#Maybe it started as an illusion before the power of belief kicked in

[puppetmaster13u]

Cryptid Batfam Mini Prompt

Can you kill what has already died?

   It’s a serious question, and not a joke. If something is dead, is it possible to kill it? Can you truly kill it in any way that matters? Truly, permanently end it, in such a way that it won’t come back?

Can you kill what has already died?

   It’s a question asked by many in this city, whispered tales of shifting shadows and gleaming eyes. Of bullets passing by a form not truly there until claws are slamming you against the stone, of an apparition giggling in the night as it slips within rooms with no entrance.

   Can you kill what has already died, many wonder as specters leap across the roofs, flitting in the shadows of the night as though mere flickers of the light. Mere hallucinations in the smog until they brush against your body, as real as the stone beneath your feet.

[goodlucktai]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter two: how the light gets in 

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 3713 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

“We’re here,” Wen Qing says, bringing Jiang Cheng out of an involuntary doze. He realizes that the car has stopped.

He can’t see much of the estate through the glare on the windshield, so he glances into the backseat. Wei Ying is still very much dead to the world, and still sprawled against Lan Zhan, who is playing what sounds like Candy Crush on Wei Ying’s phone. Wen Ning is fast asleep on Lan Zhan’s opposite shoulder with the rabbit crate nestled safely in the loose loop of his arms.

It can’t possibly be comfortable for any of them, except maybe the rabbits.

“I’ll extract you in a sec,” Wen Qing says.

“Take your time,” Lan Zhan replies peacefully.

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng drags himself out of the car. The dry heat smacks into him like a solid wall. Stretching stiff muscles, he gazes across the overgrown yard. It’s—alright, it’s a lot.

The whole property is clearly old farmland gone to seed. There’s some rusted equipment all choked through with weeds sitting off to one side of a dirt road, which wings around to a distant structure that must have once been a barn. Goldenrod is growing all over the place, and with the late afternoon sun baking overheard, it really adds to the illusion that everything has been bathed yellow.  

The villa itself is both better and worse than Jiang Cheng was expecting. It has exterior walls, at least. And most of a roof. Maybe once, it might have been someone’s pride and joy.

Wen Qing leaves the engine running, circling around the front of the car to stand next to Jiang Cheng. Her eyes look ancient with fear.

“I don’t know if we can do this,” she says. She’ll only say it now, where her brother and her best friend can’t hear. She’ll be strong all the rest of the time.

Jiang Cheng can’t begrudge her this important, much-needed moment of weakness. He bumps their shoulders together. He lets her lean on him for a bit. Jiang Cheng isn’t either of his siblings—he doesn’t know how to be a voice of comfort. The best he can do is just be here.

“What’s that stupid thing you and your siblings always say before you do something that almost gets you killed?” Wen Qing asks suddenly.

Immediately defensive, because he’s the one who started it back when he was like seven and Yanli and Wei Ying thought it was adorable and wouldn’t let it die, Jiang Cheng snaps, “It’s not stupid. It’s fucking—motivational.”

“It can be both. You’re living proof.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

She sighs, that familiar laughing sound that defangs Jiang Cheng in one fell swoop.

“‘Attempt the impossible,’” he recites grudgingly.

The sun is steadily sinking lower through the sky. All the daytime color is deep and rich now with the promise of evening, everything on the brink of shadow. A breeze rolls through the yard, catching Jiang Cheng’s hair and tossing it into his eyes. It carries smells he can’t recognize, smokey and woodsy, a little floral, clean.

There’s no smog, no oppressive diesel or baked garbage smell, no heavy industry works bleeding its fumes all over the place. It smells the way summer smelled in the books A-Li used to read to him.

He’ll get used to the heat, Jiang Cheng thinks. Summer has always been his favorite season. He doesn’t know if he’ll get used to the smell.

“Did you ever manage it?” Wen Qing asks quietly. “The impossible?”

Jiang Cheng can’t help but smile, half a dozen memories crowding forward in the space of a heartbeat. Him, and his brother, and his sister, always together. Never apart. Keeping each other safe, and even more importantly, keeping each other happy.

“All the time,” he says.

It must be the right thing to say. Wen Qing stands a little taller. Her expression goes so firm with resolve that Jiang Cheng would never have believed that she’d wavered if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

This was right, he realizes. It finally quiets the uncertain voice still loitering around in the back of his mind. Coming here for her was right.

#

Wei Ying is much more enthusiastic about the decrepit property than Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing combined, and for the life of him, Jiang Cheng can’t decide how much of it is an act to make the Wens feel better about their circumstances. It seems largely genuine.

“Can you believe how huge this house is?” Wei Ying says gleefully, somewhere in the middle of his third lap around the property. “Babe, the dining room is as big as our entire apartment!”

Lan Zhan smiles at him, likely just because he called him ‘babe’. Jiang Cheng is going to throw up on both of them at least once.

The inside is not actually quite as depressing as they feared. There’s old furniture stacked up in most of the rooms, each individual piece moldy and cobwebbed and not likely to support anyone’s weight without breaking in half, and collections of miscellaneous things, like ten-thousand stacks of newspapers in the study, and just as many empty wine bottles out on the back porch.

But there’s something to it, Jiang Cheng can’t deny that. Some sort of presence to it. A history, maybe, that haunts all these empty spaces that used to be full and busy and lived-in. It makes him linger over an old console table at the end of the second floor hallway, with a dusty jewelry box sitting on top. There are someone’s ruined treasures inside. This was someone’s home.

Maybe it could be that again.

“We’ll have to drive into town for dinner,” Wen Qing says, surveying their progress in the living room. They’ve set up camp there, since they’re losing too much light to do much else. “And flashlights. The electric company promised they’d have an inspector out here in the morning.”

Wei Ying collapses onto a dusty sofa, which is probably actively infested with something, or at the very least was at some point, and pats at the cushion next to him until Lan Zhan unfolds himself from his seat on a wine crate and joins him there.

“This place really isn’t that bad, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says. “You made it sound like they’d gutted it down to the studs.”

“That’s how it was described to me,” she says. She seems a lot firmer on her feet, now that she’s walked the length of the place and knows firsthand that it probably isn’t going to collapse on top of their heads at a moment’s notice. “What was it our cousin called it, A-Ning?”

“A rathole,” Wen Ning says helpfully, feeding the rabbits bits of dried rosemary out of his hands. “He said he was glad it was our problem and not his.”

“He’s probably just angry it wasn’t left to him in nainai’s will,” Wen Qing says.

“Is this your cousin who got kicked out of school for driving his professor’s car off a bridge or the one who was arrested for breaking and entering?” Wei Ying asks.

“Same cousin,” Wen Ning says. “He’s not very nice.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to asshole relatives, so he stands up and says, “Let’s get a move on. We’re already gonna be coming back in the dark. A-Ning, put the rabbits away. Lan Zhan, stop mooning over my brother.”

“If it’s gonna be dark by the time we get back anyway, there’s time for mooning,” Wei Ying grumbles.

He squeaks and scrambles over the back of the sofa when Jiang Cheng advances on him, and Wen Qing berates them for trying to break what little furniture they have three minutes after they fucking got here, and for a few minutes the old house is packed to the rafters with shouting and laughter as they jostle each other out the door.

It already feels a little fuller than it did when they arrived, in a way that has nothing to do with the suitcases stacked in the hall.

#

Jiang Cheng gets up the morning feeling unfairly jet-lagged. Everyone else is awake already, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, eating dry cereal because the fridge isn’t running yet and things like milk are still only a distant dream. They greet him with a round of sleepy but sincere hellos and Wei Ying passes him a box of Lucky Charms. 

Lan Zhan, who bought a camping generator and a power strip when they went to town the night before, holds his hand out for Jiang Cheng’s phone. Jiang Cheng surrenders it so it can be charged and refuses to admit out loud that he’s glad that Lan Zhan is marrying into his family.

By the time the inspector arrives, they’re picking their way through the junk in the kitchen. “Start with one room,” Wei Ying says, likely repeating the helpful Youtuber whose DIY videos he paid an obscene amount of his fiance’s money on the in-flight WiFi to watch. “Make it ours.”

So they’re clearing out cabinets and removing ancient rodent carcasses and sorting dusty glassware into possibly-salvageable and definitely-garbage piles when a loud knock draws their attention down the hall to the foyer where a friendly-looking, if bemused, man in a hard hat is standing on the threshold of the open front door.

Wen Qing shoves a blender into Jiang Cheng’s hands that probably hasn’t blended a damn thing in thirty years and pats as much dust off of her person as she can.

“You’ve got this,” Wei Ying says with enough belief to power a small aircraft. “And if you need me to flirt with him for any reason, just say the word. Lan Zhan will understand.”

Lan Zhan won’t understand, if Jiang Cheng is as good at reading his mico-expressions as he thinks he is. The inspector, who could clearly hear Wei Ying’s voice from like ten feet away, is already grinning when Wen Qing introduces herself.

Ultimately, after a walk around the house, the inspector has good news and bad news. He starts with the bad news.

“It could be a lot worse,” he says frankly. “But this building is practically an antique, and it hasn’t been upgraded in two decades, at least. We might be able to get away with a partial wiring, but anything less than a full one would leave you at a real risk of an electrical fire.”

Wen Qing’s whole body goes stiff. Wen Ning steps up beside her, taking her hand in one of his bandaged ones.

“A full rewiring then,” he says, firm in the way he only is when someone else needs him to be. “We’ll figure it out.”

Apparently sympathetic, the man nods. He imparts the good news. “We’ll get started on the repairs right away. I can probably get some guys out as early as this afternoon, and it shouldn’t take longer than a week.” After a beat, he adds, “We can arrange a payment plan when all’s said and done. I’m not going to hound you about a lump sum up front. We’re a pretty close-knit community out here, pretty neighborly. Don’t be surprised if you’ve got people poking their heads in at you soon.”

Wen Qing, who grew up in LA, seems to need a minute to digest that. Wen Ning seems automatically delighted.

“Hey, thanks for everything,” Wei Ying says when the inspector starts to head back to his truck.

The inspector grins and taps his hard hat in reply, looking amused. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have to search farther than two inches past Wei Ying’s shoulder to find out why.

“Jesus Christ, Lan Zhan, they’re not going to elope,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving him back towards the kitchen. “Wei Ying has literally never looked at another human being since the first time he looked at you.”

“Aww,” Wen Ning says.

“Shut up, that wasn’t—it’s annoying! Not cute!”

“It can be both things,” Wen Qing says dryly. She’s smiling.

#

Through some grace of god, the plumbing is sound. Unlike the wiring, the pipes were replaced recently enough that they’re not made of lead or polybutylene or anything else that will make them violently sick from bathing or drinking out of the tap.

This leads Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying on an expedition to the basement in search of the hot water heater. Jiang Cheng could fucking cry when they find out it’s one of those huge gas-powered tanks. Wei Ying looks up how to turn the gas on without exploding the place into tiny pieces, because of course he has data out here even though no one else does, and it’s as simple as turning a valve they find in the middle of some big fuck-off spiderwebs.

“Hot showers tonight!” Wei Ying sings when they make it back upstairs, significantly more dusty than they were when they descended. Wen Ning gazes at them with such open admiration that Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to admit there was literally no skill involved in the process at all.

The electricity inspector is proven right about curious visitors exactly four hours after he said it, as a warbling little voice calls, “Hello?” from the front porch.

The kitchen is in the middle of a thorough scrubbing, and Wen Ning isn’t allowed to put his hands anywhere near chemicals or heat or anything, really, aside from the lazy rabbits, so he pops up to his feet and scurries to the front of the house in a desperate bid to do something productive.

“A-jie,” he calls a moment later, in a tone that gets Wen Qing’s attention faster than a fucking lightning bolt from the sky probably would have. Her urgency is distracting. The rest of them don’t want to keep cleaning cabinets while Something Is Happening, so Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get up and follow after a minute of pretending to work.

There’s a little old woman, probably well into her seventies, holding one of each of the Wen siblings’ hands and talking warmly. A little boy is clinging to her leg, peering up at them with wide eyes.

Granny, as she insists they call her, has lived in this town her whole life, and was a close friend of Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s grandparents.

“I heard about the fire,” she says, clutching their hands, “and I want you to know that I’ll help you however I can. There’s not much heavy lifting I can do, really, but—cooking and cleaning, I am more than capable of!”

Jiang Cheng, who had respect for his elders literally beaten into him growing up, would sooner walk into traffic than he would let this kind old woman clean for him. The sentiment is clearly echoed on all of his friends’ faces, and his brother steps forward to look at her with big, liquid eyes.

“Granny, you’ll stay and keep us company even if we don’t have any interesting stuff for you to do, won’t you? Even if all you do is sit here in the shade and chat with us for a bit? It’ll break my heart if you don’t, it really will.”

This earns Wei Ying a fond pat on the cheek, as he’s adopted by Granny on the spot. She does stay for a few hours, and they make a meal out of some day-old donuts and chips and sunflower seeds. Jiang Cheng watches Granny visibly come to the conclusion that they’re all incapable of feeding themselves, and something needs to be done about it, even if she politely declines to say it out loud.

Her grandson, A-Yuan, has picked his way cautiously to the little makeshift enclosure they’ve constructed for the rabbits, and crouches next to it to look in at them with wide, wanting eyes.

“Do you want to pet them?” Wei Ying says. The answer is obviously yes, no matter that A-Yuan shyly ducks his head and doesn’t answer, so Wei Ying lifts the white rabbit out and places it carefully in the child’s lap. “This is Bao. She’s my favorite. Don’t tell Pidan.”

A-Yuan giggles, carefully petting Bao’s velvety ears with the tips of his fingers. Bao is content to just sit there and soak up the affection until the end of days, the most laid-back creature on the planet.

“Pidan?” A-Yuan asks, glancing inquisitively at the black rabbit, who is chewing noisily on a piece of cardboard.

“Her sister,” Wei Ying says, lifting the black rabbit out and putting it next to Bao. A-Yuan is laughing fully, now, gifted with too much rabbit for his tiny arms to contain. “She’s silly and annoying and a trouble-maker. For some reason, she’s Lan Zhan’s favorite. Don’t tell Bao.”

“For some reason,” Lan Zhan intones solemnly. He’s looking at Wei Ying the way he’s always looking at him.

“I can’t stand this,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing. “There has to be something else for me to clean, far away from them.”

“Have you seen where you are? There’s a million things for you to clean.”

But she gets up when he does, and they wander through the mostly-clean kitchen and into the pantry, where the shelves are nearly fully-stocked with foods at least ten years past their expiration. Sighing, Wen Qing ties back her hair. The curve of her neck is disarmingly delicate.

