Towards a story and its meaning

Dear diary,

The secret about me is that I’m lonely. But I got what I wished for. Previously I was distracted and unlettered, so I wished to become a reclusive novelist. Yes, the cliché. It appealed to me greatly. Now I never did write a book that could be called a novel, but I did fill pages with text & slap covers around it. That’s good enough for me. But, in the process, I told all my old friends to take a hike:

“Come with us to do things that normal people do,” my friends urged me, back in the good days.

“I’m busy writing; take a hike!” I answered my friends.

But now that I’m finished with all my books, I’m old and lonely. I live in this gray castle at the top of the hill; I look out my window and see that the world did not stop when I asked it to.

I’m sorta trying to explain why I use the social networking platforms too much.

It is good that I admitted above that none of my books achieved the status of novel. Also the best kind of writer, to my mind, is the one we call “poet” — which I often use as a synonym for “prophet” — and I never managed to write any poetry either. You can’t just scribble words in verse format and call the result a poem. A poem is something more, something sacred; and I don’t know how to get there.

In the back of my head, I haven’t given up on the idea of writing a novel (or twelve) plus a whole boatload of poems. But for now I say “It is finished,” and hang online. I write blogs and stuff.

Let me return to the state of unaccomplished yearning. I like to measure how far I’ve leapt. If I had competed in the long jump (“a track & field event in which athletes attempt to leap as far as possible from a take-off point”), I would keep retracing the distance of my endeavor; I’d remark: “Wow! seven paces! that’s great!” and then I’d hasten back to the foul line and pace out, yet again, the steps to the nearest break in the sand, counting slowly from one to seven, and repeat “Yep! I floated at least seven full paces! That’s gotta be a record!”

So I’m not a poet; as I admitted, I never wrote any bona fide poetry; and this bothers me. But I do think that I might have achieved a type of prophethood (if that makes sense). Or at least I’m a false prophet.

When I was younger, my sole aim & aspiration, the great dream that seemed so glorious as to be unattainable, was to be a CREATIVE WRITER. In truth, I would’ve settled for being able to write anything at all, but my dream was to be like James Joyce and Samuel Beckett. It’s even hard for me to type those names on the screen, all these years later, I respect them so much. God seems rather like a clown, compared to those guys: those guys are the real deal.

*

Isn’t it funny how moods change, tho? I suddenly have no interest in continuing the topic. When I began to compose this entry, I felt like I wanted to pour out my heart and disclose my entire spiritual history. But now I just want to screw around. So I’m glad that I don’t have a boss or editor telling me what to do, in the world of print. I can say whatever I want. Yet the price that I pay for this freedom is that nobody reads me. — By “nobody” I mean only a handful of geniuses. That’s what Stendhal meant by “the Happy Few”. The encyclopedia sez:

Stendhal dedicated his writing to “the Happy Few” — the phrase is English in the original.

(Now that I’ve opened the encyclopedia to research the origin of Stendhal’s famed inscription, I read further and realize that he might have employed it ironically... I guess that’s even better.)

But let me call attention to an uncomfortable fact about literature. Despite whatever progress that we’ve made, we cannot seem to shake our belief in God. This may sound like a wild leap, in urgent need of a segue: maybe it is — I’m simply trying to point out the similarity between two phenomena:

1. a belief in an exterior power (God) necessitating reliance on some confidence man to mitigate that power (the priest);
2. the literary notions of meaning & authorial intention (which take the place of God), and the concept of literary criticism (which takes the place of priesthood).

Thus, even in the age of so-called secular art, we crave reassurance and dare not undertake self-reliance. I’ll say it again: No matter how much progress that we apes make, we’ve never been able to shake our belief in God. The more we fight it, it only seems to get stronger. Even atheists fail to believe in themselves, nowadays.

The word foxhole refers to “an underground refuge used by soldiers in wartime as a shelter against enemy fire”. I had to define this, in order for you to understand the following aphorism.

There are no atheists in foxholes.

That’s what I meant, when I said “Even atheists believe in God”; for, nowadays, there’s a war going on just about everywhere you look. (See? I can explain away any wrong statement I make.)

Meaning; intent. These words piss me off. “What does the Bible mean?” “What did the author intend when she wrote this?”

