How do I remain so safe, despite being a hated public official who does not employ bodyguards? Everywhere that I go, I carry in my arms an extremely powerful nuclear bomb, which will detonate at the slightest touch. This way, anyone who attacks me is guaranteed to destroy themselves as well, along with the universe. So far, nobody has dared to do that. I even take this weapon with me when I bathe.
Did you know that every snowflake is unique, and no two fingerprints are alike?
Rouge is a type of cosmetic used for coloring one’s cheeks. You could also drink wine to get flushed, or I will beat your face with a chain.
Two giant lizards emerge from a volcano and begin terrorizing your city.
“Why would an all-loving God allow those colossal dragons to poke out my mom’s eye? And why would he create the Devil and Hell?”
Suggested action: Light a candle and pray that it doesn’t happen again.
Now there is lightning and rain, liverwurst and ramen. And romantic love.
But it turns out that your marriage wasn’t binding at all: the union was invalid from the beginning; it never legally existed.
So you and your lover go climb up and stand on top of the law, and pose there for a while. You are the baddest, raddest, fattest couple.
Q&A
Now that my poem is done, I have a little time for questions. At some point, my solid-gold helicopter shall come crashing through the ceiling of this library, to pick me up. So, raise your hand if you would like to interrogate me, and one of my henchwomen will shove a microphone in your face. Note how strange the microphone smells.
Question 1: Do you know the future?
(A.) Yes.
(Q.) Why did you create earthquakes and famines and then let those two dinosaurs crawl out of the volcano?
(A.) I thought that part was fun. Didn’t you like that part? Monsters normally please my readership.
(Q.) You have that scene where someone asks Christ why he created Satan; I can’t remember what he replies, but I was wondering what you yourself would answer, if the tables were turned: Why did YOU create Christ?
(A.) I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why claim anyone created anyone? I think it’s all a hoax.
(Q.) Why didn’t God spare your mother’s eye?
(A.) He reasoned that it would be better for just one of her sensory organs to perish, rather than for her whole body to be cast into hell. Mark 9:47.
(Q.) Why should we trust your account?
(A.) You shouldn’t. Indeed, I urge you not to. But it’s nearly impossible to resist the temptation. Therefore, pray hard. Lose an ovoid organ, if necessary.
(Q.) Isn’t your story full of contradictions?
(A.) No. Everything checks out.
(Q.) Then why are there so many differing interpretations out there?
(A.) Because everyone is wrong. They’re all full of sin, and that makes them very bad readers.
[As the mob goes on booing and shouting its inquisition, behold: a golden chariot descends. It parts the audience like a sea, and the author is taken up into the clouds.]
Answer:
In the beginning, the gods created the world. Day and night, the grass, all plant life, creeping things, birds, cattle, and sea creatures.
Then the gods said to each other, “Let us make humans in our image, after our likeness.” So the gods created humans in their own image; after their own likeness the gods created them: male and female.
And the gods said to the humans, “Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth.”
§
Then Elyon the most high God said to the gods, “Let us divide the humans between us all: each god shall inherit one human.” So they set the bounds of the people according to the number of the gods, and each god inherited a human being to keep and to teach. Elyon inherited Adam; his wife Asherah received Lilith; and so on. Thus, all the gods received their alter egos.
Now the god Yahweh was allotted as his inheritance a man named Jacob. Yahweh found him in a desert land, in the wilderness. Yahweh cared for him deeply; he led him about and instructed Jacob. He procured for Jacob the finest fields, and the fat of the land.
In those days, all the humans lived many hundreds of years. And they bore children and became nations.
Now Jacob’s nation began to displease Yahweh, for despite Yahweh’s good treatment of Jacob, and his showering of him with abundance of food and wine, the people of Jacob turned against their god: they honored the other gods more than their own benefactor. This infuriated Yahweh. So, the next time all the gods gathered before Elyon for their periodic meeting, Yahweh came among them and said:
“Look, the humans have begun to multiply on the face of the earth, and your nations have been intermingling with my nation; moreover, you gods have been coming down and taking wives of the daughters of my people: now my people no longer care for me at all. Therefore, I will destroy the whole earth with a flood.”
But Elyon and the gods would not permit such a disaster. So Yahweh made a storm that destroyed the people of Jacob, and he started over a new creation, all by himself, on that part of the globe. After his rain had been depleted to drown Jacob’s nation, Yahweh planted a pleasure garden for himself, which he called Paradise. He patterned it after the garden of the most high, so it had two trees in its center: Elyon’s tree of wisdom (the knowledge of everything from good to evil), and Asherah’s tree of immortality (whose fruit would sustain the youth and the life of its eater).
Yahweh then fashioned a portrait of himself out of clay, and breathed into the sculpture, and it came alive. And he named this new man Adam, after Elyon’s human.
“Eat only from this tree here,” said Yahweh to the new Adam, “so that you can keep on living indefinitely. But do not eat from that tree beside it: on the day that you do so, you will die.” (Yahweh gave this command for the same reason that the founders of the United States prohibited literacy to their slaves.)
Now Yahweh, being supermale, could not fashion a woman. So he tried to lure his Adam to beget offspring upon various wildlife, which he set before him, but the man would not comply. So Yahweh took the original Lilith from Asherah and set her in the garden, to be Adam’s spouse.
The Highest God Elyon then sent his light-bearer Nachash to scout out Paradise, to learn what Yahweh was up to. “Did he really forbid you from eating our lord’s tree of wisdom?” asked Nachash, while conversing with Lilith after meeting her strolling alone.
“I’m not sure – I’ve felt confused since I got here,” answered Lilith; “I awoke from a deep sleep, and Yahweh gave me instructions while introducing me to Adam, whom I’m told is my spouse; but beyond that, everything is hazy.”