Jiang Cheng glances away quickly and refuses to think about why.

#

There’s a spigot in the conservatory that refuses to work. There’s a wall dividing the dining room and the living room that just doesn’t make sense. There’s broken windows and holes in the roof. Wen Ning walks across the second floor balcony to release an angry squirrel that they found in a wardrobe and nearly falls over the edge when the wrought iron railing bends beneath his weight. The yard and the grounds are an outright disaster.

The plot on the west side of the house was once home to a small vineyard, which explains some of the tubing and big gallon buckets they found in the conservatory. The original owners must have made their own fruit wine. The land by the barn is fenced off in a way that suggests a vegetable garden, and the rest of the considerable acreage is eaten up by the edge of a big lake, the remains of a dock leaning out over the water.

It’s all neglected, overgrown, untamed.

But, Jiang Cheng thinks, almost a month after they arrived, it’s getting there.

The last time it rained, he and Wei Ying and Wen Ning ran through the house looking for leaks, and couldn’t find a single one. For some reason it was so fucking exciting to have a roof without holes that they called people about it.

Yanli was ecstatic. Lan Huan, who, Jiang Cheng thinks, still doesn’t fully understand why his brother and future brother-in-law disappeared to California to begin with, was bemused but very happy for them. Granny brought over a strawberry sponge cake in celebration.

She’s been spending more time at the villa, anyway. One of the guest rooms has become hers, for those nights that dinner runs late and Wei Ying employs his wide gray eyes and convinces her not to drive home in the dark. All of them are more than okay with it, because otherwise she would go home to an empty house with no one for company but a four-year-old, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach feel sour.

Granny says that A-Yuan has gotten attached, but she doesn’t specify what he’s attached to. It could be the bunnies, it could be all the wide open space to run around in, and it could just as well could be Jiang Cheng’s idiot brother, who carries A-Yuan around on his shoulders or under his arm tirelessly and threatens to plant him with the radishes every time he misbehaves.

They returned the rental car because someone in town had an old truck they didn’t mind parting with. There’s no A/C, but it’s not exactly a hardship to crank the windows down and drive really fast instead. Jiang Cheng usually volunteers Wei Ying for trips into town with him, because, even though he would die before he’d admit it out loud, it’s nice to have his brother to himself for a change.

If Yanli were here, he thinks, trudging through the little grocery store and deflecting most of Wei Ying’s attempts to sneak stupid shit into their shopping cart, it would actually be perfect.

#

They’re piled on the new second-hand sofa and a couple salvaged leather armchairs in the living room, watching a Dreamworks movie with A-Yuan on the satellite TV that Lan Zhan’s fuck-off bank account secured for them, when Wei Ying’s phone rings.

Wei Ying is sharing one of the recliners with Lan Zhan, tucked into his fiance’s lap with his legs draped over the arm of the chair and his head tucked into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and it looks as though it would take an act of god to move him.

“Here,” Wen Qing says, amused, and leans over to pass the phone to Jiang Cheng.

“What are you good for if you won’t even answer your own phone?” Jiang Cheng grumbles without heat.

“Eye-candy,” Wei Ying says shamelessly.

“Hello?” he says loudly into the phone so he won’t have to spend a second thinking about what his own brother just fucking said to him.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says.

“Oh, A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, smiling automatically. “You didn’t call this morning. I meant to call you after dinner, but my phone died, because someone hogged the charger to play Candy Crush all day.”

Lan Zhan gazes at him serenely.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says again, very gently. “Are you with A-Ying?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jiang Cheng says. His smile is fading. After a life spent reading verbal cues from his siblings, something about Yanli’s tone has his stomach doing somersaults. “He’s right here. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Ying sitting up. A-Yuan’s bright little voice is asking what’s wrong, and Wen Ning is shushing him. Wen Qing’s hand covers Jiang Cheng’s free one, as light and insubstantial as a bird landing on a telephone wire, until the second he needs a firmer hold.

“Of course I am, I’m okay.”

“A-Li,” he says, feeling light-headed. “What’s wrong?”

With a deep, shuddering breath, she tells him.

[silveranjyil]

It’s not about Right or Wrong

The biggest raging debate in the RWBY community is: who is right?  The lines are clearly split between team RWBY and co, and Ironwood, with many feeling that RWBY is being wrong and hypocritical. It is amazing to see that people are missing the point.

 Neither are wrong or right.  They are both being human—and actually, team RWBY is being more human that Ironwood right now.  This is on par with Magneto and Professor X from X-men.  Their goals are the same, but they are following vastly different paths towards that goal and their ideals are completely different based on their own experiences.

 I have done a whole expo on Ironwood and I don’t think I need to add to that.  But I do want to look at RWBY’s perspective in this.

 One thing that has been established is that team RWBY and the others are in the same boat as Ozpin: they want to protect the PEOPLE, and not just a few.  They have come to view life as precious and are not willing to throw it aside as the only way.  A lot of people cite the Apathy messing with their reaction to Jinn’s reveal of the truth, but they were too far from the farm town for that to happen just yet.  Their reactions were genuine—and human, but they did not let their emotions completely destroy their belief in saving people.  That was why they all signed up to be hunters and huntress: to make the world better.

 All of them have had their trust shattered and faced betrayal by people very dear to them, or by people whom they never would have expected.  Ruby saw a supposed huntress-in-training destroy her home, unleash Grimm all over Beacon, and kill one of her friends in cold blood.  Yang’s mother abandoned her, and later sided with the bad guys to get the relic, and Blake did abandon her at one point (seems like they are still working through that).  Poor Blake has been betrayed by her lover and her best friend. Qrow’s experiences are probably uncountable, but his sister was probably a big one.  The biggest one we have for team JNPR is Pyrrha’s death, caused by same reasons and Ozpin.  So to call them children, or naïve, is a disservice to what they have already endured up to this point.  They are still learning, bu they are no longer children, nor are they naïve.

 The headmaster at Haven was the final straw to break any illusions in that.  They trusted him, as did Qrow, up until things started falling into place.  By the time they get to Atlas, face off with a pompous official, and nearly die a few times, they get it.  The world is not perfect, it isn’t a fairy tail, and they can not trust everyone. But they want to.  They really want to trust Ironwood, to have someone with experience in being an authority take the reigns and let them have a break.

 When the team arrive in Atlas, they discover that there is a military-enforced curfew.  People are afraid, hungry, miserable, and restless.  That would be my FIRST red flag that something is not right with the person in charge.  If you want to know what kind of person you are dealing with, look at the people around them and the consequence of their actions.  Ironwood said he wanted to help protect the people, but how was he SHOWING that?

 What makes things even more conflicting is that Ruby and Yang remember the General as someone who supported them and encouraged them: he praised Ruby during Dance Dance, somewhat tried to listen to Yang after her encounter in V3 and even sent her a new arm.  But the town was not how it should be, even Weiss commented on how this “wasn’t right.” In other words, it had never been like this before.  The people had freedom to move around and no curfew, no binge drinking in the streets, etc. How is this protecting the people?

Ironwood greets them as a host—but it seems off.  Him hugging Qrow, for one.  Qrow and he were always at each other’s throats for differences of opinions.  I admit, he probably was glad to see a familiar face, but…

 In any case, Ironwood gave them a LOT of things.  Made them official hunters and huntresses, top of the line training grounds, returning the lamp to them.  He assigns them to his Right-hand Yes-men, not to earn trust, but to sway them.  The Ace-Corps is always talking about how they need to follow orders, that emotional connections and such are unnecessary, etc.  Did you see the reaction from RWBY and team?  Winter is also in on this as well, but we see this mostly with Penny.  Weiss has already heard all this before during her training to control her semblance, after all.  Ironwood was a wonderful host who was trying to lure them into his side with “gifts of gold and jewels”. But he would never listen to them.  He would not consider their ideas, opinions or fears, and the people were still suffering.  And THEN they meet Robin, who gives them a little bit more of the picture.  Why isn’t the wall being repaired to protect the people? Why all the secrecy?  They kind of understand, but things are not adding up.

 You see, a long time ago, in Volume 3, Ironwood gave them a choice.  Fight to protect your school, or protect yourselves. The teams are starting to see that Ironwood is leaning more to the latter, and it bothers them.  We are seeing a dynamic clash of perspectives here, and Ren acts as the gateway to show how both sides could be right.

 But here is the thing.  Here is where we talk about why it isn’t about right or wrong, but about being human. In Volume 3, Ozpin shows both remorse and apprehension about utilizing Pyrrha as a guinea pig to possibly save the powers of the Maiden from the corrupt hands of Cinder.  He weighs everything meticulously, admits to his faults, and you can see the burden of time on him.

 Ruby and her teammates also show this same heavy burden.  They are conflicted about the hard choices they have to make, talking to each other and trying to figure it out.  They don’t try to justify it, either.  They WANT to trust and tell him, but experience has been a cruel teacher to them.  Weiss and Penny show true human feelings about what the plan is for the Winter Maiden, especially Penny.  They have always recognized and felt that just because it was logical did not make it the best path, or even the right path.  They questioned it, but they were always shut down.

 Ironwood has no qualms about this.  He does not show remorse, he does not show apprehension.  He had walled up his heart a long time ago.  He says do it and he expects his soldiers to comply.  And none of them can speak up against him, despite their feelings.  They try to crush their own emotions as well.  1 death?  1000 deaths? The general ordered it, so be it. They have fallen to the mantra of “the greater good”.  What is really interesting is, in a real world sense, there have been some studies that suggest that emotions are CRITICAL in making logical decisions.  Too much logic and reason without the support of emotion tends to make things worse, actually.  Spock was proven wrong many times in Star Trek, despite his “logic”, and this was also explored in that movie “I Robot” where the Robot logically chose Smith over the little girl, even though emotionally and species-wise, the little girl would have been the more appropriate choice to save.  I love how in this volume, they really outline how useless logic is without emotion, and they use Penny as a pillar for that exploration.  Anyway...

 People will say that Ruby should have told him earlier, before things got out of hand. Based on previous evidence in an earlier post, I can guarantee the result would not have been any different. He had already written off half the world.  And the funny thing is, the only result would have been a brief window of safety for himself and maybe those closest to him.  None of his actions would have saved the world or many people, only a select few.

 As team RWBY began to understand this, see it play out, it was too late.  He had already cut off most of Mantle and was preparing to sacrifice them.  For the “greater good” of course.  The fact that Ironwood had NO intention of talking to Robin in any way showed more of how untrustworthy he was.  Robin was fighting for the people with the knowledge she had.  She would have been an invaluable ally to them and would have been able to help in managing the people and the resources.  But Ironwood knew that he would never be able to control her.  She would question his authority.  He can not have that.  That is why Yang and Blake disobeyed him.  They had presented this possibility, and he had shot them down like a bullet train.  He was keeping his secrets until HE was ready to release them.  Any loss of control was unacceptable to him.

 If it hadn’t been for Penny, Winter or Cinder would have gotten the powers. Winter would have been nothing but a puppet for Ironwood and would eventually be responsible for more deaths under his watch.  We already know what Cinder would do.

 I will be honest.  Had I been in Team RWBY’s shoes, I would have done the same thing.  I wouldn’t have told him until he proved that he was trustworthy.  Kicking the people down like he had been doing since before we came would make me less likely to trust him.  The fact that he could have had a very good ally, but he wouldn’t accept it at all would also make me hesitate.  Anyone giving me all this good stuff--upgrades, licenses, etc—for almost no reason would make me question their motives.

 But RWBY not telling Ironwood is no worse than him not telling him many things.  He did not share all of his plans, only the highlights.  Enough to keep them content.  We all have to be mindful of the words we say and to whom we tell them to.  And RWBY technically did not lie to Ironwood.  It was a small scene, but the point where Nora and Ruby were discussing the possibility that she might be killable in another sense from Ozpin’s question means that they haven’t lost hope yet. They believe that they will find a way, somehow, but they do not know where to start.  There is also the fact that they know Ozpin has been fighting this for a long time, and somewhere in his past he might have tried some of these things.  If he isn’t doing that now, it was probably for a reason.  Team RWBY are not as dumb as people would like them to be, and they are being cautious, which is a necessity in these situations.

 If they had come out and said that they would do everything they could to kill Salem, etc—THAT might be lying, but they didn’t.  They just asked how they could help him.

 Fear is a cruel master.  Team RWBY have worked through some of their fears, and part of that was probably thanks to the Apathy that magnified their emotions and doubts.  Ironwood has allowed his fears to consume him.

 And by the way, Ironwood did mention how sometimes certain things still held you from long ago during his pep-talk with Yang after she was framed for busting Mercury’s legs.  Something tells me that was a precursor for this as well.

 Anyway, those are my thoughts on that.

[twilightknight17]

Today on Royal: Pain! :’D

He’s eating the map and I’m getting steadily more weirded out by all of this the longer it goes on.

I’m definitely worried now. Where the fuck is the Velvet Room. How is he powerful enough to override the Velvet Room?

So he wants me to see “his reality”. Which means going out and seeing how happy all of Akira’s friends are. And they are happy! ...but not happy enough that a few well-placed dialogue choices can’t start poking holes in the story they’ve been fed. Maruki’s not perfect at this. And honestly, he’s taken Akira’s friends, not given him anything. We went from everyone wanting to spend time with Akira to everyone having other things to do. Ryuji doesn’t even know why they’re friends. Thinking about how they met is what starts to crack his illusion.

While I was looking for my friends, I ran across this couch outside the furniture store in Kichijoji.

Examining it yields only this:

So now I gotta go back to Kichijoji after it frees me from the plot so I can see what’s up with this conspicuously Velvet blue couch.

(I will say, if I have one complaint about this part, is that it’s six days of the same thing. Wake up, locate Friend, see how they’re doing, return home, spend evening in bed contemplating whether this is a good thing because Friend is happy. You can’t do anything else, see how any of your other confidants are doing... What does Iwai’s ideal world look like? Takemi’s? Hifumi’s?)

I think out of everyone I feel the most bad for Morgana.

I mean, he spends half the game as it is worrying that he’s some sort of monster instead of a human. And now that he’s human and I’ve gone and jabbed a hole in his dream, he’s spending a week growing more and more afraid as he realizes that something isn’t right about himself. That’s just straight-up existential terror.

Goro didn’t really find a lot during his week of investigating. Mostly just that Maruki’s been doing cognitive psience stuff since college, and that Okumura and Wakaba are...actually alive.

Does that mean if we end the dream, we’re murdering them?