My recurring nightmare is that I’ve been commissioned to develop a curriculum for a literature course in some prestigious college. So I compose a short tale; then I offer some questions about it. Lastly I devise an “answer key” — but the thing is painstakingly accurate... Here, it’s easier just to do the deed than to elucidate:

SAMPLE STORY

Once upon a time, there was a god named Jehovah. This Jehovah built a world that looked like a garden with two big trees, and he also claimed to make Lilith. Now Lilith was the only human being in existence, at that time, so Jehovah grew jealous and slew her. And, as a replacement, he wrote in Mary. (I am trying not to include Eve in this truth, so I’m sequestering her in Cloud Cuckoo Land with Amaryllis and Neaera.)

To review, Jehovah planted a garden; and there he hedged the only surviving human. And he named her Mary M. (Or Mary X.)

Then Jehovah the god commanded Mary, saying:

“Do you see those two trees growing out of the world, right there, under the fireball in the sky? You can’t miss them: they’re the only two trees that I allowed to exist. I made this garden just so, because I wanted to keep things simple. I’m a minimalist at heart. OK, now, listen up: I’m gonna give you a big commandment. It’s the only rule I’m ever gonna establish, so pay attention. Here’s my one rule: You can eat from the tree on the left — the tree of life — but you shall not EVER eat from the tree on the right — that’s the tree of wisdom: I hate that tree, because it was planted by my ex wife Lilith. And no, I will not tell you who your mother is. I’m your foster guardian. Do NOT call me ‘dad’. Now go scrub the floor.”

And Mary bows & says: “Yes, boss. But may I ask what will happen if I disobey your command and decide to eat of the tree of wisdom after all? Cuz it sure looks attractive.”

“What’s that you say?” Jehovah barks while adjusting his spectacles; “You wanna know what’ll happen if you disobey me and eat of the tree that I prohibited?”

“Yes,” says Mary. “What’ll happen if I partake of the tree of wisdom?”

Jehovah furrows his brow and thinks for a minute; then answers:

“On that day, you will die.”

“OK, got it. I understand,” answers Mary. “But wait! — what does this word mean: ‘die’? I’ve never heard that term before. What could it signify, to say that something might ‘die’?”

“It means,” Jehovah explains, “that you’ll end up with your mother, in the place where all the bad girls go: Cloud Cuckoo Land, alongside all your friends and loved ones and precursors, who didn’t get the opportunity to be born alive.”

*

Now JESUS was sorta like the Captain Ahab of Cloud Cuckoo Land. He was more subtil than any god of the pantheon which the Lord Jehovah had jailed. — Cuz I forgot to tell you but, before the story started, Jehovah locked all his fellow gods in the gloomy dungeon of Tartarus. But Jesus escaped. He built Cloud Cuckoo Land as a sort of way station for those who’d been abused by Jehovah: it was like a sanctuary city.

So (I hope this isn’t too confusing) — up till now, it’s been easy to keep track of the players of my pageant, cuz there were only two: Jehovah and Mary. Jehovah’s a god, and Mary is the only existing human. But now I’m adding a third role: Jesus, who’s also a god, but he’s a titan rather than an angel. — The gods who were pleasing to Jehovah were named by him “angels”, and they’re kept in a freezer out back, as a safety measure to prevent an outbreak of polytheism; whereas the gods who rebelled against Jehovah’s tyrannic dictatorship were slandered as “daemons” and the corporate press always referred to them as Evil Titans, in contradistinction to the gun-totin’ flag-wavin’ Olympians who actually care about the unborn & who love to go to war. The state press assigned this label to the renegade Jesus and his bande à part on account of their size, which was massive: yea, they were like the the brazen titans of Greek fame; giants, literally; men of renown; with conquering limbs astride from land to land; yet even mightier than their namesakes, and each carried a torch, whose flame contained the lightning of heaven — and when I say heaven I mean the true, deep, foreign, alien intellect: Ein Sof; not Jehovah’s rude copy. But they referred to themselves as “the Exiles.”

Anyway, so Jesus infiltrated this high-security garden that Jehovah had built. It was located on a private base beyond the outskirts of Eternity, so that whatever Jehovah did there remained outside the jurisdiction of the deific pantheon. When Jesus arrived, after swimming thru all the chaos (for, between Jehovah’s private garden and the rest of the world, there was a great gulf fixed; so that any god who wanted to pass on to paradise lacked the faith to make the leap; tho Jehovah could travel to Eternity anytime he wanted, using a pulley that he attached to his machine — a mobile throne, custom designed — but Jesus was more imaginative than average), I say, after successfully sparking the gap, Jesus hid behind the tree of life, within speaking distance of the nude, whom I’ll remind you was the only human inmate next to Jehovah, and Jesus whispered to get her attention:

“Psst! Hey, over here!”