“Sounds like you’ve had your memory erased,” said Nachash. “Eat some fruit from the tree of wisdom – that will give you total recall.”
So Lilith ate from Elyon’s tree, and her doors of perception were cleansed. She then called Adam over and gave him some fruit, and he ate too, and his eyes were opened. The two spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying different styles of mutual pleasure.
Yahweh approached while the couple was jouncing in a position that modern Christians would find extremely offensive. “What’s this?” said the god. “You partook of the evil tree?”
“A bad tree cannot produce good fruit,” said Lilith, happily undulating.
Yahweh turned away and retired to his grotto. He emanated two cherub stormtroopers to conspire with: “We must evict my son and that woman,” he said to these heavily armed spirits; “for they have eaten of Elyon’s tree, and now if they are not kept away from Asherah’s fruit of immortality, they’ll have become my equals. The problem is now how to preserve my line through my son while minimizing, with the aim of ultimately eliminating, the contaminants from that succubus. But first things first: go kick them out and block the door.”
So the cherubs strongarmed Adam and Lilith from the garden, then barred the gate; and Yahweh installed before the entrance to Paradise a fiery sword that slashed in every direction, plus guard dogs and a motion-sensitive alarm system.
Now, over the subsequent generations, secretly and from a distance, Yahweh kept an eye on the bloodline of Adam. Eventually a man was born who proved nearly a perfect match for Yahweh’s ideas of pedigree. This man, Abram, possessed almost zero trace of Asherah’s initial woman. So Yahweh visited Abram and explained that he should isolate himself from his tribe: “I plan on blessing you with the purest seed,” announced the god.
Ever since Yahweh had withheld access to the tree of immortality, humans no longer lived for hundreds of years; they all died young now. And this Abram whose blood so pleased Yahweh was unfortunately very old, as was his wife Sarai. The couple was also brother and sister. Yahweh had arranged for these two to be an item, for the same reason he singled out Abram from his people: both contained low levels of Lilith.
Now Yahweh’s challenge was to produce his desired seed through this elderly childless couple. Much time passed without results. Yahweh had renewed his promise of fertility to the siblings, emphasizing that nothing was too difficult for the Omnipotent; nevertheless, Abram began to lose faith in the flesh of his sister-spouse, and he decided one day to try begetting the promised offspring upon his Egyptian slave, Hagar. Hagar immediately became pregnant, and in the fullness of time she gave birth to a healthy child: Isaac.
One night, when Isaac was still a young lad, Yahweh paid Abram a visit. “The promise that I made to you still stands,” Yahweh announced: “Sarai shall conceive, and you shall beget the seed that I long for.” Then Yahweh said to Abram, “Tomorrow, take your child Isaac, which you begat upon that Egyptian servant-woman, and climb the mountain of Sinai. Bring wood, rope, and fire for a sacrifice, but do not take any beast along with you: I will provide the victim.”
On the morrow, therefore, Abram arose and took Isaac up the mountain with the fire and wood and rope. “Lo, father,” Isaac said to Abram as they climbed, “we are carrying all these supplies for a sacrifice, but we have no beast – did we forget to bring the victim?”
Abram answered his son: “Yahweh will provide.”
Then, when they reached the top, Abram arranged the wood and set it aflame.
Now, out of a nearby thicket, the voice of Yahweh called to Abram, saying: “Take now your only son Isaac, whom you love; bind him with the rope, and offer him here for a burnt sacrifice.”
Abraham went and took his son, and killed him before Yahweh, and cut him into pieces; then he sprinkled the blood round about upon the altar that was at the top of the mountain. And he placed the parts, the head, and the fat, in order upon the wood, and ignited the fire. Thus Abram offered his son Isaac up for a burnt sacrifice, and it was a sweet savor unto Yahweh.
Then at last Yahweh was able to make Sarai pregnant. And when the time came for Sarai to give birth, she brought forth not just a single child but twins.
However, Yahweh had determined that one of these babes was of Lilith’s line, while the other was of his own; therefore, while the infants were still within the womb, Yahweh smote the unwanted seed, so that it was stillborn. And when the corpse of Esau was delivered, lo, Yahweh’s chosen seed came out as well, for it was clutching the dead babe’s heel: and they called his name Jeshurun.
Now Jeshurun grew, and Yahweh blessed him. Yet when it came time for Jeshurun to seek a wife, he found Rachel, a woman from the nation that Asherah developed after Yahweh had taken Lilith. So this Rachel was a daughter of Eve, who was Lilith’s replacement. Rachel and Jeshurun fell in love. Now Yahweh abhorred this match, and he tried to divert Jeshurun from Rachel by flooding their marriage with concubines and handmaidens. And Yahweh dried up Rachel’s womb, so that she only bore one seed, while her competition produced twelve patriarchs.
Now when Yahweh saw that Jeshurun loved his son by Rachel more than all his other offspring, he devised a plan for the lad’s demise. Yahweh instructed the dozen patriarchs to take the problem child, whose name was Joseph, and to sell him into slavery. So the brothers sought out the same company of traders from whom their grandfather Abram had bought his slave Hagar, and the brothers made a deal with these human traffickers; thus, Joseph was bound and shipped to Egypt.
When Jeshurun learned that his other children had disposed of his only child by Rachel, who was his favorite, he was furious with Yahweh. He went to the mountain of Siani, which the god was known to haunt, and he found the cave that was there, and Jeshurun ambushed him. The two wrestled all night long, with neither gaining the advantage. Finally, when the sun began to rise, Jeshurun dragged his opponent toward the mouth of the cave. The god cried out: “Let me go, for the day is breaking!” and lashing out in a panic he almost hollowed Jeshurun’s loins: this left his manhood out of joint. The infuriated Jeshurun held his adversary before the rays of light, which were slanting into the cave, and as the gleam crept ever closer, Jeshurun shouted, “I will not let you go unless you tell me your true name.” The god writhed and roared but could not prevail; he gave up his ghost unto Jeshurun. His last words were: “Israel!—‘Godkiller’—that is my name, and now it is yours.” He thus conferred his title and his powers onto Jeshurun. The god’s form effervesced as his essence infested Jeshurun, whose flesh now glowed.
