Here is a collection of my favorite details from the cases of two films that I recently checked out from the library, plus some info from the receipt. (It has nothing to do with the text that follows.)
Dear diary,
Out of nowhere, I wanna take the 9th chapter of the book of the prophet Zechariah as the source text of this entry; because I happened to read it yesterday and its ending stuck with me: it beguiled me to copy it. (Imitation is the sincerest form of intellectual property theft.) — I did the same thing to another Z-prophet, Zephaniah, in my 03-August-2020 entry, but I took the latter’s whole entire book, cuz there were only three chapters in it. Today I have less time, tho equal interest; so here’s . . .
A PRONOUNCEMENT
from the Daemon of Bryan Ray
I wanna go live in either Lakeville or Burnsville, because then I think that everyone would pay attention to what I’m saying; as opposed to now, when everyone ignores me.
I wanna give a speech to all the countries in Minnesota — including Wisconsin on the borderline, where our neighbor Anthony went skydiving: he did a back-flip out of the plane (true story: no joke).
Also Rosemount and Apple Valley, both places where friendly people live.
I actually formerly owned a minor fortress in Apple Valley. I replaced all the grass in my yard with emerald gems, so that I never needed to mow it. And I built an above-ground swimming-pool in the midst of my front yard, and filled it with rubies, so that it looked like I had slit my wrists whenever I fell asleep bathing. But then one night it stormed and the pool slid down the slight incline to the east (we live on a hillock) & smashed right thru my neighbor’s fence. Also there were large hail pellets mixed in with the ruby “water” after that tragedy. And the hailstones looked like quartz gems, till they melted.
But despite these vast riches in my yard, the landlord impoverished me. He defeated my forces in a mega pond-battle. I had my Giant Squid and my Leviathan, and all my troops of dolphins; but Zeus owned fire, and fire evaporates pondwater easily. So that’s how he beat us. But I got even: I stole his fire; then I redistributed it freely throughout the whole neighborhood.
When the country of Red Wing saw this, they were frightened; but I sent them a messenger by sea-pony, saying:
“Do not fear: my Daemon will protect you, IF you play nice with us. Thus saith Bryan of Thief River Falls.”
Cuz that latter place is where I ended up eventually. But first I moved to Eagan, where I’m writing this prophecy to you at present. (I’m half-blind now — with love — hence my outsize penmanship.)
Also Farmington started to tremble, because my Salvation Machine was plugged in outside their front gates, right where their judges sit; but I comforted the residents, every last one, with the warmest hugs (just like I promised).
Howbeit, West St. Paul shall collapse, because I’ve personally had bad experiences there, with both their business establishments and their residential populace. Most of the people who live there are probably nice, I’m sure; so I won’t cause everyone to collapse (I always save the nice folks); but I dislike the landlords and also the ganglords. Basically any lord should expect to receive a collapse.
And the entire kingship of Minneapolis shall vanish from the world. “Nobody knows where they went!” – That’s what they’ll say when I finish dreaming their demise. The old Video Rental Store on Lake Street where I would frequently rent French New Wave movies — that place will go bankrupt, and all its employees will no longer live inside its building. The “Staff Choices” section of videocassettes on the northern wall will be utterly annihilated.
I’m also planning to cause cinema in general to go the way of super-sized reptiles, so that both the Uptown Theater where I first saw Fast, Cheap & Out of Control (1997), AND the Lagoon Theater where I attended Mulholland Drive (2001) on opening night — I say, both of these film houses shall eventually bite the dust. The only creatures that shall frequent them henceforward shall be packs of scruffy dogs (in the former), and (in the latter) suburban crows as big as chickens.
But I will summon my Daemon (also named Bryan, coincidentally) and it shall have a boxing match with the Daemon of the Rich Class. And my Daemon shall punch the face of the Rich Class Daemon. Thus the mouth of the Daemon of the Rich will discharge blood upon the floor of wherever our contenders are contending: if they’re fighting in the sky, then the field below will get blood splashed upon it. At first, this field will assume that it is raining, but then it will remark unto itself: “Lo, there never before has been a shower so very local; moreover the water droplets all are tinted burgundy, and they taste so sweet.” And then it will know: and it will understand and repent of its choice, which it made before time uncoiled, to become a field where Daemons clash and duel.