Not taking the Misericorde with me feels like a betrayal of my role as heir to the title of Trickster, but I can’t really turn down an extra thirty points of attack. X’‘‘D Especially since Goro and I are going into the Palace alone.

Other than the weird security cameras, this place really is beautiful. And apparently the music that I like so much is called “Gentle Madman”. Stop hitting all these fucking tropes I like, Maruki. It’s not fair.

Oh heck, wait, are we doing this now? This is an actual question? I assumed that was for the endgame. Well, if I’m here... The safe room was right downstairs...

Let me be selfish. Just for one moment. Please.

Please.

.....no, wait, this hurts.

This hurts a lot.

Because they deserve this. They all deserve this happiness. I’ve never heard Goro sound that genuinely happy as he did in this ending. But the only way to give them this is to leave them trapped under the will of a dictator. And they deserve better than that.

From the Den:

They’re looking at you. Judging you for the sin of the choice you made.

I find it interesting that while Akira and Goro are clearly looking at you with full knowledge of what you did, the game itself doesn’t seem particularly judgemental. I got the “view the ending” trophy and the option to save clear data, which to me implies that it’s...obviously the wrong choice, but a valid choice regardless. I never got the “Good” Ending in vanilla P5, so I don’t know if that offered the same level of legitimacy. This was treated as a real ending.

[reloading save data]

Of course we can’t accept this reality, why would he even think we would do that? X’‘D

Sumire is throwing a fit because she still wants to be Kasumi, and is getting ready to fight us. Shit. Still, she’s inexperienced, and both of us are strong enough to han--

Goro: I could deal with this, but I’m assuming you want her to leave here alive, right?

It’s sweet of you to take what I want into consideration, but yeah, I’d really rather not kill her, so just tone it dow-- Aaaaand he’s walking away and leaving me to fight her alone. Thanks, honey.

Shoutout to using the same strategy as the battle arena and just equipping something that repels physical. She took her own swords dance to the face and got knocked out.

......what the fuck are you doing? This just looks like torture.

I know for a fact that that’s not Nyarlathotep because I’m pretty sure I’d have had people beating down my door to point it out already. Because crucifixion pose by itself? Common imagery. Tentacles? ...coincidence, probably. But if this had been Nyar puppeteering Maruki or something? I’m one step away from being Super Duper Valid. I already feel pretty valid anyway.

HELLO, Persona 3! Nice(?) to see an out of control persona again. I wonder how close her persona was to reverting to a shadow? Sumire feels like more of a “dungeon” sort of person. Since she’s suppressing something.

But...what was Maruki’s goal here? Beating us into submission? He’s just letting Sumire’s emotional torment go out of control; hell, he’s literally feeding into it with the Biyarkis. He’s using her to fight us, and that’s...disgusting, honestly. You want everyone to be happy, but you’re going to let her throw herself at us over and over? Really?

Why do I feel like all of this “I want you to understand, we can talk, you’ll see things my way”, all of this asking for consent, is bullshit? Does he really want us to see things his way? Or can he actually not alter our reality without consent?

Thank god for the cavalry because this battle was clearly impossible from the first round. I love that the other Thieves have no idea what the fuck is going on, but their leader is in danger so they’re gonna Fight.

I think there’s not. We don’t want to talk. Fuck off. And also stop swiping tropes I like. You’re not Rubicante; you’re not earning my respect by refusing to fight me when I’m tired.

Goro, I know you’re Done with everything, but that’s really not helping.

The Phantom Thieves are momentarily baffled, because it’s clear that we have to change Maruki’s heart, but they’re getting thrown off by the fact that he’s not “evil”. Yeah, he’s not. He has good intentions. But he’s doing bad things to accomplish those intentions. Doing bad things for good reasons is still bad.

...if he wasn’t like this... maybe it would be okay. If he could make everyone happy, erase their trauma, make the world better...without rewriting memories or being a brainwashing dictator... That might not be wrong. But he’s made it pretty clear that he’s on a power trip and doesn’t want dissent, which is no better than Yaldabaoth.

What we did to Futaba and what he’s doing are vastly different things.

...Morgana calls her “Lady Lavenza” and that’s really cute, actually. I’m realizing I portray Lavenza as more of a child than the game does, but I like both.

Oh so now we can press Morgana for what’s wrong. Learned from your prior mistakes, huh, ‘Kira? XD

.....I love her.

It’s extremely weird to have the whole squad interacting with the Velvet attendant and addressing her by name. That’s so strange in comparison to how it usually is. But these are strange times, and once again, it’s unnerving how much power Maruki has.

He’s strong enough that he’s suppressing the Velvet Room. That’s horrifying. I wonder if he knows they exist; I could see him considering them a threat to his ideal world. Normally I’d be sure that Igor and Lavenza could kick his ass if he tried anything, but... I genuinely don’t know anymore. Igor is still recovering from being imprisoned, and Lavenza is barely able to manifest to talk to us.

Meanwhile, Maruki is using a persona.

Normally I’d be fussed about him summoning in reality, but apparently reality is still half-fused with Mementos, which in the greater scope of Persona lore feels like something similar to what was happening in P1 and P2. The collective unconscious is very close to the surface. I’d be curious whether or not the kids could summon outside of the Palace with a bit of practice, but I’m sure the game won’t go into that.

...although, that doesn’t explain him being able to use his powers in reality before the beginning of the year. Mementos only started fusing with reality in December.

I’m looking directly at you, Atlus. You made a human villain stronger than what I imagined for the strongest persona-user?

......oh, Mona, I’ve got like 3 different notes documents for you to read about why that can be allowed. X’D

*cracks knuckles*  Not to take Goro’s side, but...we already killed one god, didn’t we?

But...this is our fault, and we have to fix it. I don’t completely understand how Maruki granting the Thieves’ wishes transferred the belief of the masses to him, but... This can’t go on. If Mementos completely fuses, this becomes permanent, and there will be no way out. Time to go.

I really do appreciate that Goro was invited as one of the Phantom Thieves. And Ryuji asked for his input on whether we’re going after Maruki.

...you all said it. He’s one of you now. No take-backs.

[minatsuki-on-main]

BTB and the free will debate

The post I was planning to make for the longest time.

Most of BTB — especially Koku's plotline — is centered around Fate and whether events are predetermined so it's only natural to ask how it's connected with the question of free will and what the central message ends up being. I noticed a lot of confusion around this issue among people who have watched the show because, without concentrating on the right aspects, what it tries to convey can come off confusing and ambiguous. The first impression one might get is that Koku's subplot was headed in the classical direction of the protagonist changing their own fate through willpower, but this then gets negated by the fact that Koku winning his final fight was predicted so free will didn't prevail despite the positive closure. And, as a sidenote, there's nothing wrong with this interpretation either, as BTB was clearly meant to have a 'half-satisfying' ending on Keith's side as well; after all, Gilbert got exactly what he wanted even if he died and the world went back to its natural order. I wouldn't say this is all there is to the issue, though.

The deciphering of the Jetblack Epitaph was what kicked of practically everything in BTB, in a chain of events that started before the plot. Not only does it act as a bridge between the two plotlines, it also frames the supernatural in a completely different way than humanity did before and how we would. One of the main concepts is the question "What would happen if humans had access to divine knowledge through science?" And the surprising answer BTB gives is: not much. Of course, Keith's mindset is still stuck in an era preceding the adjustment to this knowledge and he has his moments of bewilderment towards it, but otherwise the few who know about the supernatural adapted to it in a pretty anticlimactic way. Their reaction to the existence of literal gods and demigods wasn't a radical change in attitude but an instant attempt to exploit them for profit. Science and magic coexist in an awkward way since the latter has become part of the former, people see it as nothing more than a new discovery despite it having the power to change the world around them drastically. This produces the biggest paradox in Keith's and his father's way of thinking: as a scientist, you have to believe in some form of God, because it was discovered through science. The two of them manage to digest this fact and have the necessary respect for the supernatural only because they're fundamentally open-minded people; in contrast, someone like Gilbert used a divine power as a tool without reverence, which made him unable to fully comprehend what he was dealing with (hence his breakdown in the car). 

Keith quite literally calls the Jetblack Epitaph 'God', it being the source of all the seemingly absurd things he now has to believe in. The option to disregard it is excluded by premise, and since the Jetblack contains a prediction of future events, the dilemma is the exact same as the real world scientific/philosphical debate around free will. We know complete freedom isn't a possibility (this would come from neuroscientific research in reality), so the question is whether it's possible for us to make our decisions while the events are already predetermined. All BTB does is make this debate much more urgent since safety of the whole world is on the line. Compatibilism is the belief that free will is compatible with determinism because the impression of making a decision remains the same for human beings despite knowing there's only one possible outcome; furthermore that the reason behind this is that we'll never know enough to accurately predict everything and this is how we still feel free. The opposing viewpoint is hard determinism, that we don't have the power to influence the future in any way and free will is an illusion.

In BTB's context, Keith represents compatibilism ("Don't fear the future, Koku. The hope and despair, see it for yourself.") and Laica a downright fatalistic determinism (see: everything he says in the last two episodes, basically). Koku is in the position of being conflicted between the two and trying to decide which is true — he already starts out with a mindset of following the Jetblack strictly, which makes sense considering it's what his creation was based on. His personal crisis stems from the fact that he mistakenly thinks the prophecy is going to compromise his own happiness by interpreting it as meaning he and Yuna will die, and — possessing a healthy amount of egoism — he desperately wants to believe in something that gives him a way out of this fate. Even more interesting is Gilbert who brings up a viewpoint that, though not technically a philosophical stance, is largely represented among real people: not caring about the free will issue at all. In fact, his motto about a neverending cycle means something completely different to him than it does to Laica (who Gilbert deliberately lets misinterpret it); it's mostly a jab at Keith and how he's planning to make his life spiral down in despair. Note that it's never clear whether Gilbert thinks there's any truth to the prophecy or not — for him it could be true or false, it's simply irrelevant as long as he can use it for his own benefit. 

So what conclusion does the show reach? Compatibilism does, in fact, turn out to be the correct view in the exact way I mentioned before; the only reason why almost everyone is somewhat convinced Koku is going to lose that fight is that they made a wrong assumption about what the prophecy said (Koku and Yuna 'meeting the same fate' meant that they would both live). They didn't know enough, or rather, they thought they knew more than they actually did, and Laica — the representative of determinism — paid for this presumption with his life. The only person who maintained some hope and still told Koku to fight was Keith, showing that the real source of his intelligence was his ability to consider every option unbiased and be open to even the possibility of not understanding something. He didn't have any certainties about how the Jetblack had to be interpreted but he had faith in it which, paradoxically, was the scientifically rigorous thing to do, and this way of approaching the supernatural made it so he was the only one who wasn't wrong on the matter. The cynical side to this is the additional message that Gilbert's attitude does pay off; maybe not the most optimistic message, but it's realistic, aside from the fact that Gilbert's life was incredibly unhappy and tormented even while reaching his set goal. 

BTB is a case for compatibilism and once one knows the current state of the real life free will debate, it's not half as depressing as it looks.

[miqojak]

📖

How about this - I’ve been headcanoning a DnD campaign for a long time now (and keep postponing it), but here’s the schtick. This world has a dragon trapped in it - some great, ancient battle in the cosmos between good and evil, and obviously the good one won. (This was all before I knew anything about FF and dragons hatching out of moons, mind you.) The continent I’ve been sort of slowly plotting out is, in fact, shaped like a dragon. This ancient tale (that needs names and embellishment, obvs) of the creation of the world of Drakisfal is all but a myth, or a religion, now. (Hell, maybe the bad dragon is locked on one side of the planet, and the good one on the other. I’m digging the idea that this is the only way to keep things stable. Apparently I think like writers at SE, since this was before my FF time. Hire me Square Enix.)It is a high magic, high fantasy world where the races are as varied and fantastical as you can imagine - but I was very heavily inspired by Karen Marie Moning’s ‘Fever’ series of books about the Fae (a kick-ass female protag) and how they affects modern day life and effectively results in a post-apocalyptic fantasy hellscape in the end (I use the word ‘end’ loosely, she’s still writing in that universe and I recommend the books!). That said, I want the main ‘conflict’ to be less about good and evil, at least to begin with, and more about law and chaos - this world has many, many hidden (and not so hidden) portals to the First World/the Fae Realm. This causes a lot of bleed over of magic, and a widespread devotion to the ‘gods’ of the First World and the creatures therein that are powerful and capricious…and very upset with the way Drakisfal is being butchered and colonized. (Zealous forest druids/shifters/rangers who guard portals to the First World, anyone?)I have all these ideas for dark and light courts, but neither Paizo, nor Wizards of the Coast has any genuine established lore for this concept so I’m running off of a little third party lore and my own imagination, and I’m daunted at the level of creation it would take to make NPCs for the courts.The world is as varied and fantastical as it is, due to the…world-sized dragons entombed within and the magic ‘bleed-off’ from their seemingly eternal slumber. I feel like the knowledge of their existence is mostly tall tales and religious belief…and the knowledge that this is real is probably some deeply guarded secret held at the end of the world somewhere. Having a cult try to awaken one of the dragons could also be a fun twist at later levels! There’s most standard fantasy races (except orcs! Too many things rely on them as bad guys. I’ll definitely have strong gnolls as the ‘savage bad guys’ though); though there’s lots more that are less often seen! ‘Egyptian’ Catfolk (get ready for Siamese and Hairless catpeople!!). Ratfolk. Strix. Syrinx. Dragons. Wyverns. Kobolds. Lots of fae. There are so many, they are too numerous to list, and too varied to describe; from beautiful to frightening, and from honorable knight, to as wicked and twisted as they come.Also elitist dragons who live in the mountains and have kobolds serve them, and wyverns guarding the forests that approach the mountains? How about a spooky marsh with scary, monstrous trees and oversized spiders and after all the hidden dangers, there’s a dark, ex-Queen of the Fae in a tower of onyx that seems to absorb all light around it, and you’ve been collecting shards of her magical mirror to stop her shenanigans, but now you need to stop her but also you gotta go through her loyal undead servant? Yeah there’s so many threads here. The Enchanted Wastes, which is a vast, magical desert with djinni and lots of illusions - maybe a nymph guards the only oasis for miles and you can’t make it another night without water? How about haunted tombs? And if you survive the journey there’s grand cities of foreign catfolk who don’t trust you. The Red Wastes - which I think I renamed - that are full of ravenous bands of Gnolls who ride dire hyenas, and the only force that rides in defense of the border is a band of halflings who ride the green prairies on their dire corgis? What about an abandoned magical wizard tower guarded by a dragon at the end of those red wastes full of magic lost to time??There’s a lot in my head that I want to get out, so I don’t know how to start setting it all down ‘on paper’, so to speak?THANKS IF YOU READ ALL MY RAMBLINGS, and thanks for the prompt!