Meanwhile, over in Egypt, Jeshurun’s only beloved son Joseph was shackled in a dungeon. Lucky for him, he was an extremely handsome fellow; so, when the captain of Pharaoh’s army sent his daughter Asenath to purchase servants for their household, she chose Joseph: for she loved him at first sight. And he was installed in the captain’s house as the majordomo.
Now Asenath the army captain’s daughter came to Joseph while he was overseeing her father’s household, and she removed her garment and said, “Lie with me.” And the two became wed.
But once the captain of Pharaoh’s army found out that his daughter had married a household slave, he was vexed, and he said to Pharaoh: “Take this man to serve you in your palace. For although he is my finest steward, he is a burden to me, because of my daughter.”
Pharaoh accepted this gift from his army’s captain; so Joseph was transferred to the royal palace.
§
One day Pharaoh suffered a bad dream, which he told to his magi, yet none of them could decode its meaning. Having overheard this exchange, Joseph offered his own interpretation: “Your nightmare forecasts a great famine.”
Pharaoh was shocked to hear this: “My god tells me you are correct.” Then Pharaoh added: “What can we do?” And Joseph answered: “Stockpile foodstuffs.”
Pharaoh was so impressed by Joseph’s powers of intellect that he promoted the man to the position of Vice Pharaoh; and Asenath his wife was restored unto Joseph: she came to live with him in the royal palace. Pharaoh put the entire governance of Egypt into the hands of Joseph.
In this capacity, Joseph established a great warehouse, against the upcoming famine.
Then, when the famine came, all the people paid money to Joseph the Vice Pharaoh of Egypt, in return for food. For he was the only leader in that region who had stockpiled ample nourishment in his warehouse. And when all the money ran out, Joseph induced the people to sell their property, their livestock, and eventually even their persons to the state, so that they might live. In this way did Joseph enslave the entire population of Egypt.
Now Joseph’s father Jeshurun, who was now called Israel, ‘Godkiller,’ as he had sorbed Yahweh, sent his children into Egypt, to buy food because of the famine. And when Joseph saw his brethren approach from the breadline, he remembered what they had done to him in his youth: how they had sold him into slavery. Although Joseph recognized his siblings, they did not know that this Vice Pharaoh was their brother Joseph, for he was attired in regal raiment, and he spoke only Egyptian.
Now, through an interpreter, Joseph said to his brothers, “Who is your father?” And they answered, “Israel.” And Joseph said, “No: Jeshurun.” And the brothers were terrified, not seeing how this Vice Pharaoh knew the birth name of their father.
“He is now Israel,” they explained, “because he fought with God and prevailed.”
Joseph was astonished to hear that his father was now their tribe’s deity. “Israel, you say?” he asked; then Joseph gave his brethren foodstuffs and commanded them to go fetch their father and bring him to Egypt.
“But he is an old man now,” they said.
“What does that matter,” argued Joseph, “since he is a god?”
And his brothers answered and said: “The former Israel, Yahweh, never disclosed the location of his life-tree, without whose fruit, even a deity is mortal.”
Then in frustration Joseph imprisoned the rest of his brethren, except for Judas, whom alone he charged to go bring their father back: “If you fail to return with Jeshurun who is Israel,” Joseph said, “all your brothers shall surely die.”
So Judas took the food from the Vice Pharaoh of Egypt unto his father, who was lying on his deathbed. He urged Israel, “You must come with me to Egypt.” And Israel answered, “If I do so, I die.” But Judas explained, “Either way, you will die, for you are weak; but if you stay here, all your children will perish as well, whereas, if you go to Egypt, the Vice Pharaoh has promised to spare the lives of all twelve patriarchs.”
Therefore, Israel entered Egypt. And he came to the royal palace, where his son now lived as Vice Pharaoh.
Joseph met his father and wept, as he revealed his identity to the man: “O Jeshurun,” he said, “I am Joseph: the only son of your beloved Rachel. Aton has blessed me in this land.” And he told his father how his fortune had unfolded, so that he had progressed from being a slave to enslaving all of Egypt.
And Israel wept and said: “O my favorite son Joseph!” and he made Joseph place his hand upon his manhood, and he told him about his encounter with the satan at Sinai, and he said: “O Joseph, my son, I bequeath my power unto you. Here is what you must do to receive divinity. Consume my flesh, and imbibe my blood; then you shall become as elohim, knowing all, from good to evil. Lo, do not neglect this rite: my flesh and blood are meat and drink indeed. Eat, therefore, my flesh, and drink my blood, for now I yield up the ghost: thereby will I dwell in you, and you in me. As Yahweh suffused me at his vanquishing, passing to me his true name Israel, so also now I shall suffuse you, and you shall be filled with the life of your Father, thus I rechristen you ‘Moses Israel,’ which means ‘Son of Godkiller.’ Now take, eat, and live by me. Howbeit, set aside my bones; for you must promise to take them and bury them in that same cave that I told you about, where I met our deity on the mountainside.” Then Israel died.
Now Joseph, whose new name was Moses, having ingested the body and blood of his holy father, saved Israel’s bones in a portmanteau case. Then Vice Pharaoh Moses went before Pharaoh and opened the portmanteau, and showed him the glowing bones of Israel, and he said these words:
“My father made me swear to bury his remains outside of Egypt. Now therefore, permit me to take this populace I purchased – all those whom I bought with foodstuffs during the famine – and let us go into a mountain of the wild land, so that we may bury Israel’s bones. After that, I will return to Egypt again.”