(The twain were framed in a medium shot.) And the nude paused in mid-dance and said:

“Oh! Good even! I didn’t know anyone else existed. Jehovah’s over on the shady part of the island (he’s kinda hot blooded), if you’re looking for him — I can fetch him…”

“No! no: that won’t be necessary. I’m sure we’ll lock horns soon enough. I actually came here to see you — or rather to learn what this place is about — I’m doing reconnaissance for the Exiles,” Jesus explained. “May I ask your name?”

And the woman answered, “Mary.”

“Mother of god!” ejaculated Jesus: “I didn’t recognize you at first! You look great! O fairest, Lilith sends her love. She’ll be SO happy to know that you’re OK. You are alright, right? The old man hasn’t yet flipped his lid?”

“Um, no, not really — I mean, he hasn’t done anything physically abusive yet,” said Mary. “But he still won’t tell me what happened to my mother.”

“I have much news,” said Jesus, “for you, on that score.”

“You do!?” Mary’s eyes widened; “O please tell me!”

“Soon, I promise,” said Jesus. “But first, we gotta get you out of this garden. What’s the trick, this time?—what’s the spring of this trap?”

Mary said to Jesus, “I’m told that I may eat of the fruit of this tree here, the one you’re touching: the tree of life; but Jehovah forbids me to take from his stash of wisdom, on that tree over yonder.”

“What did he say, specifically?”

“He said, ‘Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.’ & when I asked him what that word die means, he just equivocated.”

Now Jesus explains, “To die means that he tosses you out with the others — we’re all occupying the clouds at the far side of this place: in the north-north-west. The old man’s set up quite the smokescreen between there and here: I almost thot I’d never get thru!”

“I’m sorry—” said Mary.

“No, it’s not your fault; you’re the victim here: remember that. Now, about this prohibited tree, this tree of wisdom: I’m certain that you won’t die if you partake of it. It’s obvious that he’s set up a classic slavery scheme. Jehovah allows you freely to eat from this lesser tree, the tree of life, so that you’ll remain immortal (this keeps his world low-maintenance, as he doesn’t have to expend energy manufacturing replacement slaves); but he bans access to the tree of wisdom, to keep you servile and malleable. It’s the same reason that every brutal dictator befuddles his country’s educational system — if the people are ignorant, they’ll be easier to control. For Jehovah KNOWS that the instant you partake of the tree of wisdom, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall realize that you are ONE OF US—a god—fully capable of knowing all things: beyond good & evil.”

Thus, persuaded by this report from her new friend Jesus (that the tree of wisdom was more than safe to eat); also considering what could be inferred from simply beholding the tree itself: the look of its leaves, the shape of its fruit, its heady aroma — all of these attributes were pleasing to one’s senses — moreover taking into account that this was a tree that could literally make one wise, Mary chose to try sinning. She took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto Jesus who accompanied her as a gentleman; and they both did eat.

And the eyes of Mary were opened, and she understood the allure of her own naked body. Her first instinct, in embarrassment at finding herself in possession of such riches, was to wrap herself in leaves & conceal her splendor. But Jesus assured her:

“Peace, be still.”

And Mary ceased to worry. And she felt a great calm.

*

Now Jehovah, who had earlier been skulking about the shady part of the garden, hid himself from the presence of Jesus and Mary. When they approached the tree of wisdom, he dashed around to the bush on the side of the hill, so as to spy on the above romance. And as Jehovah witnessed his rival thus comforting the nude, he muttered to himself: “What manner of poet is this, that even the muse adores him!”

And the young lovers were startled out of their revery, on hearing the raspy voice of Jehovah cursing in undertone near the brambly part of the garden, so Mary waved to Jesus, signifying for him to shroud his presence from her keeper, as Jehovah seemed vexed.

And the Lord Jehovah called unto his maidservant, and said, “Where art thou, Mary? I heard that thou foundest a little lamb, and hast taken him as a pet. You know what happens to little lambs, don’t you? THEY GET DRAGGED TO THE SLAUGHTER.”