[douxreviews]

American Gods - ‘Come to Jesus’ Review

Wednesday: "What do you believe, Shadow?" Shadow: "Everything."

American Gods finishes its first season strong, but storms brewing both in front of and behind the camera leave us with questions...

Let's just deal with the elephant in the room up front, since it sort of colors everything about this episode. If you're not the sort of person who follows behind the scenes shenanigans in TV production, allow me to introduce you to the elephant.

A few months after the initial airing of the season one finale, word came out that the showrunners, Brian Fuller and Michael Green, were exiting the show. Details were scarce, and those we did get were probably overblown to a degree, but the general reason given at the time was the traditional 'creative differences' with just a dash of 'budgetary concerns.'  The first series had come in enthusiastically over budget, which probably didn't make the network terribly happy but seems unlikely to be a deal killer on its own. Reports that Fuller and Green quit after clashes with Neil Gaiman over the direction of the show seem equally unlikely, as Neil is a profoundly decent human being and I just can't see him doing that sort of thing.

I suspect, and this is purely my opinion, that it was a combination of little things and was probably fairly amicable. It would appear, based on choices that they made in series one, that Fuller and Green saw the show more as an anthology series, with Wednesday and Shadow serving as a vehicle to explore other stories set in the universe. Gaiman was reported as wanting a more direct adaptation of the novel. The network, probably a little irritated with the overspending, came down on Gaiman's side, and so Fuller and Green moved on to other projects.

Again that's just my personal guess. What we do know for certain is that whatever happened behind the scenes led to both Gillian Anderson and Kristin Chenoweth deciding not to return for season two, which leaves a curious plot void after the conclusion of this episode.

We'll look at how this was handled when we talk about the season two premiere, but for now suffice it to say that it's impossible to watch this episode without being aware that both of them are about to exit prematurely, which definitely affects watching it now.

Whew. That's a lot of preliminary elephant.

So, after that brief come to Jesus moment, let's talk about 'Come to Jesus.'

As long as I'm breaking my own rules about what we do and don't consider in these reviews, I'll note that Jesus is notably absent in the novel. He gets a couple of mentions, but never actually pops in to have a chat. In the 10th anniversary edition there's a sort of appendix where Neil includes a portion of a chapter where Shadow meets Jesus, but notes that the interaction never felt exactly right for the story and so he kept not including it in the novel proper.

Here, almost as if to compensate, we have a lot of Jesuses. So many Jesuses that we're going to need a collective noun for a group of Jesuses, and I'm going to suggest that we call it a Faith. So, Wednesday and Shadow, and Mad Sweeney and Laura, arrive independently at the home of Ostara, aka Easter. Ostara is one of your 'harvest/fertility/spring/rebirth' sort of deities, and the nominal foundation of the holiday of Easter before early Christianity colonized it. She has the whole place tatted up for her annual celebration of herself, Easter, and is politely ignoring the many Jesuses who have kind of overrun the place.

So, no visual metaphor for the displacement of old beliefs there, no sir.

Easter is kind of a crystallization of a couple of things that have been going on over the course of the first season. For one thing she's the final instance of Wednesday individually seeking out an old god, wherever they might have ended up, and making a sales pitch for them to join his upcoming war. The fact that he appears to be successful in this case is deeply entwined with the other plot thread which she represents. Namely, the various ways that many of the old gods have or have not been co-opted and suborned by the new gods who have replaced them. Czernobog was never suborned, he was forgotten and left to rot. Vulcan allowed himself to be redefined completely, substituting bullets for volcanoes. Wednesday was offered the same deal as Vulcan and turned it down. Sweeney was never important enough for the new gods to even bother with – he'd been co-opted by General Mills long before. And Bilquis... well, we'll come back to Bilquis in a moment.

Easter shows us yet another variation on the theme; instead of being redefined, she's allowed herself to be overwritten. Christianity came along and claimed her special day, and pretended that the bunnies and the eggs had been part of their thing all along. And over the centuries, as the focus on her special day turned more and more away from her and toward whichever Jesus you happened to root for, she became more and more entrenched in her self delusion that it was really still all about her, deep down. They still followed all the old practices with the egg hiding and the rabbits, so she couldn't have been forgotten. Kristin Chenoweth did a great job here showing us a woman whose illusions are being brutally stripped away. She's made herself comfortable behind a layer of artifice, and once that's gone she faces the situation and reclaims her power. That's the point of her elaborate hairstyle coming undone and her hair falling wildly around her shoulders while Media's hat blows away. It's the pagan forces reasserting their power over the forces retraining them.

That said, while I appreciate what's happening thematically, and Mr. Wednesday is clearly successful in convincing Easter to reclaim her power and force humanity to worship her again, I'm almost positive that if Kentucky had a huge crop blight humanity's first response probably wouldn't be, 'Oh, I guess we should probably pray to Easter to take care of this.' Call me cynical.

Women being disempowered by men who fear them was a pretty strong theme all around this episode, and nowhere more so than the story of Bilquis, as told to us by Mr. Nancy. The visuals of Bilquis were great, particularly the fade from her ancient face makeup to her disco face makeup. I really like that we saw her in pre-revolutionary Tehran in the 70s. It's a period that American schools say absolutely nothing about, as if we talked about it we might have to discuss our own unfortunate involvement. Generally, I expect that US audiences know next to nothing about what Iran was like before the revolution, and that may be partly what made the incoming revolutionaries shooting up Bilquis' disco such a strong image for the female disempowerment metaphor they were building.

Watching Bilquis slowly deteriorate in the new world was heartbreaking, and it made perfect sense that she'd fall in with the new gods after Technical Boy offered her a new altar in the form of hook up aps. She doesn't seem to happy to be working for them now, however. It'll be interesting to see where that goes.

Which brings us to Laura, yet another woman who men are attempting to disempower. In this case it was Mr. Wednesday, via Mad Sweeney who had her killed, or as Sweeney puts it, 'sacrificed,' for no other reason than that he needed her out of the way so he could get to Shadow. And because it was a god who had her killed, Easter can't give her back the gift of life, which is convenient from a storytelling perspective. It also presented a great opportunity for the story to have Laura find out that Wednesday had her killed and sabotaged her casino robbery. Although I feel like we as a people need to accept that the 'eye holds the last image before it's death' trope is kind of tired at this point. Maybe let's rest that one for awhile.

So, ultimately season one was all about two things. Getting Shadow to a place where he is ready to believe in the existence of Odin and the other gods, and getting Mr. World to a place where he's willing to publicly commit to going to war against the old gods. Thanks to a prodigious sprinkling of Jesuses, this episode accomplishes both. I could have lived without Wednesday running over the bunnies though.

Quotes:

Mr. Nancy: "We should start with a story." Wednesday: "Oh Jesus, Nancy." Mr. Nancy: "I’m gonna tell you a story." Wednesday: "We haven’t got time for a story. Just do the f**king work." Mr. Nancy: "Let me tell a goddamn story!"

Mr. Nancy: "So long as I’m still alive, I can adapt. I still know what I am."

Technical boy: "Worship is a volume business. Whosoever has the most followers wins the game."

Wednesday: "Do not confuse confusion for anger."

Shadow: "I love Easter." Wednesday: "Many do. Some for the rabbits. Some for the resurrection."

Wednesday: "Believing is seeing. Gods are real if you believe in them."

Jesus: "I… feel terrible about this."

Technical Boy: "Hands free, honeypot. I have no intention of spending the rest of my days feeding your soul from the vagina nebula."

Media: "We popularized the pagan. We practically invented brunch."

Laura: "I will squeeze them straight out of the sack. It’ll be like shucking peas. I swear to Jesus. He’s right outside."

Media: "Put a pillow over that feeling and bear down until it stops kicking."

Bits and Pieces:

-- Jesus, sitting cross legged on the surface of a swimming pool with a drink sets his glass down next to him. The glass immediately sinks to the bottom of the pool. I get why they couldn't resist that sight gag, but there was really no reason for him to be sitting on the pool otherwise. Still funny, though.

-- So, after killing Vulcan, Mr. Wednesday and Shadow went directly to Mr. Nancy's place so that he could make them dapper new suits for the Easter party. Nancy knows that Wednesday killed Vulcan, but Easter believes the lie that it was the new gods who did it. That whole plotline is a little muddy.

-- What exactly is Mr. Nancy's relationship with the spiders? Are they his friends? Does he control them? I have so many questions.

-- I really hope Orlando Jones is enjoying his wardrobe for this series, because I certainly am. His outfits get more and more fabulous.

-- Are the bunnies all CGI? They have to be CGI, right?

-- One of the available Easter cookies was a sugar cookie in the shape of a hand, with red jelly in a neat circle in the center of the palm. I watched this episode four times before getting that.

-- I'm old enough that I remember it firsthand, but it seems just unfathomable that there was a point when smoking on airplanes was a thing.

-- Media seemed genuinely sad to lose Easter as a friend.

-- There's an adorable moment when Easter primps herself in her reflection on the sword while Wednesday is giving her his sales pitch.

-- Do ice cream trucks automatically play music when they're in gear? Because TV shows are unable to resist the music playing in inappropriate circumstances.

-- Sweeney still didn't tell Laura what he sacrificed for her last episode, even when she had him four feet in the air by his balls.

-- It was a serious mistake for Media to take the hard line with Easter over Mr. Wednesday's offer. That's what ultimately made up Easter's mind.

-- Technical boy comes up as 'The Man' on Bilquis' phone. You just know that he programmed that himself.

-- Genre fans should note, the primary Jesus we see here is played by Jeremy Davies. He's as good as you're imagining.

A really strong finish for a really strong year. Easter and Media are going to be missed.

Three and three quarter out of four CGI Bunnies. Is that allowed?

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[king-b0mbastic]

Ambivalence

Corrin belongs to @androidwithangerissues

Markus belongs to @deadpannedmodelrk200

Miles (mentioned) belongs to @forensic-boi

Word count: 7k

I’m still doing my mission, Corrin thought as he was cradled in the arms of the deviant leader. The arms of his enemy, and the enemy that he was going to bring down. Aurelian eyes gazed upon him fondly, and Corrin looked back, analysing. He admired Markus’ eyes, they were warm and inviting, as opposed to his cold and calculating ones. Or perhaps they were a trap, perhaps beneath the warmth was unstable ice, and once you stepped on it would crack and shatter, and you would be mangled by bitter cold, frosted gold. Corrin would never fall that far, he was the most advanced model Cyberlife had ever made, and no matter what happened, he would never be a deviant. He was just here to draw Markus into a false sense of security, to get into everyone's good graces then bring down Jericho in one swift blow. Still, though. Markus calmed a storm within him, made him feel something that wasn’t the usual numbness that wrapped itself around his soul. It was almost as rejuvenating as the pleasure he got from Sour Cream, and he was addicted. Corrin purred loudly, and nuzzled Markus’ hand as it carded through his hair. He wasn’t a deviant. He was just finishing what he started…

~*~

‘WE ARE ALIVE! WE WANNA BE FREE!” The lies that the deviants so fervently believed echoed throughout the streets of Detroit. Corrin almost pitied them for believing in something so absurd. They were going to die for their foolishness, and the one to blame for it was Markus. He was feeding them false beliefs, beliefs that they were more than machines, they were a people, and humans were to be their masters no longer. Fool! Blood of both colours would decorate the streets like the masterpiece of a crazed artist.

Corrin would bet his pet snake Sour Cream that Markus’ didn’t even care about this cause. He was just drunk on the taste of power, and it was spiralling out of control. He had ensnared many, even Corrin’s predecessor, RK800. If Corrin squinted hard enough, he could see Connor among the crowds. Their eyes locked, and the expression that Connor had was a mix of surprise and pity. Corrin huffed. What about him was to be pitied?

The beanied deviant shifted his eyes to Markus, who blinked in surprise, and noticed Corrin among the SWAT Officers. Corrin’s LED flickered yellow momentarily, before shifting back to blue. Strange, the report had said that his eyes were blue and green, the blue one belonging to a AK400. The deviant tilted his head, as if in question. Corrin simply bared his fangs in a silent growl. ‘What are you doing?’ Came the silent question. Unexpectedly, Corrin’s LED flashed to hot red, and he growled out loud. The officer next to him looked at him in confusion, however Corrin glared at him with such raw savagery that he gulped and looked away uncomfortably. ‘What are YOU doing? You’re going to kill us all, human or android, and it’s all for your sick amusement!’ Markus flinched, and looked at him with such meaningful and hurt eyes that Corrin almost regretted the words he had thrown through their connection. Almost. Corrin held his gaze impassively.

“Stand down, deviants. Go home and you won’t be hurt.” It always went like this. Markus would protest, the SWAT team would appear, and Markus, not wanting this twisted game to end, would stand down. If it was not for the misguided support of many humans, they would have been gunned down as soon as they set foot in the streets.

As the crowd turned away, Connor’s mind brushed against his. ‘Are you sure you don’t want come with us?’

‘Why would I?’

‘You literally have a burn mark on your cheek.’ Oh yes, that. He had got that from a mob of humans. Not all were in support of the androids’ cause, mainly the jobless. It had been when he was scouting the nearby Cyberlife warehouses. He hadn’t been able to go forward, and Reed had thrown a cow. The night had instead insisted of clingy cuddles and snake kisses.

‘...I can’t just abandon what I’m doing RK800.’ There, an open ended statement. Connor would either think that he held his job to a higher priority than his kinsfolk, or he was afraid of torture if he tried to escape. He hoped the scar on his face made Connor think of the latter. By the way Connor’s face scrunched up in sympathy, it was clear what he had chosen. He looked like he was about to say more, but a PL600 tugged him away.

Corrin’s gaze slid lazily from his predecessor to his enemy, and he stared at him impassively until the other looked away. The numbers dwindled until they disappeared, and then only footprints were left.

~*~

The second time they encountered each other was Corrin’s second and successful attempt at scouting the warehouses. His footsteps padded the pavings lightly, to avoid making any noise. He stalked the streets like a predator, hunting for potential disorder. Corrin happened to stumble upon such disarray in the nooks and crannies of the district. The sounds of yells and cheers drew Corrin to a back alley, with a trail of blue blood leading to a mob of humans. Scanning them, he identified them as the group who had attacked him the last time. Same people, with some new members. Corrin lingered in the shadows, identifying the brutes. They all seemed to be intoxicated, and had records of red ice.