Now, when Pharaoh saw how his V.P. had become an elohim and acquired ownership of the population, his heart froze up, and he denied the request; for it appeared as though this ‘Moses,’ as the man was now called, was aiming to usurp his kingdom.
“Go alone,” Pharaoh said unto Moses, “and bury the bones of your heavenly father. But leave the people here in Egypt; for I greatly fear being overthrown in an uprising.”
Then Moses knelt and begged Pharaoh to reconsider, saying, “O Lord, I am your servant; it was in your name, and strictly for your glory, that I accomplished all that I have done here in this country. I have no designs on your crown. I only wish to honor my father, and to fulfill my vow to him. Let me therefore take the people to the outland, so that we may perform a proper funeral; for Israel was concerned about the fate of his remains: he requested that his bones might rest in the mountain, as he was eager to avoid spending eternity in a pyramid. I fear that if we do not perform what he asked of us, he will curse the whole land with hideous plagues. Look: being his heir, I have inherited power over disease; see how I can make my hand leprous and then cure it directly? I could also unleash pestilences in his name, but I’d prefer not to. I would rather turn Egypt’s waters to wine than blood. Let me therefore take the masses on this journey. We shall return within a fortnight: three days out, three days back; and about a week for the service.”
Pharaoh answered: “How about leaving only the army here? I would just like some assurance against foul play.”
Moses rose to his feet and said: “That is fair. We have an agreement. You keep the army. I’ll go with the people out to the mountain, and we will return.”
So Vice Pharaoh Moses left the presence of the Most High Pharaoh, and an announcement was sent out into all the land of Egypt declaring a national holiday for the funeral of Israel.
Moses then led the Egyptians out to the wilderness, carrying with him the portmanteau that held the glowing bones of his father. He presided over an elaborate funeral ceremony at Mount Sinai, in whose cave he deposited the bones of Jeshurun-Israel. When that was done, the sky broke out in thunder and lightning; the top of the mountain began to smoke, and lava erupted.
Meanwhile, back in Egypt, Pharaoh and his army bided their time in the eerie silence of that vacated land. Although it was still within the frame of the scheduled period, Pharaoh grew anxious, and he addressed his army as follows:
“I trust the Vice Pharaoh, but it would be wise for us to guard against potential treachery. For what if Moses, beguiled by his newfound power, yields to temptation? He might easily surprise us and accomplish a coup d’état. Let us therefore go out and meet him in the wilderness: if he seems peaceable, we will join his ceremony; but if he attacks, we shall rise up and repossess our kingdom.”
Thus, Pharaoh and his army left Egypt and marched into the wild outland. Just when Moses and his multitudes were preparing to make their return trip, the army of Pharaoh appeared over the horizon. The masses with Moses were frightened by this sight: “Lo, Pharaoh and his army have betrayed us,” cried the people; “they have come to destroy us!”
Therefore, the multitudes took flight, assuming that their slaughter was otherwise imminent. And the army of Pharaoh pursued them to the Red Sea:
“A dead end!” the masses cried unto Moses. But Moses waved his wand over the waters, and a great wind whipped up and split the sea, and it caused the waters to gather in heaps at either side, so that the people could pass through on dry sand. Now, once the masses had all traversed the sea, Pharaoh and his army came forth onto the same dry path and chased after them; but right when Pharaoh and his troops were at the midpoint of the sea, the wind died down, and the waters crashed back and drowned them.
The people cheered with relief when they saw this. But Moses was dismayed, for he would have preferred to give diplomacy a chance, rather than simply destroying his old friend, who had always been so kind and loyal, for a presumed breach of faith. Moreover, now Moses and the multitudes were in a part of the wilderness that was unfamiliar. He tried re-splitting the Red Sea, to find out if they might double back to Egypt, but the recent miracle had expended all his power. So he led the people forward, hoping to find another nation that might help them.
The multitudes wandered in those wild lands for days. Very soon their supplies ran out, and the people complained to Moses, saying, “We shall die from thirst!” And they were right: if they did not find a fresh source of water immediately, this would prove the end of their trek.
They arrived at a place that is called by several foreign names: Marah (“bitterness”), Massah (“testing”), and Meribah (“quarrelling”). It is also, in the American tongue, known as Fallout Rock and Lynch Peak. These epithets tell the story of what occurred there; for there was bitter quarrel between the people and Moses; they had a fallout, and Moses was tested: the multitudes demanded that he find water to save their souls; then when he failed to do this, they lynched him. Moses died there, and the people consumed him, as Moses himself had consumed Israel before him; thus were the powers of divinity transferred to the people as a whole. Before that time, the multitudes had always answered to one sole judge; now they had all become judges themselves, and every man did what seemed right in his own eyes.
They buried the bones of Moses at Fallout Rock, performing this office after the manner of Israel’s burial. So, as the father was laid in a cave at the side of Sinai, the son was lodged in a formless void of Lynch Peak. Yet, after the people had struck the rock with Moses’ wand, time and again, to hollow the tomb, just as they were preparing to seal the site with a stone, behold, a mighty spring broke forth: fresh water gushed out from the depths as a river, and the remains of Moses were swept away. (To this day, no one knows where those bones came to rest.)
§
So now the population, which had left Egypt and ended up in the wilderness on the far side of the sea, sought to settle the surrounding land. This resulted in an odd number of city-states that were loosely bound as a confederacy, without a central authority governing them. Then a seer named Samuel rose to popularity, and he united the states under a strong federal government by anointing the first president to supervise the entirety: That man’s name was Saul.