And the other noteworthy effect of my Daemon having punched the face of its opponent is that the Rich Class Daemon’s teeth shall all fall out at once. Or, rather, not all of its teeth: just a few. And disgusting filth shall pour out of the void where those now-absent teeth had been rooted.
But anyone in the audience who’s watching this fight will be welcome to join the side of Bryan Ray’s Daemon. They can find our website, if we have one by that time, and maybe click the “Donate” button, if I can figure out how to program it so that it works. Then fans can become paying members of the Bryan Ray Daemon Cult. They can give to our cause in a way that is more substantial than simply re-sharing my prophecies on social media. (Money always trumps direct action.)
To be fair, I also feel that I should predict that the countries of Lilydale, Mendota Heights, Hastings, and Sunfish Lake will join this insurgency. Also a few of the girls from Inver Grove Heights.
And I will instruct my Daemon, after he wins the boxing match against the Daemon of the Rich Men, to build a Camp Cult Office so that we have a place to meet and discuss our latest strategy.
But I will ban all travel, straight off the bat: Anyone who tries to come or go from Minnesota to anyplace else shall have their motions placed on pause. This shall be known as Operation Trip & Fall. For I shall use a remote control to make a giant leg trip the culprit, and, once they have fallen, we shall safe-copy them into suspended animation. This way, they will no longer be able to succeed in vacationing out-of-state. And our slogan shall be:
“O you wanna take a trip? Fine, we’ll let you take a trip.”
This slogan shall play upon the double meaning of that word “trip”:
- an act of going on an excursion, especially for pleasure;
- to stumble & land face-down before God.
Moreover, we shall affix to the lapels of all violators of this statute a large sticker reading “Hi, my name is...” and in the name-blank we shall pre-print the phrase Unfortunate Traveler, thusly italicized. (Or maybe we could even swap all the ‘u’s and ‘v’s around, so that it reads: Vnfortvnate Traueler.)
And no one will ever again beat a Minnesota team in any sporting competition. For I have noted with my Daemon’s own eye how, in the past, some of our teams have lost games in various scrimmages and tournaments — sometimes the score was maddeningly close — but this shall never happen again; not on MY watch. Or rather my Daemon’s watch. (I have a really big God.)
Therefore: REJOICE! O city of Eagan & Thief River Falls! & rejoice as well, O town of Glencoe, if you still exist (I remember you from Louis Malle’s 1985 documentary God’s Country — I love that film)!
& all you good little areas just south or far north of the Twin Cities, I urge you to express your contentment by chanting aloud. Your chant can be anything: a favorite poem or impromptu praise. For once, uncap your reserve tank of enthusiasm, cuz I’m coming to town like Saint Claus in daemon-form. I’m auditioning for the role of KING in your near future.
Am I the 3rd Coming of Christ, or am I the Antichrist? – That’s for me to know, and for you to remain worried about forever. Amen and amen. All I can say is that I’m gonna be persuasive:
I’ll appear on the horizon blingfully, all jangled out. (Do I meet your expectations?) And if I decide to cruise around, because your streets are too ginormous for pedestrians — so even a WORLD KING looks out-of-proportion here, thus it’s better to ride some type of chariot, like Ezekiel’s mobile throne — I’ll maybe show up in my red Pontiac Fiero, the one with the engine in the trunk. It only seats two.
But I shall murder all motorized vehicles. That will be the first item on my agenda. Then I’ll shrink the roads down to human-size again, and throw my Fiero in the ditch. I’ll just let it burn there, as a reminder of how stupid automobiles are. And if the thing doesn’t catch fire when I purposely crash it (for I shall flip it, so that it lands hard on its roof), I’ll just pour a little cologne on my lime-green handkerchief and toss it into the driver’s seat as I walk away casually: THAT’LL make the thing blow up. Then I’ll turn back around and exclaim with genuine grief:
“O drats! that was my lucky pocket square — a decorative accessory that I normally flaunt at the heart of this suit-coat — I meant instead to douse some paper tissues with the highly flammable substance and chuck them into the vehicle. Curse my stars.”