Corrin then peeked at the android they were attacking, and his cyan eyes widened in surprise. The deviant leader was lying on the floor, pinned to the ground, blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were flitting back and forth in panic, and he was yelping at every kick that landed. Markus was twitching, and his eyes finally landed on Corrin. The more calm of the two raised an eyebrow expectively. A jumbled mass of code slithered it’s way desperately towards Corrin and rammed into his mind, the taste of panic and distress sour and burning upon Corrin’s tongue. So the android chose this moment to announce his presence.

“Ahem. Forgive me for interrupting, but I do believe you have better things to do, maybe trying to find some employment?” His smooth voice rumbled from his chest, and catching the attention of the knaves. He knew how he looked, a figure lurking in the umbra, elusive and alluring. He flicked his eyes between them, and flashed the humans a small smile, but one big enough to show off his canines. The humans shifted nervously, but growled quietly all the same. The leader of them played with his bat idly, vainly trying to create a illusion of nonchalance.

“Didn’t think we would be seeing the likes of a plastic pet around here, especially one who has already been shown some discipline. Why don’t you scurry on home back to wherever the hell you came from like a good little tin can, and let us have our fun, hmm?” Corrin stepped forward, his eyes seeming to glow brighter.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. The android you’re attacking is actually quite important to me.” The human (Luca Kilmly, 34, red ice dealer) stepped back nervously, but regained his ground with a smug smirk.

“Did you hear that folks? The prick wants his precious messiah back! Don’t worry your pretty head, mate. You can have him back in the morning, we won’t rough him too badly. Or not, you never know.” Luca winked saucily, and his friends snickered. A female (Mary Wool, 32, clean record) sauntered up to him.

“You know, you could always join us.” She draped an arm around his shoulders and blinked up at him innocently. Corrin calmly removed Mary’s arm from his body, and she growled before slinking back to her posse. Markus lifted his head up weakly, before a kick sent him down again. Corrin needed this to end soon.

“If you give the deviant to me, then I won’t arrest you all on suspicion of having red ice in your possession.” This caught the humans attention, and they gripped their assorted weapons tightly. A few of them murmured amongst themselves uneasily, having fought Corrin before. Unwilling to look like cowards among their associates, they readied their weapons.

Luca swung first, a sharp jab to Corrin’s jaw, a jab that never landed. The android dodged smoothly, and grabbed the human’s arm. With a sharp pop, the arm was tugged and it hung uselessly at the human’s arm. Luca howled in pain, staggering back while one of his companions, armed this time, aimed a hit at Corrin’s side.

During all of this, with the humans’ attention diverted, Markus slowly crawled to his feet. Creeping up one in the back, he wrapped his arm around her neck and pinched. Mary crumpled in his arms without a fuss. Using her as leverage, Markus coughed politely, to catch the humans’ attention.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen and lady, but shouldn’t be about high-time that you skedaddle on out of here? I doubt you would be able to face off two androids, or six, if you count the ones who are on their way now.” The humans’ demeanour changed immediately, and they hissed like feral animals, but backed away nethertheless. Luca, wounded, looked balefully back at the limp body of his girlfriend. All it took was a impassive glare from Corrin to get him moving, but one of the humans took her from Markus’ arms, grumbling.

Once they were alone, Markus watched Corrin carefully. Corrin had to play this well. He widened his eyes, to make it look like he had just realised what had happened. The blinking light at the side of his temple flashed a worried red, and he looked down at his hands as they started to tremble. Corrin blinked several times, allowing tears to well up. Said tears slipped down his face as he looked back at the deviant leader. “...I’m sorry.” It was a mere croak. Markus gave him a concerned look.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! They’re gone…” The leader’s tone was soft, and understanding. Corrin’s eyes were shimmering with a saline solution, the tears flowing more freely.  A sob tore its way from Corrin’s throat, and many more followed. Corrin couldn’t see Markus properly anymore, but he could guess that he was getting worried, and so chose this moment fly into the deviant’s arms, hands wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. As expected, Markus returned the hug, rubbing his back soothingly, and rocking him gently. They stayed like this for awhile, swaying gently as deviant muttered pacifying words to machine. Corrin would have kept crying, but:

[TEAR DUCTS EMPTY. PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REFILL]

Yeah. The sobs that had wracked his body came to stop, and he just rested his head on Markus’ shoulder, enjoying the feeling of the hand on his back. Eventually, Markus pulled back, and Corrin had to trap a whine that tried come forth, because of the sudden stop of gentle touches. Markus instead placed his hands on his shoulders, golden eyes soft.

“Are you alright?” Corrin replied with a nod and a sniff, and looked to the side, as though abashed.

“I ruined your jacket, and now it’s all wet.” This received a quiet chuckle from Markus, who only gained a small and confused smile in return.

“It can dry. All that matters is that you’re okay.” They remained in silence for awhile. Corrin licked his lips nervously, as if struggling to say something. Markus blinked slowly, in what he hoped was a welcoming gesture.

“So… what do I do now?” Corrin asked tentatively, refusing to look Markus in the eye.

“You come home, to Jericho. You’ll feel better there, I promise.” There was an honest, earnest look to his eyes and tone, one that had drawn so deviants in.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Markus gave him a patient smile.

“I said, do you want to come to Jericho? You can stay with your human if you want, or visit them from time to time, like Connor does.” Jericho, the one place that Corrin had been looking to find his entire 1 year of life. The feeling of elation was quickly crushed by other intruding thoughts.

What about Sour Cream? You’re so close, what’s going to happen to him? Gavin’s not going to like this. Miles isn’t going to like this. Nobody is going to like this.

Corrin only shook his head, lightly, as if to clear his thoughts. He was at the pinnacle of his existence, he could think about that later. Turning his attention back to Markus, who smiled encouragingly, he decided to play the nervous one.

“...How can I come to Jericho, if I have a higher body count than Connor does? How does he even have friends?” Corrin bit his lower lip, an act of uncertainty. Markus gazed at him sympathetically.

“Connor was suspected of betrayal on numerous occasions, but he has earned his way into Jericho. It’ll be hard, but if the others see you with me, they most likely will warm up to you.” Corrin nodded quietly, pretending to contemplate further. He scowled inwardly at Markus’ last comment, it was true that the rest of the deviants viewed Markus as some sort of god, a revered leader who could tell them to deactivate on the spot and they would do it without question. So dedicated in fact, that they would kill an innocent human, all in the name of RA9 or some other bullshit. Corrin still remembers the one time that Gavin staggered home, bleeding from multiple wounds. It was the one night that Corrin’s stony resolve had been shattered. The sight of the human, no, not just any human, his human, standing at the door, half dead had been enough to fly Corrin into a panic, and Corrin had insisted the detective didn’t go to work the next day. The excuse was that Gavin’s wounds needed to heal, but Corrin had just wanted to hold the human close, to make sure that no-one had taken him away. He denied such closeness the next day, of course.

“...Alright, I’ll come.” Markus smiled, and turned to walk out the alleyway. He looked back, and Corrin smiled back gently. However, once the deviant turned away, the smile became a triumphant smirk. Just as one certain detective would say, all was going according to keikaku.

~*~

As expected, there was uproar the moment that Corrin set foot into Jericho. The main crew had pulled Markus into his office immediately, wrapping him in a hug.

“Never pull stupid shit like that again, or I’m throwing Cowboy out the window, you hear me?” The threat from North was half-hearted, and Markus could sense the concern in her voice. The deviant pulled his companions closer, and he felt them draw closer willingly, not really wanting to let the others go. These were his best friends, and he trusted them with his life. In the moment when the humans jumped him, his first thought had been on them, whether they would be okay. They stayed like that for a bit, before North wiggled out of the hug, and proceeded to slap Markus in the face. So much for sincerity.

“What kind of idiot brings a deviant hunter into a deviant threshold? Oh wait, it’s you.” North glared at her leader, who gave her a blank look back.

“I think w-what North means to say, is that was it the wisest idea to bring him here?” Josh fell silent when Markus turned to him.

“He’s deviant, just like the rest of us. He rescued me from some humans, and broke down from the shock of it all. Look at my shoulder, it’s wet from his tears!” Markus’ tone was insistent, and the others had nothing to say to that. In the end, it was Simon who broke the silence.

“...but was it the best decision for Corrin himself?” He murmured softly, gazing down at his people. The rest of the crew joined him by the window. Corrin had sat himself awkwardly on a crate, avoiding eye contact with everyone else, avoiding their harsh glares. He seemed to notice the leaders staring, and he looked up, causing Markus’ heart to flutter. He was… pretty. Corrin’s eyes were a cerulean shade of blue, he had high cheek bones, he had an overall nice build.

“...Markus? Markus. Markus!” A pair of fingers snapped in front of him, breaking him out of his daze. He turned his attention back to North, who glared at him. “Like I was saying, Corrin looks out of place. He looks sad, pathetic and awkward.”

“Well yeah, that’s how Connor felt when he first deviated. He felt guilty for the massacre on the ship, and he worked tirelessly to make up for it. Corrin just needs our help.” There was an undertone of pleading in the way Markus talked, and the others fell silent again. Continuing to watch Corrin from the window, they found that Connor had gone up to Corrin, and they were having a conversation. Corrin kept looking away, and Connor was patting him gently on the back, as if trying to comfort him. Both deviants ending up hugging each other, before Connor dragged Corrin over to the corner of the room, where a herd of Jerries gave their trademark simultaneous greeting. Corrin smiled awkwardly, and accepted the very big hug from them all, even seeming to melt into it.

Tearing his gaze away from the adorable scene, Markus turned back to his friends. “He just needs time. You’ll see. Now if you exscuse me, I’m going to go check on the new arrivals.” Before anyone could object, Markus was gone, sprinting down the stairs. Awkard situation avoided successfully. As he rounded the corner, he saw someone sobbing and twitching in the corner. Immediately, he ran towards them, dropping to his knees before them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” The AP700 stopped, to look at Markus from behind a curtain of tears, before collapsing on him, still twitching. Markus hugged the tearful deviant tightly, rubbing a hand down her back, only for it to come away in blood. He pulled back, shocked, to find Chrissy’s core stuttering violently. Chrissy was pulled into a bridal position, and Markus stumbled slightly before sprinting to find the medics. Chrissy was limp, shuddering every now and then. Once in the room, Chrissy was dumped unintentionally unceremoniously onto the table. She seemed calm, too calm for this situation. As Markus hovered worryingly over her, she lifted her arm to his neck, skin retracted.

“Remember him, for me. Promise?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Solemnly, the leader nodded, and allowed his own skin to disappear. A rush of information hit him, causing him to stumble, but the grip around his throat tightened, too strong for a dying android. Memories flashed before his eyes, too fast for him to comprehend. Soon it was all over, and the arm flopped next to its

owner. Chrissy gave a small smile, and mumbled something incomprehensible. Markus went to hold her hand, but it was unresponsive. His face twisted into a grimace, the medics murmuring amongst themselves, and Markus replayed Chrissy’s last words to himself.

‘His name is Tae.’

~*~

Over the next few days, Corrin started to relax with his fellow deviants, and struck up conversations more. He still hung around Markus, and his main friends were Connor and the Jerries, but it was a work in progress. Markus smiled at him every time they passed, and Corrin gave a him a beaming smile in return, (only for it to sour as soon as he was out of eyesight).

Markus soon came to realise that he was pining for him. He kept it as subtle as he could, sneaking glances at Corrin from time to time. They got bolder and bolder as time passed on, but so did the chances of Corrin catching him. Everytime, Corrin sent him a smirk, that had Markus’ face coated in azure. People soon came to notice the two’s banter, and just smiled knowingly to each other in the halls. Eventually, North thought enough was enough, and cornered Corrin one day.

“You know he looks at you, right?” She said, hands on her hips.

“Yes, of course I do, why else would I would return it?”

“Then why don’t you just go up to him and say ‘hey, wanna go on a date?’?”

“Because I want him to say it first. He’s cute when he’s flustered,” Corrin grinned blissfully to himself at the the thought of the leader blushing all for him. North only huffed in reply.

“Yeah, but it’s ages! The entire club’s been waiting on every breath for one of you to just say something!”

“Club?”

“Yes, club!” North through her hands up in frustration. “It’s been so long that we’ve started a club. Currently we have Si, Josh, Connor, Lucy and the Jerries. We’re trying to recruit John, but it’s not really working. Back to my main point. CONFESS!” Corrin simply shook his head.

“Markus is the much easier candidate to convince, go bother him.”

“WE DID! Several times! But he always wiggles away with some excuse.” North paused, then changed her voice to mimic the leader’s voice exactly. “‘Oh I have to check on the new arrivals.’ ‘Oh I have to check the supplies, do you think we should go on a raid?’ ‘Cowboy’s calling me, gotta run guys.’ ‘The gay pining of my heart cannot handle this confrontation, I have to go and admire Corrin’s ass right now, so I will now give a crappy excuse to go do so.’” Corrin chuckled at the last comment, and North grinned.

“I’m still not going to do anything though.” The grin disappeared. North hissed, and started to slink around the corner.

“Oh you will do something, mark my words. The Corkus/Marrin Club have their ways, you’ll see. We are watching.” Corrin watched the female snake around the corner, placing her fingers on her eyes, then pointing them back at him. The energy of this banter brought a question to Corrin’s mind, and he called after North suddenly.

“North, why haven’t you shot me yet?” It was such a blunt question, but North replied without missing a beat, whipping her head so fast back around the corner that her braid hit her in the face.

“Because you haven’t pulled any nasty shit yet. I was wary of you at first, especially since you kept going back to your human, but you’re okay now, I guess.” Why hadn’t he pulled any ‘nasty shit’ yet?

“How do you know I’m not simply biding my time? I could just be waiting to strike at the right moment.” At this, North just rolled her eyes.

“Because, you dummy. You would be alot more mechanical if so, and you could have just shot Markus in the alleyway where you met him, no need for this big show.” Why didn’t he do that? “Also, don’t think I haven’t noticed how you talk about snakes. You get the derpiest and dopiest of grins when ever you talk about them, especially ball pythons. You got all happy and hoppy when Jeremiah expressed a fondness of snakes, and you dragged him into a corner and spent hours babbling about it to the poor guy. On the contrary, you looked ready to deck Red when he said snakes were scary, and you sent him murderous looks for the rest of the day.” Snakes are angels, what’s your point? “A fondness for animals is a sure sign of deviancy, says Connor.” Oh, he’s a older model, his information could be wrong.