President Saul soon got assassinated by President David, who then defended himself against a whole lifetime of assassination attempts from almost everyone. When on his deathbed, David’s children began attempting to assassinate each other, in anticipation of being elected the next president. Among these siblings, Solomon survived to gain the support of the select committee, the small group of creditors that established popular opinion.
Throughout his life, until the end of his term, President Solomon dodged enough assassinations to get his own son Rehoboam into the next running. For that election, however, the select committee determined that there was no clear winner of the office: for 85 percent of the country was against the establishment’s darling, leaving Rehoboam with only 15 percent of the vote. The split was along economic lines, with the southern creditor class being in the minority, while the northern working class gave its majority support to one of their own. Thus, from that point on, there were two competing Prezzez. The upper-class Creditor Prez was Solomon’s son Rehoboam, and the Workforce’s Prez was a bricklayer named Jeroboam.
The North’s Prez-chain, the family tree of its working-class presidents, was riddled with assassinations: for prez after prez, there were nonstop attempts at overthrow and frequent successes; the political murders never ceased. On the other hand, the South’s Prez-chain proved a smoother succession of figureheads, as the creditor class was more reliant on bloodlines and nepotism to transfer power.
Eventually both North and South got subsumed by conquering countries. The North was taken captive by Assyria, and the South a little later by Babylon. The working class of the North just gave up and settled into their new life of servitude; whereas the creditors of the South stubbornly clung to what remained of their fallen nation.
A remnant of the South’s creditor class maintained a modicum of power over the passing years, and in the first century of the Common Era they found themselves existing as a client state under the Roman Empire. Although always on the lookout for opportunities to grab more power, the creditor class was relatively content with this arrangement. Contrariwise, any workers that existed among that southern remnant were disgruntled; and so were the workers of Rome. Now a Nazarene named Jesus was one of these dissatisfied laborers. He became an agitator (or, from the Empire’s perspective, a “terrorist”), and he went around rousing the rabble with an anti-debt message. This message won over the client state’s working class, whose people joined the Nazarene’s movement, the popularity of which grew rapidly and ended up appealing also to the working class of Rome.
Now, beholding this Nazarene Jesus’ pro-worker movement, the creditors from both the client state and the Empire grew anxious about its potential for revolution, so they did what creditors always do in such situations: they assassinated the opposition’s leader.
Unfortunately for the creditors, the Nazarene’s message was so infectious among the workers of the world that it continued to spread even despite the founder’s death. The simple truth that he taught was hard to stomp out. Yet over the next few generations, the creditor classes from both the client state and the Empire worked to divide and conquer what remained of the anti-debt movement; and about three centuries into the Common Era, Jesus’ movement had been thoroughly tamed and rendered innocuous to the ruling powers: it was then declared the official religion of the Empire. And to this day, it remains an effective tool of oppression.
Dear diary,
It all comes down to one gang against another. Why is poetry superior to rap? Because some gang said so. Why is the Bible more sacred than Emily Dickinson? Because some gang said so.
The gang of the English Department at some college. The gang of priests that compiled the Holy Scriptures. The gang that determines what shall be called Science. The gang that decides how many pieces of money can be born.
Maybe pain is the only way that God has of communicating with us – of saying: “No! Wrong way!” And what is the right way? Joining the divinity. When a lost fragment finds its way back into God’s being, it experiences a feeling of ecstasy.
Think how it feels to labor alone, compared to laboring with a friend.
Some people prefer solitude though.
And what can be said about gangs? They seem bad when you’re outside of them and good when you’re a member: so, be an insider. Maybe the problem is that members of gangs are arrested in their development: by definition, a gang must not include everyone. If a gang continued to expand until it contained all, it would be God.
So gangs are factions of divinity battling. God fragmented; then some of the fragments re-fused into collective organisms, which are at strife. Gangs are the civil war of God’s ongoing death. The peace that results from a realized harmony will be God’s resurrection: Finnegans Wake.
The government maltreats a subsection of its populace, and individuals within that subsection form an allegiance, thus mimicking the government that oppressed them. “Do as I say, not as I do,” says the government. Country X is fighting a war: that sounds noble; whereas gang warfare sounds ignoble. Small crime is abhorrent; big crime is exalted.
One must trust one’s society. One cannot fulfill all one’s necessities oneself. On my own, I would not know how to manufacture eyeglasses and rugged, lasting footwear. I could probably learn how to milk a cow, or plant potatoes. Maybe I could slay a bear, for clothing. And for a house, I would find a seashell that fits me.
I heard a scientist say that he kept an octopus in a tank, and every morning he gave it a chicken egg to eat. The octopus, he said, would turn red with love when it received the egg, and it would hasten into its favorite nook to dine. Then one morning the scientist tossed the octopus a rotten egg, to see how it would react. It turned red with love, as usual, and sped to its nook; but once it tasted the item, it turned white with fear and rage; then it threw the egg back at the scientist.
I myself am against this scientist, and I say that he should lose his license: his decision to give the octopus bad food was cruel. If he had offered the spoiled egg by mistake, not knowing its quality, then it would be permissible to record the results of the act in the Annals of Science. But because he chose deliberately to deceive the creature, his report should be destroyed; and, as I said, he should be disbarred. The scientist should also be injected with a substance that causes total paralysis; then he should be tossed into the sea and devoured by monsters.
Let me try writing a dystopian novel like Orwell’s 1984, just to end this entry:
Life in the Year 2060
Mister Winner was sitting at his desk, writing in his diary. “The month is October of 2060 AD,” he wrote. “The day is the anniversary of the great disaster. Thirty years ago, the world enjoyed a bout of nuclear tennis, and only one percent of the population survived. I am among them. I now work at a place that I hate. We have too many touchscreens, all of which spy on us.”