& everyone thereafter shall only pilot horses throughout Minnesota. For this place is now car-free. Unless your car’s pulled by a horse.
And there will be no more crossbow hunting: all hunting shall be done with trusty slingshots.
And all the other countries of the world will officially surrender to Minnesota. And they will voluntarily make all their flags plain white, indicating that they give up: they are no longer even attempting to feign nationhood but are now just placeholders in the universe and old retired superpowers. So Minnesota shall be the only nation whose flag is not blank. And all the existing photos of the moon will have their surface digitally manipulated so that they appear to be owned by Minnesota (look! there’s our flag: jammed like a toothpick into a sandwich, that’s no deepfake). And the kingdom of Minnesota shall extend from sea to sea, and from ocean to ocean. And all our aquatic mascots that got burnt before I stole back the fire from Zeus will get re-hydrated. We shall nurse them to health.
Then my Daemon shall free all the prisoners from the pit of Hell, where John of Patmos had placed them. And Jehovah will appear on the other side of the horizon and explain that he only allowed John to put them there for safekeeping. And my Daemon will believe him. Thus Jehovah will become a crucial member of our group.
So all the believers of all the world’s religions will receive salvation. And “the True Religion” will become a meaningless label, because everyone will care more about just going about their daily harmony. The garage-door repair man will enjoy a fling with my secretary, and I will forgive them both, because neither of them is my legally wedded spouse – I’m only their paradise’s KING; which entails, on my part, a contractual obligation to act mercifully.
And I’ll leave a double serving of Covenant Blood out on the porch, most evenings, to make the Passover do a somersault.
Plus I’ll accept everyone into my special forces: we’ll have a private army that no one is supposed to know about, but all the people from any realm around will be invited to join it anytime; even the enemy can join; but we’ll still fight in earnest as if we’re deadly rivals. The only catch is that the enemy will know all our moves, so they’ll be able to countermove properly, and every battle will look like a dance.
So I will additionally make a fortune selling warrior’s swords.
Every type of nuclear arsenal I’ll improve, as well, so that we can use them all. No more stockpiling.
And then I’ll come out from behind the red drapes of my bunker, and it will seem as tho I did not commit suicide at all. There’s barely any bloodstains on my uniform; and I’m enormous, as tho I’m alive and well inside the beam of a movie projector.
Thus I’ll become manifest. And my arrows (I’ll have an arrow-gun on my hip) will flash like thunderbolts. And you can count how many moments transpire between the brightness of the blaze and the burst of each Big Bang, to know how close I am to hitting you. And by “hitting on” I mean “seducing”, by which I mean “cupid-izing”; for those who are struck will fall in love with my ex-wife: Mother Nature (a rich ugly old maid courted by Necessity). But I’ll heal them soon, whenever I find them in the woods.
Lastly, I’ll blow on a lamb’s horn to advance my stormy tempest, the winds of which will transform into a serpent, resembling the Aurora Borealis: and it shall shed its skin for thee.
& following the End Times, I’ll have Jehovah Sabaoth, “the LORD of Hosts”, act as my bodyguard; and he will slingshoot anyone right in the face who comes near. Mostly giants will exist, at that point. And he and I will conquer and devour many municipalities, just like we did in the old days. And we shall drink wine and rage.
Women will try to lure us into snares, but we will be polite to them and collect their telephone number and talk to them sweetly, every Tuesday and Thursday, after battle.
And if we discover altars to Satan in any town, we will desecrate them by slitting our own divine wrists & spraying our lifeblood into a bowl, and then dashing the bowl against the corners of the altar. And my partner Jehovah will cancel their blessings on that day.
But when it comes to the real people, the actual regular folks of the Human Class, I shall be extremely friendly to them. The non-ruling, non-Lizard-Class people — those who just wanna raise their families and make art & love — they shall be like jewels glittering upon my game-board. How beautiful they shall be!
I will cheer them on, as they produce young damozels like new grain.
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