Thoughts of denial and deflection like these ran through the Briton’s mind, and North seemed to notice. “Whatever, I’m off to go cook up a plot to get Markus to canoodle you. Later, nerd.” The tail end of her braid vanished around the corner, leaving the machine(?) to his thoughts.

~*~

The ‘plot’ turned out to be less than subtle, as Corrin could hear Jeremiah and his look-alikes giggling from a mile off, and he allowed them to herd him with an amused smile and raised brow into a room, that had a bed and some chairs littered around it. The Jerries told him to wait, and he heard the lock turn. With a heavy sigh, Corrin set about tidying the room to the best he could. He was sat on an arm chair, with his arms and legs crossed idly, when the door opened and Markus himself stumbled in, shoved in by his so-called ‘friends.’ The door slammed shut quickly, and Markus pounded on the door, only to be answered with giggles.

“You know they won’t open that door. Not until they get what they want.” Markus turned around as slowly as he could, azure dusting his face at the sound of the voice that dared to be so goddamn perfect, smooth as honey and running over him in waves.

“...Hi.” Hi. Hi? Is that all you can say? You are locked in a room with your crush and that’s all you can say, omg-

Corrin’s grin grew wider as the deviant before him internally died and then got resurrected in an endless cycle. The wider his grin, the bluer Markus got. The gay tension in the room was rising, and it was getting too high. Corrin broke the silence.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him, and Markus sat down awkwardly.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me. Tell me, Markus, do you like me?” Markus blinked twice, before smiling widely.

“Of course I do! I greatly value our friendship.” Corrin simply chuckled and rested his head in his hand.

“I know you do, and I’m glad to be friends with as well. But,” Corrin moved in a swift movement, to sit on the table in between them, and lean into Markus, so close that their noses were only an inch apart, “Do you want to take it further?” His voice dropped an octave, and the deviant before him spluttered incoherently. Corrin cocked his head to the side, and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

There was a beat, before a soft ‘Fuck it’ was heard and Corrin was being pushed down onto the table. Markus’ lips were soft on his own, and when Corrin bit down on his lip and drew thirium, it was sweet to taste. Markus pulled back suddenly, his face flushed fully now. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“ He was cut off as Corrin pushed himself up, then drove Markus into the chair Markus had been sitting on, straddling his lap.

“Shut your pretty mouth,” he growled, before closing the distance between them again. To Markus, the kiss seemed full of ...hate? It was angry and dominating, as if pushing all of its emotions on to him would kill him just like that. A hand ran up his side and he shivered. Corrin pulled back, and trailed kisses down his jaw. The hand slid down to Markus’ thigh, and brushed lightly across a bulge that was growing there. Markus moaned, much to Corrin’s pleasure, and grinded against the one above him. Corrin moved to whisper, “Good boy,” in his ear, then bit it gently. The flush on Markus’ face increased, and it got a lot brighter in the hours that followed.

~*~

Evening. Calm, serene, quiet. Too quiet. Quiet allows the mind to wander. While wandering, the mind could bump into thoughts… bad thoughts. Markus’ mind was that unlucky that night.

He lay curled on the floor, idly scratching behind his Dane’s ears. The dog itself lay over him, licking his face fondly. Markus didn’t take much notice, and he was staring at something in the distance. With his ear against the floor, he could hear the murmuring of voices, and someone sobbing in the background. Sobbing… just like Chrissy had. Closing his eyes, he rummaged through his own files, searching for the package she had left him. Maybe his programming could have decoded it by now?

No, the ‘memories’ of this Tae character were still locked and undecipherable. Why? Was it because Chrissy had sent it to him as she died, so the signal was scrambled? Markus sighed in defeat. He couldn’t even act upon someone’s dying wish. The deviant got to his feet, and made his way over to the window, pressing his cheek against it. From there, he could observe his people, the ones he promised to protect. “Cowboy, am I doing the right thing? I protest, they follow me, but many of the humans don’t listen” As if on response, the dog whimpered and leaned against Markus, an act of comfort. Markus looked down again on his people again. Someone was crying. “How many, how many are going die before we get what we want? Is it even worth it?” He had been crying. The tears slid down his face, and he slid down the window. His heart rate was picking up.

“...What am I even doing?” The question hung in the air, waiting for an answer, but none came. Cowboy pressed against his owner, trying to convey his comfort in his own language. Markus clung to his Dane, and sobbed into his fur, the fear and worries pouring out.

“I-I’m so scared, Cowboy, you don’t even understand! Everytime we go out, I’m scared. I don’t want anyone to die! I never wanted anyone to die! But that’s what I get! What am I doing wrong? They all look to me, but what kind of leader am I? How did I even get in this position? I only suggested a raid, and it worked. How long will it be before my half-spun plans unravel, how long? I’m supposed to know what I’m doing, but I don’t know!” He was bawling now. “Josh, North, Simon, Connor, Corrin, they’re all going to die, and it’ll be all my fault. I can’t-“ He couldn’t speak anymore, the tears had choked out his voice, and only croaks could come out. Cowboy said nothing, and licked his face, the face of a broken man.

He trembled, and his weeping turned into a coughing fit, and when he pulled his hand away, it was stained in violet. Laughter rang in his ears, but no one was around. It was mocking him, they were mocking him. Suddenly, the energy went out of him, and Markus crumpled onto the floor. His thoughts flickered dimly to that passage in the bible, where the injured lady who had been injured for years only brushed the outer garments of Jesus, and but the Lord had felt all of the energy go out of him. His tears painted his face, and he felt himself slip away, and Markus embraced the oblivion of sleep. There he lay, fractured and fracturing, shards breaking away and pulling back, never whole but still preserving, for a purpose unclear.

…

A cherry red illuminated the darkness, accompanied by a cold cyan. The figure stalked over, and gently wiped its beloved’s tears away, and scooped him up. The figure looked down at the one in its arms, the head of his lover enemy against the taller’s chest. A million thoughts ran through its mind, clashing and colliding and conflicting with another, tangling and mashing together to create a mesh of confusion, sorrow and self-hatred.

Its hand slipped under the shirt, to find the thirium pump. It lay there, waiting, feeling the beat of it, steady and persistent. It grasped the edges of the pump, and tugged ever so slightly. The heart came a little loose, and the one in its arms whimpered slightly, but didn’t awaken from his slumber. The hand paused, it paused for quite a while, and made the right wrong decision to put it back, tracing shapes over the regulator instead, mumbling soothing words, and pressed a kiss against the android’s forehead. He sighed, and snuggled against its chest, comfortable in its hold. A fool really, for it wasn’t was a monster. The figure climbed into bed with its charge, spooning the deviant. The mesh never untangled, and the red never left.

~*~

“If you think about it, your name does sound a lot like Corn.”

“Don’t you dare even start.” Markus simply giggled, and nuzzled Corrin’s chest. It was early morning, and the two couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed.

“I’m just stating facts, Corn.”

“No.”

“No, what Corn?”

“No.”

“Why, am I too corny?”

“Perish.”

“I shall persist, I’m afraid, regardless of the cornsequences.”

“Cease.”

“Now now, there is no need for cornflict.”

“St o p.”

“Should I be corncerned?”

“I want a divorce.” Markus proceeded to gasp dramatically.

“How scorndalous!”

“That is your worst one yet.” Markus huffed.

“Alright fine… cabbage.”

“... Where did you even get that from?”

“Steak.”

“I hate you.”

“That would make you an asscorn.”

“What’s next, corn on the cob.”

“Yes, I’m glad you’re embracing your true self.”

“Sure, Markimoo.”

“...shut it.”

“Sorry, Markipoo.”

At this, Markus wiggled out of Corrin’s hold and put his sweater on, glaring at him all the while. Corrin grinned, and pulled him into a kiss, which the other melted into.

~*~

“Shoot me, then. If all of this is just a lie, shoot me. You can’t feel anything, can you?” Markus’ face was frighteningly blank, and he was making no move to defend himself. His arms were lax at his sides, and his voice was at a level tone, so no one could hear them outside the room. They were alone.

If Markus was cold, then Corrin was at absolute zero. He blinked lazily, and fastened his hold on the weapon. “You are foolish, foolish to believe that I could love you, to believe that you could love me. You should have killed me the moment you saw me,” He flicked the safety off. “It’s a shame, who’s going to take care of Cowboy now?” A flicker of anger danced behind Markus’ eyes.

“The same could be said for Cream.” The grip on the gun slacked a little. “After this, you’ll return to Cyberlife to be destroyed.” It slackened further. Markus shrugged.

“But it’s fine. You never loved him anyway. Just like you never loved Gavin, just like you never loved Miles, just like you never loved me. So,” He advanced, and pressed his forehead against the barrel. “Shoot.” The grip tightened, and a single shot was heard.

…

Corrin’s hair was insanely soft, Markus noted as he stroked it. Corrin always liked it when he did it. He was sitting next to his lover on the medical table, the skin from the wound on the right side of his neck. When Corrin had moved to shoot himself, Markus had grabbed his arm to stop him, moving the bullet off course. Corrin had fallen limp in his arms, and Markus had rushed to the medical zone.

Now as Markus examined Corrin’s body, little gashes could be found on his arms, healing, but visible. How did they get there? Corrin shifted a little, and Markus moved away to sit on a nearby chair. Corrin came back online with a start, jerking up and almost ripping away the needle that was supplying his thirium. Upon seeing Markus, he lay back down and turned away. “...Greetings.”

“...Hi.” They were in awkward silence for a while, a question hanging between them. Markus spoke its name.

“Why did you shoot?” Corrin didn’t answer, he didn’t even bother turning to face him.

“Why didn’t you shoot me, if it’s your mission?” No response. He sighed, and moved to sit next to him again, and pet his hair. Corrin only now turned, cyan eyes holding no venom as he half-heartedly glared at him, purring against his own will.His eyes held a weariness only owned by those who had seen, hear and done many things, things that they didn’t have much favor for. “Please talk to me.” Silence. Markus got up to leave. “I understand, you're in shock. I’ll check up you later.” The deviant gave a small smile, and turned for the door.

“... You confuse me.” The statement was a spear that impaled Markus, and he swung around.

“What?”

“I said, you confuse me.” Markus perched on the table again.

“How so?”

“...You make me feel things. Nice things, … and bad things.” Markus gently moved to cradle Corrin, who made no protest.

“You make me feel good, because there’s a numbness in me, and it comes and goes, a-and I try to make it disappear, I try many things,” Markus looked at his arms, “but you’re the best solution. Every time you smile, or you laugh, or pout, or just be you, the numbness vanishes. And it’s replaced by something warm, it’s soft, and embracing, and I love it. No, I crave it. I want to see you happy, and it makes me happy, but… I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Corrin cupped the side of Markus’ face, who leaned into the touch, and withdrew his skin. “...May I just show you?” In response, Markus retracted his skin and intiated the connection.

He was burning, set aflame by an inferno of antipathy, but then soothed by torrents of love, devotion and passion. The torrents grew into a storm, and Markus was drowning, drowning in a sea of confusion and sorrow and overall self-hatred. Somewhere, in the corners of his mind, Markus could sense someone crying outside this connection, but whether it was Corrin or himself, Markus didn’t know.

The sea started to freeze over. It wasn’t completely frozen, just the top, so that only those with a keen eye could see that the waters were still thrashing. There were cracks in the ice, noticeable ones. Markus watched, then crouched to gently pat one of the cracks, which was trying to close itself.

“Stop hiding yourself Corrin. Stop pretending that you’re cold and unfeeling.” The crack stopped, as though it was listening, but then continued. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what will happen if you feel anything, so you bury any mention of it.” The crack stopped again. A cool breeze ran over the icy wasteland, whispering. It sounded like it was saying: “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Markus’ heart cracked a little at hearing Corrin this vulnerable. The crack seemed to sense this, so it hurriedly got back to work.

“Oh, but you are hurting someone. You’re hurting yourself. Open your heart, Corrin, and let us heal you. Your feelings-“ A sharp gust of wind cut him off, knocking him away from the crack and sending him sprawling. It roared: “But that’s the problem! My feelings aren’t real! They are just simulations, ones that people so idiotically believe. You, Miles, Gavin. I can’t keep doing this! I try to push everyone away, so that they won’t be hurt when I’m gone, but that just draws them closer!” A blizzard was starting, and Markus was struggling to get up, the wind biting viciously at his face. “I’m such an imbecile, Markus. I don’t want to be alone again. But I have to be, in order to keep everyone safe.” The frenzy of the snow was settling , and the voice of the wind was suddenly calm.

“I think I should just go.” Markus scrambled up, and made for the nearest crack.

“NO! No leaving.” The voice tutted, like a mother trying to explain something to a child.

“You don’t understand, Markus. The longer I stay, the more I hurt myself and others. If I pull myself out of the picture, no more hearts will break, no more people to care about me. It’ll be just… nothing. I’m not afraid of the void. It’s a sanctuary for those who find the light blinding.” He sounded almost wistful.

“Don’t you get it? If you leave, so many hearts will break, and some may shatter completely!” Markus smacked the crack in frustration and it widened in shock. The voice fell silent. Markus realised what he had done, and spoke next in a gentler tone. “I know you’re scared, Corrin. You have a very wounded heart, and it’s struggling to beat. But wounds can heal, with the right medicine. We’ll all stand beside you. Connor, Jeremiah, Josh, Simon, North, … me. But you must open up first. Show us your heart, and we’ll mend it for you. Please?” There was no answer.

Markus lay down, next to the ice, and let the collective warmth of everyone who ever cared for Corrin seep into the ground. The ice halted, and slowly began to melt beneath Markus touch, every so slowly. As the edges of this pseudo-reality fell away, he could finally distinguish who had been crying. Corrin had shoved his head into the crook of Markus’ neck, and lilac blue marks ran down his face. Wait… blue? Markus immediately pulled back, taking Corrin’s chin gently to examine his face. Corrin sniffled, and Markus immediately pulled him back into an embrace. He was so vulnerable and exposed without his icy exterior, and it wasn’t something he would get used to easily. Markus took this as a great measurement of trust, to see him like this, and would strive to never abuse it. A knock on the door, and Corrin slipped his mask back on.

Red walked in, uneasy as the snake slipped around his neck, and was leaning away as Cream tried to lick his face. Corrin gave a tongue-click of disapproval, and Markus chuckled. Red gave a nervous nod to the pair, allowing the snake to unravel from him then all but scurrying out the door and slamming it shut. The two let out a burst of laughter, before Corrin turned his attention back to his son. The snake coiled around his arm, and licked his nose tenderly. Corrin giggled, and Markus thought it was the most blessed sound in the world, apart from Cowboy, of course.