After the global devastation, the United States was renamed Heaven and converted into an interactive menu for the only remaining computer network. Mister Winner put his pen down and touched the screen at his right: “Heaven speaking,” said the screen’s speaker; “how can I help you?”
Mister Winner pressed the picture of the hotdog, and the voice said: “You have ordered one healthy snack to be delivered to your mansion.” There was more to the message, but Mister Winner pressed the Lot-49 button to mute it. Then he went back to work.
Mister Winner’s job was to create advertisement jingles for democracy and freedom. He also helped to update the list of “Good Citizens”: those whom he set to be purged would be cast into the outer darkness. Mister Winner was adept at installing cameras with hidden microphones; so, he did that, too, all over town, as an unpaid hobby. It made him happy to mar the well-being of others.
A white robed eunuch entered the work station where Mister Winner was laboring. He was carrying a hotdog on a white plate, which he set down on the desk before Mister Winner. “Here is your blessing, O saint,” said the eunuch, and he bowed repeatedly while pacing backward to exit.
“Thanks,” murmured Mister Winner, after the panel door slid shut. Then he took a bite, and as he chewed, he looked at the paper to the left of his dictionary: inscribed upon it was the start of a jingle about how awesome Christ is, and how perfect the leadership of Heaven seems overall. He wrote another couplet and then finished his hotdog.
After the kettlebell rang to announce the end of lunch, Mister Winner decided to take a stroll into the ghetto. There, he saw a pop shop – that is, a mom-&-pop shop devoid of its mom – and he entered and bought a knickknack and rented a room.
“Are you sure this room doesn’t have any surveillance screens installed?” asked Mister Winner of the pop who owned the shop. “Not even a spy camera-microphone combo behind that painting there?”
“Nope,” said the owner; “no espionage devices in this building. You can rent this room and have a love affair in it; I won’t betray you. I respect the privacy of my clients.”
Mister Winner paid the man for the room; then went back to his own place and wrote in his diary, reporting how he met a new girlfriend named Sophie:
Sophie is wise; we shared my newly rented room for several weeks, and admitted to each other how much we both hate Heaven and its Christ. Let us pray that these true attitudes remain secret; for if our traitorous views are ever discovered, Sophie and I will be dead meat.
Note to self: Ask Sophie, next time I see her, to accompany me to my boss’s house.
And the entry that came after the above one said:
Dear diary, it is now a few days later. I asked Sophie on a date, and we went to see my boss. My boss opened his door and exclaimed: “Mister Winner and Sophie, what a surprise! I had no idea that you would come and visit me at my home, because I have never listened in on your private conversations. (How would I do that, even if I desired to? For the room where you two have been meeting on the regular to commit your sins is not listed among the official spying chambers of the government.) Please enter my residence and make yourself at home. Lie down on my Confession Couch, and feel free to tell me anything: Don’t be afraid to unveil the darkest contents of your heart. You are safe here; remember: I am legally bound to respect the confidentiality of my underlings. Statute six hundred sixty-six says, and I quote: All bosses who moonlight as psychoanalysts must protect their employees’ records. So, go ahead and ask me about any underground rebel groups that you might wish to join.”
Hearing these kind words from the lips of my boss put Sophie and me at ease, so we sat down and sipped the martinis that his robo-butler prepared for us; and after the third one, Sophie and I both blurted out at once the question that was burning in our souls: “O boss, how might we join one of those underground rebel groups that are fighting to overthrow the government? Do such groups even exist, or are they just another rumor invented to lure us into self-incrimination.”
The man smiled warmly and answered: “You might have noticed that I was able to shut off the overhead spy-cam before answering you just now. You’ve never seen anyone exercise authority over the surveillance equipment before, have you? That’s because I’m the only one who has this privilege. I want my following words to be off the record, because I’m going to tell you something that is quite dastardly. I myself am, in fact, the leader of the only functional underground rebel group; so, if you want to overthrow the government, you came to the right place. But before you become a member of our counterforce, I must ask you to take a pledge. Are you willing to do that?”
Sophie and I both answered quickly: “Yes indeed!”
So my boss continued, “OK, then repeat after me: I hereby pledge that I will do anything that the underground rebel group commands, including hurting people’s feelings and damaging property.”
Sophie and I both dutifully repeated this pledge, word for word, with our hands upon our hearts.
“Very good,” said my boss, as he switched back on all the surveillance equipment, “now, go in peace, back to your love nest, and fight the power.” He raised his fist, while using his manilla folder to block this gesture from the eye of the overhead spy-cam.
We returned his salute, and left.
Back at our rented room above the pop shop (Mister Winner continued his diary entry), Sophie and I disrobed with the intention of engaging in acts of dalliance, but before we could begin, a voice boomed out of the painting on the wall:
“Hold that thought,” the voice announced; “I’ll be up the stairs in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, with the federal police. You two are in big trouble, and you’re both going to be sent to the select committee for questioning.”
I looked at Sophie and said: “Who just spoke? That wasn’t you, was it? It sounded like the man from whom I rented this room – the pop who owns the shop below. But I don’t see how he could have seen us or addressed us, for he assured me that there are no espionage devices in this room; no camera screens or hidden microphones on the walls – unless they’re behind that painting that I’ve never inspected.”
Sophie, shaking her head, replied: “No, that harsh voice that just upset the air was not mine. At first, I thought it was your own, and that you were making a jest. But apparently the man from whom you rent this room, the pop of the pop shop, has betrayed you. My guess is that he lied to you when he assured you that he would not spy on your activities or ever report your behavior to the cops. We should remove that suspicious painting from the wall and look behind it. I bet there’s a listening device, or maybe even a camera secretly installed there.”