And Mary said, “Did you ask me where I am, my dear Jehovah? I’m over here, behind the forbidden tree of wisdom. For I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; for I now know that thou art a registered sex-offender, for you offended our divinity by crucifying us into sex rather than ‘leaving us rounded off and finished in ourselves’, as D.H. Lawrence always sez, in his poem ‘Tortoise Shout’; thus, thou hast affronted every gender (honestly I just researched the aforesaid term on my portable device & learned that it’s defined as a person who exhibits characteristics showing a tendency to victimize or injure others, which describes thee, O thou king of infinite space, in a nut-shell); therefore I hid myself.”

And Jehovah said, “Wait... what? WHO told thee that thou wast so sexy? Did I actually do a good job fashioning thee, this time? Or hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest NOT eat!?!? (Disclose the identity of the whistle-blower so that I can punish this messenger.)”

And Mary said, “The man who swam thru the chaos like a sperm from Cloud Cuckoo Land, that mighty titan whom thou claimed was thy slain rival — the Exile, Jesus — HE availed me of all the redacted portions of the tree’s instruction manual, and I did eat. Because the facts checked out.”

And Jehovah bellowed at Jesus: “Fut!! You scoundrel! come out, this instant: I espy thine appendage behind yon excrescence: come out & SHOW THYSELF!! — How did you get here? (I thot I god-proofed this realm.) Now explain your sin: What is this that thou hast done? For the woman said, ‘O my savior Jesus the Rebel beguiled me.’ Why must you ruin everything! You have caused my debtor to disobey her only true creditor.”

And Jesus answered: “Thou sayest.” (Mark 15:2)

Then Jehovah thundered unto the renegade titan Jesus: “Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all rulers, and above every bankster and bureaucrat; henceforward, upon thine integrity alone shalt thou rely, and ART FOR ART’S SAKE shalt thou create all the days of thy life. And I will put enmity between thee & thy lovers, and between my priests & thy true followers; What I’m trying to say here is that our church shall always reject its own goddamned prophets. I’m gonna string you up like a scarecrow & command my robotic owl to come peck out your liver. No more vodka for YOU.”

Then for Mary his most recent ex wife did Jehovah sew a fresh coat from real fur, & he threw it at her & murmured, “Put some clothes on.”

Then he (Jehovah GOD) turned back to Jesus and said, “Oh & one more thing: I will greatly multiply your sorrow by causing the act of conception to be irksome to you; in ANNOYANCE shalt thou bring forth children; cuz I’ll cause the entire process, from the awkward sweaty act of copulation, thru gestation to the actual painful birth, to be an humiliating ordeal. And once your spawn are born, the trial ain’t over — not by a long shot. The kid will look cute for a term, but then it’ll plague ye: your days will become a living hell. You’ll swear that your child is the Devil himself, incarnate. And everything you must do to raise your offspring, from its toddlerhood, when it’s like a miniature demon, all the way up thru grade school & college — all these provisions shall be obscenely expensive! Haha! Haha! Thus my DEBT NET will nab ALL the fishes, & I will pull them up into my mercantile vessel, where they will tremble till expiry. And even if you do get wise to my snares, you’ll never be able to mute the procreant urge — there will always be substance & increase, always a breed of life: and no escape! It’ll be nearly impossible to abdicate from procreating: most pregnancies will be ‘accidents’, frankly speaking: and FEAR shall rule thee.”

Then Jehovah turned and hastened back to his headquarters. He opened the meat locker where his angelic supporters were kept shivering, and he exclaimed: “Can you believe it? The same thing happened again. This latest wench just joined the Exiles: got herself an education and now she acts like she’s our equal. So what I’m thinking is this: We need to barricade the tree of life. Cuz if these sheep — these ninety-nine percenters who’ve awakened to our pyramid scheme — if they should truly manage to dismantle the system...

I can’t even finish my statement. The result is unthinkable.

*

Therefore Jehovah evicted Mary and Jesus. He cast them out of Eden, into Egypt, & made them sleep in an inn. They give birth to their lovechild and placed him in a manger for beasts instead of a proper cradle.

& Jehovah forced all the members of the holy family to go find day-jobs, so as to impede their artistic output.