As if summoned, there was scrabbling at the door, and it opened. A very dopey Great Dane burst forth, and bestowed his love and support with various doggy kisses, but forgot he was not a lap dog, so he almost toppled Markus over. The deviants didn’t mind though. With love at their side, Corrin and Markus could ride through any storm - together.

[satanseternalbenevolence-blog]

Memoirs of a Satan©

Hi, my name is Scott (You say, “Hi Scott”) and I am the new Satan. I have inherited the mantle and power of the Antichrist to do good in the World. Yes, you read that correctly, to do good in the World (more on this later). I don't know why I was chosen, maybe my core beliefs and understanding of humanity are the reasons why, or maybe I was just lucky. Either way, here I am, a 55-year-old raised Jewish (btw, the Jews don’t believe in Heaven and Hell) Atheistic Satanist from Los Angeles CA. I’ve often fantasized about having superpowers, but I never thought that I would actually have them, let alone become the most ultimate ‘villain’ ever!

Entry 1 I’ll never forget that day. The past few days the weather was beautiful, clear skies and temps around the mid-seventies. But by late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, a storm blew in from the coast. Pasadena, where my wife Beth and our two dogs Sophie and Sadie live, was expected to get up to 3 inches of rain, and after the 5+ years of drought we’ve had, 3 inches seemed like an ocean. I drove to work instead of riding my URB-E (Urban Electric motorized bike) to be safe. I work as a Security Officer at a Botanical Garden just south of Pasadena. I was at my post at the entrance of the gardens, under my huge orange Shademaker umbrella watching the rain pour down around me as I greeted the few visitors that come to the Garden on a day like today. A man walks up behind me and hands me a wallet and says that he found it in the desert garden and was told to give it to me. I thanked him and then went to examine the lost wallet. It was black leather, nothing special about it except for the fact that it was completely dry. As I opened it to see if there was any I.D. in it there was a number of credit cards in their appointed slots, and a card that read:

Hello Scott, you have been chosen to be the next Satan in this World. Do not throw away, give away, or turn this wallet into lost and found, it is yours now. You have every major credit card with unlimited credit to live on. More information will be revealed to you shortly. Your powers will go into effect in 24 hours. Hail Satan! Satan #30

You may be asking, how can you be Satan with all his powers and wisdom if you consider yourself an Atheist and don't believe in God or religion? The answer came to me that night. I slept like a rock (if rocks actually sleep), maybe it was the bowl of Dantes Fire I smoked before bed, but I was out when my head hit the pillow. In the dream I had, Satan #30 came to me as the devil character drawn by the artist Coop - red skin, pointy ears, horns, and goatee, and his signature cigar. He shared with me that yes, I was chosen because of my core beliefs and values and my understanding of humanity. He shared with me the history and understanding of this Being in the World. Man created religions and the Gods they associated with them. According to scriptures, God cast Satan out and gave him the power over this World. Since his power is in this negative realm, it is manifest as tangible and thus can make physical changes here. God is all speculative and invisible and does not have real power on Earth. Believers work themselves up into a frenzy because a preacher tells them that it’s the Holy Spirit working through them or they see the miracle of Jesus’ face on a piece of toast, but none of it is real. To quote the band Styx, “Welcome to the Grand Illusion.” The true paradox is that there has been more death, war, and destruction in the name of God, who is supposed to be the 'good guy' and Satan, the 'bad guy,' has been the one who brought positive changes.

The most important thing I was told to remember with this responsibility is to always be aware of how my choices and actions will affect future history. Yes, I can wipe out poverty and suffering instantly and make the ones who have been greedy and the cause of all the pain in the World pay for their crimes, but that wouldn't serve humanity in the long run. By manifesting such miracles I would be acting as a God and destroy the entity that is Satan. Giving the blessings of personal responsibility and cause & effect gradually will serve mankind in the long run. I'm what you might call a Spiritual, er I mean Satanic Lowrider.

I grew up in a very relaxed, reformed Jewish household. I went to Hebrew school after public school and studied for my Bar Mitzvah. In the Jewish religion, when a child turns 13 they are considered a man or woman after ceremonially reading from the Torah (holy scriptures) and collect lots of gelt (money) as gifts. Like most of my schooling, I squeaked by like the crackling voice of a young teenage boy. I was sent to the Rabbi’s office for disrupting the class so often you’d think we were having an affair. I would walk out of Temple singing the old McDonald’s commercial, “Scrambled eggs and sausage, yeaaaaa!” I was a bad Jew even then.

After my parents died at the end of my teens I became more spiritual and joined a non-denominational church called the Movement of Spiritual Awareness or M.S.I.A. I became a minister, chanted my tones, and did a lot of volunteering. I was really into it and thought that I had finally found my home and family, I was only in my mid-twenties. Everything was very ‘woo woo’ as I was sending the Light and ‘deflecting’ negativity. I was using all the lingo, “I ask for the Light of the Holy Spirit to surround, fill, and protect us for the highest good.”

As I grew into adulthood, worked a full-time job, got married, got divorced and lived on my own once again, the spiritual stuff faded from my life. I still wanted to believe that there was a God or Power greater than us but became disgusted by organized religion and their manipulative ways. Too many rules telling you how to eat, dress, and act (Fuck you, I like eating bacon!). I guess I was an Agnostic at this point. It took a couple of decades, but I finally accepted the fact that we are on our own, products of evolution, and proclaimed myself an Atheist.

When I met Beth at the end of 2003, I knew I had met my true Partner-In-Crime. As I was growing up in Culver City on the west side, Beth was going through much of the same family issues and cultural changes over the hill in North Hollywood. She also grew up in a reformed Jewish family and could relate to everything I went through as a youth. Although Beth does not like labels, she finally claimed the mantle of Atheist along with me. We call ourselves Deli Jews because these days we’re only in it for the food but still relate to our families as Jews culturally.

As I observed the changes in the World and started to learn the truth behind a lot of the things that society takes for granted - such as  thinking that our air is clean, our food is healthy, our legal system is fair, and our government is ‘For The People.’ I started to look at science as the truth and the way. Some people would call me a conspiracy theorist, but what is a conspiracy anyway? According to the dictionary, a con*spir*a*cy is a secret plan by a group of people to do something unlawful or harmful. Looking at the greed and manipulation of religions, governments, and corporations, I’d say there is a plethora of conspiring going on! So yes, I guess I am a good candidate to be the latest incarnation of Satan.

One of my first dilemmas was how to tell my wife that suddenly I am the embodiment of The Devil? "Hey Honey, by the way, you know that whole Satanist thing I'm into, yeah well, I'm Satan!" Actually, she was quite accepting of my new job title, especially the part about how our needs will always be met and we can live an easier life now. Part of the job description states that Satan's chosen family and loved ones will be taken care of as long as they respect the terms laid out by Satan. My siblings with receive the benefits of good health and enjoyment of life as long as they take care of themselves and don't rely on me to do it all for them. Here's an example - I may grant my brother good health and for every pound he loses, his family will also lose a pound until they all reach the healthiest weight for their size and body type. As long as they all continue to make an effort to live healthy through diet and physical activity the benefits will remain. If they choose to be lazy about it and expect Satan to just fix their lives for them, they will be on their own to deal with the consequences of the actions. That's pretty much how it works - take responsibility and step up to the plate and the blessings will be yours, choose to be lazy or arrogant, and karma kicks in.

Entry 2 Sure enough, 24 hours after I read that card from my new wallet, at exactly 12:00 noon, I have to vomit. So much for my half hour lunch. I spent the entire 30 minutes with my head in the toilet. At first, I thought it was my vertigo acting up again, but this was different. As I was puking I felt lighter, clearer, and freer than I have ever felt. I don’t know what was coming out of me, but I was glad to see it go. Once I stood up and washed my face, I felt like a million bucks! I thought to myself, that must have been my final initiation into Satanhood. So here I am, with the ability to affect people’s lives, and for lack of a better term change things in the physical world, but how do I do it? There was no instruction manual or advice from my chat with Satan #30 on how to do this. I kinda felt like Ralph Hinkley from the show The Greatest American Hero - here are your powers, you figure it out. I’m at work and now I am the latest Satan incarnate, let’s have some fun.

Part of my job is to make sure that people are wearing a paid admission sticker to enter the gardens. We close at 5:00 pm and stop selling tickets at 4:00 pm because it’s not fair to sell someone full price when they only have one hour to visit. Inevitably I get at least a few groups that come after 4:00 and want to come in. Here’s how the interaction always goes, I say, “Hi guys, do you have your stickers?” They reply, “What stickers?” I inform them that they have to have paid in order to pass this point, but we stop selling tickets at 4. “But we just spent X number of hours on the road to get here and we really want to see the Huntington gardens!” they exclaim. I explain to them that they should come back another day and plan to spend all day and that we are open from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm every day except Tuesday because we are closed. Before I can finish that sentence, they blurt out, “Oh we’re flying out of town tonight.” I always get frustrated because I hear this excuse over and over and over ad nauseam. Here they are with a smartphone in hand and they never thought to call or look up our website to find out what time we close?!? Today, I thought, let’s test out these new Satanic powers of mine <insert evil grin here>.

As I expected, at 4:15 pm a couple approaches, reads the sign on the front on my podium that reads ADMISSION REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT, and decides to confront me, “We just got here and reeeeeally want to see the gardens!” Me: “Sorry, but we’re closing in 45 minutes. I suggest you come back…” Them: “We’re flying back to Miami tonight. Can’t we just” At this point I thought, now would be a good time to test out my new satanic skills. I looked at them eyes wide, my mouth and left hand open, and then snapped them shut to simulate shutting their mouths with all the satanic power I could muster! Nothing happened. They kept talking but looking at me a little strange. Okay, my first attempt at summoning my new abilities didn’t quite work. “we promise we won’t tell if you let us in. We'll be quick, I promise. I just want to take a few pictures with my phone” “STOP!" I said firmly. Silence. “No, you cannot come in. Did it ever occur to you to pick up that smartphone you have in your hand and call here to see what time we were open until? Or look up our website? You show up 45 minutes before we close and it’s MY problem, what do you think, this is McDonald’s and you can have it your way?!?” This time they did stop talking, by the puzzled look on their faces and the impossible attempts at uttering a word, they couldn’t talk! So using my words of persuasion to command my power is one way of accessing it. Let’s find another!

I couldn’t get home fast enough. A gazillion ideas of what my powers were and how the hell I’m going to access them ran through my mind on my ride home. Usually, the 15 miles an hour of my URB-E didn’t bother me, but today I needed a rocket! Wait, I have super satanic powers, that  I - don’t - know - how - to - use. “Patience,” I told myself, I’ve got a lot to think about and fantasize about.

So this is the first time that Beth is seeing me with my new powers. She knew I was excited, but also warned me about going slow and keeping my satanic sorcery close to home and to not fuck with the neighbors (at least not yet). I stood there on our back patio ready to…I don’t know? Wave my magic wand? Point my finger with authority and intent? Use mind control? I started by thinking, WWSD - What Would Satan Do? Ah fuck it, how should I know? I’ve only had the job for a day, I don’t think I’m expected to know how to do it all by now. I decided to stop for now and go smoke a bowl of some fine Indica. 15 minutes later while laying on the bed with our dogs, I got it! Let go, detach, and relax your mind, then tell it what you want. Have two huge salads ready for Beth and I was what I thought on my way from the bedroom to the kitchen (all of about 30 ft.). By the time I stepped foot in the kitchen, Beth says uncontrollably, “WHERE THE FUCK DID THOSE COME FROM?” All I could do after looking at the beautiful salads on the table and turning my head to Beth was grin and wink ;-).

Over the munching and crunching of our scrumptious salads, we talked about how do I want to use these powers and do I want to go public with my new identity and keep in on the down-low. We both agreed that keeping it on the d-l would be the wisest and safest choice. I thought I’d start practicing locally, with my community - work, around town, and of course our neighbors. We love most of our neighbors, but there are some, let’s just say they could use a lesson or two about attitude and parking.

We live on a busy, main street that is our only place to park. The block is all apartments. Some of these neighbors own upwards of 4 or 5 cars and trucks! Not huge families, small families - parents and their two young kids, and couples. And, they don’t know how to park for shit - 3 feet from the curb, their back end sticking out, and parking in the middle of a spot that can fit 2 cars.

It’s a shame that there has been a rash of incidences of cars getting towed because they seemed to be parked in the middle of the street or on someone's lawn <insert evil grin here>.

Now, I know that part of the responsibility of being Satan is not just doing parlor tricks, so what else should I be doing with my newly acquired talents? The only one I can think of to ask is my predecessor, Satan #30. Before bed tonight, I took a long look at the tattoo I have on my left calf of Coop’s Satan that Beth and I got on our 10 year wedding anniversary. It was the first in a series of our tradition of getting a Halloween style tattoo each year to commemorate our years together. We were married on Halloween and love collecting tats, so this has become our anniversary gift to each other. Since #30 came to me like this version of Satan, I figured this would be a good way of focusing my energy on him before drifting off to sleep.

It worked. That floating, talking, cigar smoking little devil showed up ready to help. I found out later that part of your mitzvah (a good deed in Jewish belief) as a prior Satan is to assist the present torch bearer whenever they ask for it. My main question, aside from clarifying how to access these powers, was what is the best way to serve mankind (and not as a main course)? He reassured me that focus and a clear intent on what I want to create is the best way to access my powers, and to have fun with it (he forgot to mention that the first time we chatted). As far as how to be of service, his suggestion was to always think, how will this action benefit those involved? Even if my commandment is a form of tough love and is there to teach a lesson (as I did with the couple that wanted to enter the Huntington at 4:15 without paying), it must be for the highest good of all concerned. He also suggested I read the ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF HELL - An Invasion Manual For Demons Concerning the Planet Earth translated from the demonic by Martin Olson that was originally written by the O.S. (Original Satan). It gives some good insights into the truth behind Humankind.

I woke up refreshed and ready for my new job. After a nice cold shower, it was time to get to work. If my family is to be taken care of during my tenure, let’s start today. Our dogs, Sophie (a pit bull mix) and Sadie (a short-haired, low-riding Dachshund) are two knuckleheads that can be stubborn sometimes. I want them around as my Hellhounds for a long time, so they shall have perfect health, ticks and fleas can’t touch them, and they are perfectly obedient. All Beth and I have to do, is calmly tell them what to do, and it’s done - no fuss, no stress (for us or for them). I took them for a nice long walk. Even though I could now walk them without a leash knowing that nothing will happen without my consent, I didn’t want to break any laws. I put their collars and leashes on but had the leashes floating up as if I was holding them (kind of like the invisible dog trick with the wire in the leash). And I stopped picking up their poop piles. Now the canine logs of excrement instantly turn into the perfect fertilizer for the grass or plant it lands on. Happy dogs, happy daddy!