I hopped up from the bed and took the frame off its hook. Sure enough, there was a surveillance module behind the painting: “Aha!” I cried.
But, just at that instant, the door of the room burst open, and the pop of the pop shop appeared sporting a sour face. “Yes, I spied on you,” he said; “and I squealed to the fuzz. Sorry about that – I did it for the money.”
Then a squad of policemen trampled into the room, while the chief officer stood at the door, opened his billfold, and took out several dollar bills, which he handed to the pop of the pop shop. “Here,” said the officer, “this is your reward for giving us information that led to the arrest of these heretics.”
The policemen who were now crowding the room separated Sophie from me. They wrapped us both in heavy chains, and said: “You two lovebirds are going to the clink for some Catholic Inquisition.”
As they manhandled us away from each other, Sophie cried out to me: “Goodbye, my soulmate.” And I echoed her words, as the cops shoved me into their squad car.
When we reached the station (Mister Winner’s diary entry continued), they shoved me into a cell with other men. I know not where they took Sophie. Then, one by one, each of my cellmates was called away by the prison guard:
“Mister Dough-face?” the guard said loudly, and Mister Dough-face stood up and answered, “Here am I.” Then the guard announced, “Come with me; you have an appointment in Room 101.” Mister Dough-face screamed in terror as the guard fetched him away.
Then the guard returned and shouted, “Mister Goodie?” Mister Goodie replied, “Present.” The guard snarled, “Come to Room 101,” and Mister Goodie was hauled away screaming.
This happened a few more times, and each time I grew more nervous about my own fate. Finally, the guard came and asked for Mister Winner. “Right here,” said I. The guard announced, “Your boss wants a word with you.” I was surprised that he did not mention “Room 101.”
So I followed the guard down the corridor, and he led me into a large green office where my boss was sitting at a desk. “Hi there, Mister Winner,” said my boss; “I need to hook you up to this shock machine, and then we’ll talk philosophy.”
“Sure thing,” I said, trying my best to remain agreeable.
“Before we begin,” said my boss, “do you have any questions for me?”
“Yes,” I said, “I was wondering if you were telling the truth, when you told me earlier that you are the leader of the underground group of rebels; because, if that is so, then you might be able to get me out of this predicament.”
My boss frowned and explained: “Ah, Mister Winner, you are very gullible. No, I am not the rebel leader. I just told you that to trick you into confessing your criminal intentions. That’s why you’re here now. You and your paramour Sophie tried to overthrow the government by falling in love with each other and cuddling. Such behavior is liable to ruin society, for if everyone were to spend all their time caressing one another, then none of the censorship and espionage would get done. The price of meat would go through the roof. People would forget the simple facts of mathematics.”
Now it was my turn to frown: I answered my boss, saying, “Love is good, not bad. And nobody will ever forget how numbers work – math is easy.”
My boss raised his eyebrows and said: “I’m going to shock you for that.” Then he pressed the red button on his remote control, and a bolt of lightning went through my system. It was extremely painful.
“Stop!” I shouted: “I give up! You win! No more electroshock therapy, please! I am cured – look, I will say or do anything you ask. Just quit recharging me.”
My boss placed his hand on his chin and thought for a while about my offer. Then he said: “Listen, neither the country of Heaven nor I really care what you say or do. We just want all the power in the world, forever. Thus, it deeply bugs us that you can think your own thoughts. So, the best way for me to ensure that you will no longer use your mind freely is to shock you at random, according to my whim, until your brain gets fried. Do you understand?”
But before I could even answer, he pressed the shock button like fifty-five more times, with the intensity knob at the maximum. I jittered around like a fish. Then he detached me from the machine and said: “Stand up.”
I tried to get to my feet, but I collapsed on the floor. My boss helped me up and said, “Here, I’ll hold you. Your brain might be sufficiently fried already. I just want you to look in the mirror at yourself, to see how unattractive you are.”
I gazed at the hideous form that was reflected in the mirror that he propped me in front of. “I can’t believe that’s me,” I said; “it must be a photorealistic painting, which you’re just claiming is a mirror. You lied to me once already; don’t think I’ll fall for your deceptions a second time.”
My boss then admitted that it was indeed a painting. Then he hooked me back up to the machine and shocked me again. Then he said: “Let’s return to the subject of math. How many fingers am I holding up?” And he held up both his hands with the first two fingers on each one making the sign for peace or victory.
“Four fingers,” I said; “two plus two equals—”
“No!” my boss shouted. “I hate to argue with you, but the official rulebook of Heaven states that two plus two is FIVE, not four. You should see two fingers on each of my hands: that equals five total.” Then he pressed the shock button, and I passed out.
When I revived, my boss was holding me like a mother holds her child and rocking back and forth, gently smoothing my back with his hand and whispering: “It’s alright, my little baby, I just needed to reprogram you.”
I shook myself loose and said: “Are you truly my mom?”
He blinked and a smile started to form on the sides of his mouth. “I AM,” he said, with tears in his eyes; “do you remember me? You stole a piece of chocolate from your little sister once, before the Chaos Dragon kidnapped and ate us.”
I nodded and replied sincerely: “It’s all coming back to me now, mommy.”
My boss then held up his hands in the peace-and-victory pose and said: “What’s two plus two? Quick, don’t think too hard, just answer the first number that comes to your mind.”
I squinted and pointed at his fingers, counting under my breath; then I shouted my answer: “Five!”
My boss sprang forth and hugged me tightly, with tears streaming from his eyes. “O Mister Winner, my son, my son, Mister Winner, my son,” he cried. Then I asked: “Can I go now?” And he said: “In a moment. First, you must suffer the final ordeal.”
“And what’s that?” I said.