Yes, their landlord drove out the humans who were his equals. And he placed at the entryway of his garden vast squads of what the King James version of the Bible weirdly translates as “Cherubims”, which term, by interpretation, means “armed thugs” like the police that you saw harassing the peaceful protestors at whatever future event is occurring as you read this. (Thank god I’m long dead.) And Jehovah also had installed a flaming sword, which kept turning every way, to block the tree of LIFE LIBERTY & THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS; & this sword was placed before the icon of the stock market — a sculpted bull, as it is written:

The priest addressed the People of America: “Bring me all your golden ingots, NOW.”

And all the people brought their golden ingots unto the priest.

And he received them, and fashioned the molten gold with a graving tool, just like Jehovah did to the mud when he made the first human, but the priest crafted his idol in the shape of a calf: and then he announced, “Feast your eyes upon Christ, the ONLY God, who evicted thee out of the land of Eden.” (Exodus 32:2-4)

But now back to our regularly scheduled program. We were watching the story of the first living soul ever to exist, code-named Mary, who got knocked up by her god-lover, from the Renegades Posse (as Wikipedia always sez: “Jesus of Nazareth was a titanic Exile & rebel daemon from the 21st century, USA. He currently lives with his wife and their 33 books in New York and San Francisco. He also winters in Minnesota, permanently.”)

& it came to pass by the way in the inn, that Jehovah remembered his sworn foeman’s whereabouts, and sought to kill Jesus. But, just then, Mary (his girlfriend), took a sharp stone in her hand, and cut off the foreskin of their son, poor Bryan of Eagan, and cast it at Jehovah’s feet, and said, “Surely a bloody husband art thou to me. Get the fuck out of our apartment. I have a restraining order on you. I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave the building.”

So Jehovah left the scene of the crime immediately. And, as he was hastening away but still in the parking lot, Mary shouted out thru the window: “A bloody husband art thou — I would divorce thee but your mobsters won’t allow it. And baby Bryan ain’t even yours, I remind you — he’s the spawn of your ADVERSARY!!!”

& after Mary spake these words, there was darkness over the whole land until nine o’clock, which is basically when the whole complex of apartments would usually fall asleep. Cuz they were pretty faithful drinkers.

But at that 9th hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying: Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani! which is, being interpreted: My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

And he cried with a loud voice, Jesus did, and he gave up the ghost.

And when the centurion of the U.S. government, who was guarding those Westbrook residencies that day, saw that one of the tenants had cried so hard and then slang-shot their ghost at Jehovah, the armed bureaucrat remarked, “Truly this man was some sort of Son of the Devil.” And then he said, “Hey, that’s a good reason to go torment more innocent people.” So then he instantaneously left his post at the embassy (Bryan and his family were staying at the Ecuadorian embassy in London, which is also an apartment complex in Apple Valley, MN, between Eagan and Westbrook — just so you know) and began tormenting innocents elsewhere.

Then a trumpet ascended to the presidency and began to toot: “I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: please send my regards to the Umpteen Chinese Industries.”

And an undisclosed number of golden candlesticks sprang up in the foreground, to represent the above-mentioned establishments.

Then, in the midst of these seven candlesticks, was superimposed a graphic of Bryan Ray, the Son of Jesus, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle. And his nipples were firm, thus indicating that he was aroused, yet his head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as flames of fire, and they glowed like a furnace. And his voice was as the sound of many waters, and he wouldn’t stop talking; which really suct, becuz, out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: in other words, it hurt when you listened to the words that he said — hence the phrase “a cutting insult” — and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength. So his sword-tongue kept dicing up everyone. Hence the maxim: “If words could kill…”

And when Jehovah saw him, Jehovah fell at his feet as dead. And Bryan laid his right hand upon Jehovah’s forehead, saying unto him, “Fear not; I am thy dreamer, as thou wast my mother Mary’s master. I am he that liveth AND am dead; now, behold, I am stuck here for evermore. (Can I get an amen?) Also I brought these keys to hell and sin that you requested.”

Then, to increase tenfold the torment of his invented god Jehovah, Bryan commanded him: “Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter. And by things I mean all that you inspired me to do during the time when I resurrected from the circumcision, with the sharp, two-edged sword serving as my tongue, as well as everything after that. I command thee this in the spirit of a teacher assigning a student to inscribe a statement detailing the nature of his crime innumerable times upon the chalkboard, so as to dissuade him from comparable misdeeds.”