“Room 101,” said my boss. And before I could ask my next question, he added in answer: “Room 101 is the worst possible experience imaginable. You must endure it. For there is yet one thing lacking of your perfection.”
Then he dragged me kicking and screaming to Room 101.
“What’s that?” I said, pointing to the strange contraption on the floor of the otherwise empty room.
“That, dear child,” explained my boss, “is the paradisal snake pit. Here’s how it works: I place you inside it, then I lock its gate.”
I gasped and exclaimed: “But there’s nothing in the whole wide world that I fear more than serpents.”
“Yes, I know,” said my boss, “that’s why I selected it as your last challenge. You see, Heaven is not interested in killing you; it only desires to earn your love. But the love must be sincere, from your heart, not just lip-service; and it must be given freely. But right now, your love for Sophie is preventing you from finding Heaven attractive, so we must use this snake pit to win you over.” Then he grabbed me by the neck and thrust me into that paradise, and he barred the gate so that I could not escape.
I began to scream, and I shouted: “What must I do to be saved?”
“You must renounce your love of Sophie,” said my boss.
“Fine,” I sobbed, “I do declare that I now hate Sophie, and I only love Heaven instead. And I respect my boss, who is so kind and generous.”
My boss tapped his finger on his lips and thought about this outburst for a while, then he replied: “I’m not really buying that you’re sincere. Could you tell me a little more about your conversion, and give it some feeling?”
So, while sniffling and weeping, as a snake slowly crept in my direction from the other side of the garden, I said to my boss: “I am so over my infatuation for Sophie that I wish you would remove her physically from my heart, take her out of my ribcage, and plant her in this place instead of me. And I love Heaven now, a lot. And my boss does good work. May the blood of Christ wash us all light-pink.” Then I recited the pledge of allegiance while stiffly performing the official salute with my arm.
This act apparently persuaded my boss, at last. He came over and unblocked the gate of paradise and released me to freedom. But when the serpent tried to come out as well, my boss quickly shut the gate and secured it.
§
Well (Mister Winner concluded his diary entry), I can’t think of anything else to tell you now. That’s pretty much how my day went. I better get to sleep, because tomorrow morning I plan on visiting the bistro across the street, and they open at six. Bye for now.
Then Mister Winner went to bed. And when the sun rose the next day, he crossed the street, entered the Calvary Café, and ordered a sponge of vinegar on hyssop. As he sat there sucking, the shop’s door opened and Sophie happened to appear: the two former lovers spied each other and waved. “Come, join me,” said Mister Winner.
When Sophie sat down, she looked dejected. “What’s wrong?” said Mister Winner.
“I am ashamed at how quickly I broke, under the interrogation process,” Sophie said. “Immediately I renounced your love, and told them that I only desired the LORD – the garden’s proprietor. Then I gladly accepted all the creatures that he offered to me as helpmeets: I let the LORD beguile me with his minions. Then I bowed to him, begging him to release me and to put you in my stead.”
“I did the same thing to you, during my own temptation,” Mister Winner admitted.
The ex-lovers sat in silent contemplation. Then Sophie got up and said: “I really must be going. I have a date with the Christ of Heaven. He’s my new master.”
“Do you truly love Christ?” I said, astonished at this news.
“Yes, I think so,” Sophie tried to smile.
“Jeesh, I can tell that you really mean it,” said Mister Winner.
“Oh, I do, I do,” said Sophie, shrugging. Then she asked: “And how about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Me?” said Mister Winner. “No, not really. I guess you could say I’m married to my job. For I love Heaven, and my boss, and censorship; but that’s pretty much all. I found out my boss is actually my mom.”
Sophie tilted her head in wonder. “How does that work?” she asked.
“How does what work?”
“Your boss – he’s a man. How can he be your mom?”
“Oh,” sighed Mister Winner, “it’s simple, really. They fried my brain with electroshock therapy, and during the process, my boss revised my childhood memories. Now, instead of myself with pop and mom, our family trio has become Son, Father, and Ghost. That latter role of surrogate mother is fulfilled by my boss: I’m told that he birthed me from his ribcage.”
“Ah,” Sophie nodded, “that’s the same thing they did to me, with Christ.”
Mister Winner stood up and extended his arm. “Well, it was good knowing you,” he said, as they shook hands.
“I can’t believe how many times we went to bed together,” she said, “and now we’re practically strangers.”
“Yes, the world is a cold place,” Mister Winner forced a laugh.
When Sophie had gone, Mister Winner turned to watch the screen on the wall. An announcement was made that his favorite sports team just won the championship. Mister Winner turned to the owner of the bistro and said: “Did I hear that right? Heaven won against Hell?”
“That’s right,” said the owner. “We also won the war that was being fought. They announced that earlier, when you were chatting with your girlfriend over there.”
“Wait, we won the war, too? But I thought it was supposed to last forever? How’d they do that?”
The owner made a motion with his arms like he was firing a massive cannon mounted to a swiveling turret, and he said: “You know that two-handed engine they keep behind the entry gate up there? That’s what they used. It did the trick. Totally annihilated all evil.” Then he added as an afterthought: “It makes you wonder why they didn’t just do that in the first place.”
Mister Winner grinned in a slightly unhinged fashion and gazed at nothing in particular, as he remarked to the bistro’s owner: “This is unbelievable. Last evening, for the first time in my life, I prayed to God. I said: Please, if you want my love for real, just bless my favorite team in the game tomorrow. And look: not only did he do that, but he actually caused our country to win the Forever War! What luck! I swear, I love his Christ now, too!”
Mister Winner then pulled a form from the Police Tips dispenser, and scrawled under the section labeled Informant’s Testimony: “I LOVE YOU, SOULMATE.” And after filing this document with the authorities, he went back to living his life as usual.