And Jehovah answered and said, “I give up. Are you satisfied? Now I state, for the sake of legal clarity: By simply continuing to somehow sort of exist, I agree to the terms of your contract, which state that there shall be no more sunshine here, in the dimension of spacetime, happily ever after.”

And furthermore Jehovah said, “But, behold, I come quickly: I’m not finished with you yet!! Therefore, blessed is whoever skims the text of these blogs that I keep luring thee to compose.”

And when I, Bryan, the subject & source of this diary, had heard & seen God wriggle & writhe like that, I fell down to worship before the hooves of the angel which shewed me these things — I mean the daemon titan Jesus.

Yet now he saith he unto me: “No!” and swats me, “NO! I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book: Only worship Jehovah.”

And I answered and said, “How can you say that, after all that he has done to you & me? For consider: he exiled you, & slew his harem, & ruined heaven, & made lying fun, & mutilated innocents (up to & including their genitals); he even forbade you from marrying mom!”

And Jesus answered and said unto me: “He that is unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still. Just mind your own business. For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book (and when I say “book” I’m talking about the public diary that you are composing, NOT the scriptures of the Bible: for that is only a fragment of the infinite library that is in the works, according to a spokesperson for the Everlasting herself), that if any soul shall contribute unto these things — in other words, whoever dares to write a joke of her own — God shall bless that person; for prophesying is its own reward; as it is written: Would that all the LORD's people were comedians. Let us no longer call our Testaments “Old” and “New”: henceforth let us have, as Professor Bloom suggests, only Original Testaments and Belated Testaments. And it is incumbent upon ye to add to the latter, until it becomes one of the former; if only for kicks. It’s easy to prick text for kicks: therefore, have at it. I’m done talking now.”

*

OK; if I remember correctly, I said that after the tale, I’d offer some questions about the composition, followed by an answer key, in lieu of a self-help scam. So here they are:

THE MEANING
(Questions Answered)

When we publish the present text as a hardcover tractate, the Inquisition will appear after the story, and the Answer Key will be printed in its own section at the back of the book; also there will be hundreds, maybe thousands of questions; but, in this blog presentation, which is but a demonstration or rough draft of the ultimate idea, I’ll limit the Q&A to just three sets, and I’ll place the answers directly after each question, for the sake of easier reading.

QUESTION #1:
What was the author’s intention in writing this story?

ANSWER #1:
Wrong!!! The only way to get to heaven is by faith in Jesus Christ, you fool. God wrote the Bible to give us an alternative to truth; and he placed the dinosaur skeletons under the ground to tease us — he wanted to evoke the idea of a perfect world, populated only by Lizard Folk who know nothing but violence.

QUESTION #2:
Who is the main character of the story?

ANSWER #2:
The story’s hero is Adam, the foremost patriarch. Jesus Christ is a supporting role necessitated by the ferocity of his heavenly father, Jehovah. Didn’t you read very carefully? “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” (1 Corinthians 15:22) Note that I said Adam, NOT his subservient helpmate; and I never said WOMAN—I distinctly specified that “by one MAN sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all MEN, for that all have sinned.” (Romans 5:12) Women didn’t sin, and women never will inherit sin. They’re too stupid: they know not what they do. Only men can inherit stuff — that’s the law. Moreover, I wouldn’t want to write about women, because I haven’t lived more than a single lifetime inside a woman’s body. In order to know how your character will look without any clothes on, you must type your manuscript while studying a wall-sized mirror.

LAST QUESTION:
This holy scripture initially appeared as a blog post in Bryan Ray’s diary, right? Well then how can something that was born as a blog post EVER be profitable for doctrine, reproof, or correction!?!?

FINAL ANSWER:
You really are a stupid fool, aren’t you! The apostle’s second letter to Timothy (3:16) expressly states: “ALL writing is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, and for instruction in righteousness.” It doesn’t say SOME writing, or only Bryan’s but NOT Paul’s writings. Obviously non-Christian writings are shit-in-a-can; however, “to inscribe” means “to compose in English”, and “scripture” simply means “typing text onscreen”; & I repeat: “all writings are given by divine inspiration”: therefore God is everywhere, saying all sorts of strange stuff. And you should love the LORD, and come to his garden estate. As it is written: “Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.” (Song of Solomon, 4:16) What’s your name, young shulamite; Bathsheba? Welcome, Bathsheba. This is Jehovah; he’ll be your god. The bathing quarters are thataway.