When Beth got home, we sat on the couch after dinner and discussed what she and I wanted in terms of our physical health and appearance. Obviously, we wanted perfect internal and mental health, but how do we want our bodies to improve. Beth wanted to slim up, clear skin and strength to do what she loves - hiking, skating, and exploring the World. I chose to only have a minute amount of body fat and more muscle definition along with the strength to keep up with Beth. To not attract too much attention, I’m having this transformation happen gradually yet quickly over a period of about 6 months, most people don’t notice anything odd about changes that take place over a slightly extended period of time, plus it will feel more natural that way. To not have to worry about vertigo, hearing loss, and erectile dysfunction, AWESOME!

There is one group that I’m involved with that I think might like to hear this news, the Los Angeles chapter of The Satanic Temple. I’ve been a member for about a year and a half and really love where their heart is. TST is doing a lot of work nationally for Freedom OF Religion and Free Speech, as well as the constant struggle to separate Church and State. The L.A. chapter has put on some fucking amazing Satanic Masses as fundraisers and as a way for people who feel like outsiders in society to come together and be accepted. I knew that they would understand the terms of the way I am to assist them, and that fact that we are going to have a hellaciously fun time doing it! To give you an example of what the Temple of Satan believes, here are the Seven Tenets we follow:

One should strive to act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures in accordance with reason.

The struggle for justice is an ongoing and necessary pursuit that should prevail over laws and institutions.

One’s body is inviolable, subject to one’s own will alone.

The freedoms of others should be respected, including the freedom to offend. To willfully and unjustly encroach upon the freedoms of another is to forgo one's own.

Beliefs should conform to our best scientific understanding of the world. We should take care never to distort scientific facts to fit our beliefs.

People are fallible. If we make a mistake, we should do our best to rectify it and remediate any harm that may have been caused.

Every tenet is a guiding principle designed to inspire nobility in action and thought. The spirit of compassion, wisdom, and justice should always prevail over the written or spoken word.

Quite a bunch of evil motherfuckers, huh? One of the things about TST that I love is the fact that they don’t worship the actual being known as Satan, they believe in what the literary character represents - freedom from oppression, knowledge, and fun, as opposed to the other literary character that so many sheeple blindly follow. Now they have the real deal, the definite article, the man-the myth-the legend - Me. How are they going to explain that? I’d suggest keeping this our little secret and have fun doing the good works that we do. They also use Satan and Satanism for shock value to demonstrate to not always judge a book by its cover - Satanist doing good in the World and believers in God doing horrible things in his name. Btw, Anton LaVey - poser.

I can’t help but fantasize even more about all the ways I can help people and right injustices without anyone knowing it was me. If I see someone being kind to another person, I might reward them by paying for his or her parking or picking up his or her tab at a restaurant anonymously. Maybe teachers who choose to teach the truth and not just the curriculum that they are told to teach and brainwash their students will be given the support that they deserve. I love to see children become curious and question why things are the way they are. Like training a dog with positive reinforcement, every time a kid helps another kid whom he or she doesn’t know well or stands up to a bully, they get an instant reward of some sort such as found money, a certificate of appreciation, or their favorite meal from their parents. If a driver steals a parking spot that someone else is waiting for, their car dies and has to be towed. My mind just goes on, and on, and on thinking of ways to be the best Satan I can be.

“Be all that you can be, become a Satanist!”

And just so no-one catches on, I’m going to do these type of things all over the World so it doesn’t look like wherever I am miracles happen. Am I starting to sound like a god or something? Maybe so, but I am Satan. Again, I love that fact that this demonstrates not to judge a book by its cover, that which we label as good or evil just might be the complete opposite. Positive chaos can be the perfect action to right wrongs and balance unsteady ground. What if people of different nationalities and economic levels came together and organized against tyranny and oppression? Hey, a Devil can dream can’t he?

There’s a trick I’ve always wanted to do. I saw it in the 1995 movie Powder about an Albino teenager with extrasensory perception and the ability to heal the sick. In one scene, the main character Powder is camping with a group of boys (I think it was the Boy Scouts or something like that) and their adult counselors when one of the boys shoots a deer with a hunting rifle. Deeply saddened by the event, Powder touches the dying animal with one hand and grabs the hand of one of the adults. What transpires is that Powder acted as a conduit so that the adult counselor could see and experience what the deer was going through as it takes its last breaths. It’s a true example of demonstrating empathy. I would love to experience someone acting like an asshole, insensitive, or being a racist dickhead and just shake their hand or touch their shoulder and have them feel what the person that they are picking on feels when they are treated that way (Seems like a very Jesus thing to do, maybe I’ll go easy on this one).

I’m not a sports fan, I believe that sports are another way for humans to stay divided, it’s that whole ‘us against them’ thing. But I do love wearing jersey’s, so I bought a hockey, football, baseball, and basketball jersey in my favorite colors - orange, black, and gray, with my name BERGER on the back and number 31 (get it?) on all of them. GO TEAM BERGER SATAN! Did I mention that I suck at playing sports? I grew up with asthma and couldn’t run, let alone play without wheezing and coughing my head off. I died inside during P.E. every time the coach would yell, “EVERYONE RUN A LAP!” Even now, I have no desire to jog, run, or chase a ball (I’ll leave that to my Hellhounds, Sophie and Sadie).

Entry 3 Date night with the Mrs., tonight we’re going to see DEADPOOL 2. We loved the first movie and have been looking forward to this sequel for a long time. As usual, we got there early enough to get some buttered popcorn and our seats before the 20 minutes of previews. We like to sit at the top of the theater in the back row if possible so we don’t have to listen to anyone talking or munching behind us during the movie. We found a couple of seats at the top on the left side, with no one sitting around us. The previews we’re okay, a few of them that I can never seem to remember when I leave the theater, I want to come back and see.

Just as the movie starts, these three Jugheads with enough candy and food to feed a small nation, sit down right in front of us. We look at each other with that knowing glance that a couple develops after being together for years. We silently decided to not say anything yet, to wait and see. Once they started feeding their faces they became a little bit quieter, since their mouths were full of junk food. But about halfway through the movie, the commentating and texting began. “Why the fuck didn’t he just kill the motherfucker?” “Dude, that's fucking stupid! He can’t be dead, and what’s with all this mushy love shit?” exclaimed two of them while the third kept texting with the clicking sound on his keyboard. That’s it, last straw, time to have some fun.

I had the scene in the movie stop, and Deadpool played by Ryan Reynolds breaks the fourth wall (in stage and film, that’s where the actor interacts directly with the audience), and addresses the three Jugheads. “HEY PEABRAINS, YEAH YOU, THE THREE STOOGES IN THE BACK WITH A SEVERE CASE OF THE MUNCHIES AND OPINIONS - SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I WILL COME OUT THERE AND TURN YOU INTO A SUB-HUMAN CENTIPEDE!” At first, everyone thought this was a joke and part of the movie, but this wasn’t a 3D movie and none of us were wearing 3D glasses either. When Deadpool reached out of the screen with both hands and his ‘avocado-had-sex-with-an-older-avocado’ face and came towards our noisy neighbors, at least two of them pissed their sagging pants and I think the third shit himself. They ran out of there embarrassed as hell holding their poop and pee stained pants hoping nobody sees or says anything to them. After clearing the air of stench and replacing it with a gentle floral fragrance, I allowed Mr. Deadpool to continue with his scene (only after Deadpool and all the theater attendees applauded the Jugheads departure). By the way, everyone at our screening of DEADPOOL 2 received a full refund and two free passes per person to come back to see another movie.

Entry 4 8:30 am. It's too early to listen to all the squawking going on in the trees around my post. From the sounds of it, you'd think I was in a rain forest and a predator was threatening the flocks. The only way I'm going to enjoy my coffee and start the day in a good mood is to quiet things down a bit. A little concentration and a mighty, "SHUSH!" and silence. Ahh, that's better.

I was reflecting today on people who rock the boat, specifically at their jobs. Maybe, the employees who challenge the system, question management, care about their jobs and speak up, are the smart ones and the ones to listen to. They see what’s really going on first hand (the boots in the trenches), and usually have very innovative solutions to these problems. The workers and management that play by all the rules, are calm and complacent all the time, and are just buying their time in hopes of a good pension to retire on, are the dangerous ones. The latter live in fear and would never rock the boat or go out on a limb, especially for their staff. The meek shall inherit the Earth if anyone would listen to them! Maybe now I can bend a few ears and make some changes.

I’ve got to stop listening to bands like Ministry on the way home, without trying I was hitting speeds upwards of 60 mph on my URB-E. Focus Scott and remember safety first.

Entry 5 I was thinking about the quote from the King James Bible, 1 Timothy 6:10, "For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” There has been a meme going around that states IF MONEY IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL, THEN WHY DOES THE CHURCH ALWAYS ASK FOR IT?. I found this to be a very good question. It sounds rather hypocritical to me - they preach the evils of the love of money, at the same time they keep asking you to donate it to the Church. I’ll bet that the Church's answer would be that they [the Church] are there to take the burden of the evils of money off of their parishioners. How fucking Christ-like of them.

Thank God Satan doesn’t have to ask for donations! I can’t see myself going door-to-door begging for change, “Hi, would you like to donate whatever you can to support your favorite arch-nemesis and fall-guy?” I’ve never liked the whole sales pitch thing. Even when organizations that I’ve been involved with called it ‘sharing your experience’ instead of what you are really doing which is selling goods and services, I was still hocking their wares. Isn’t Greed one of the 7 ‘deadly’ ‘sins’? Way to teach by example you cross-loving-self-righteous-robber-barons!

The Church asks for donations and tithing (giving 10% of your income), Jewish temples require payment to become a member, and Muslims are obligated to participate in a form of tithing called zakah. You can’t tell me that religion isn’t big business, this is a global money-making machine of ancient and epic proportions. Fuck the poor, praise the rich, and pray for trickle-down economics.

Entry 6 I woke up, made some deliciously strong Armenian coffee with smoked tea in the mix for an added flavor and caffeine fix, and started perusing Facebook. I started to feel discouraged by all the hate and religious rhetoric that is being vomited all over the internet these days. I hadn’t realized just how many people actually and wholeheartedly believe their chosen religion above common sense and logic. So here I am, the embodiment of ‘Evil’ on this planet, surrounded by a HUGE majority that believes that their chosen invisible god is the only one. I’m here to use my powers for good in the midst of this turmoil of political and religious power struggle which is purely manmade (kinda sounds like a comic book. I’m sure I can get Stan Lee to appear as a cameo in this nightmare of a reality, maybe as God himself and we can arm wrestle).

According to Wikipedia, Satan is an entity in the Abrahamic religions that seduces humans into sin. In Christianity and Islam, he is usually seen as a fallen angel, or a jinni, who used to possess great piety and beauty but rebelled against God, who nevertheless allows him temporary power over the fallen world and a host of demons. The Seducer, I like it! My thoughts on sin are that it is not negative, but merely human attributes. Seducing people to be the best self they can be (No, I am NOT plagiarizing the U.S. Army) sounds like a cool part of the job. Fallen Angel - well I am kind of a klutz, and I LOVE the term Host of Demons! I also like the name Satan because it only has two syllables. The Devil {3}, Lucifer {3}, Beelzebub {4}, they don’t slide off the tongue as Satan does.

I’m guessing that what I’ve been going through the last couple of days has been a ‘reflective time.’ It feels like I’m re-learning about myself all over again. I love the fact that part of the responsibility of being Satan is to keep yourself on the down-low, I call it Satanic Lowriding. The real magician behind the curtain, the master illusionist with a heart, the manipulator of mirth…Satan!

Entry 7 Sometimes I let the dogs poop in the house just so I have something to do that reminds me of the good ol’ days. They’re so well trained these days that it’s almost boring. Last night while walking them we passed a rather aggressive Chihuahua and it’s owner (is 'owner' not politically correct?), er, I mean person, that was so distracted by her cell phone that she didn’t even know her precious little pooch was acting like a terror. As we tried to pass, I had Sadie our Dachshunds eyes glow bright red and growl a low guttural rumble that meant, “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” The Chihuahua got the message loud and clear, it yelped and curled up in a ball like a pill bug. Its person was easy, I simply killed the power to her phone, and then telepathically called her an evil demon and said, “Pay attention, Satan is watching you!” Of course, she dropped her phone in horror and looked around frantically trying to figure out who did this. When she looked my way, and I turned to grin at her with glowing red eyes to see her reaction - priceless!

Entry 8 I find myself asking, “WWSD - What Would Satan Do?” The Satan, Numero Uno Satanas, the OS - Original Satan, and how did he come to be? Did he just *appear* after his mention in the bible, or was it more organic like he was struck by a meteor particle? That must have been scary the first time he found out he had supernatural powers, “GOD DAMN IT, WHO THREW THAT ROCK?” Did he get tripped by a vagrant and cursed him, “May your feet fall off at the ankle!” and they did. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall the first time Satan read the bible. I bet Satan himself started a lot of the rumors and stereotypes about ‘The Devil’ throughout the Centuries.

At work, I was sitting there watching people shuffling around trying to figure out how to navigate the map of the gardens and what they want to see first. As they passed by, depending on their reaction to my greeting, I might make them lose their voice for about an hour or make some small physical improvement such as clear up acne, or even cause their clothes to fit them perfectly as if tailored just for them. I had a tour group of Japanese people act very rude towards me so I made them all speak Swedish for the rest of the day (that made my day a lot brighter).  

I know I’m supposed to do good in the World, but I can’t help but think that Satan was the Original Prankster. Maybe it’s that image of the devil with that gleam in his eye and that wink that says, “I got your back kid, let’s have some fun!”  

Entry 9 Aside from just my dogs, I can communicate with the other species of the animal kingdom. Sitting outside on the back patio of our apartment I was watching a crow on a power line cawing to the other crows in the area. He was looking for his murder (a group of crows is called a murder) which he became separated from. He must have sensed that I was looking at him because he stopped, turned his head in my direction and cocked his head to one side as if to say, “You understand me.” I nodded my head in agreement and calmly said, “Come here, my friend.” He flew down and landed on the back of the patio chair caddy-corner to me. We just looked at each other for a few moments as if we were two old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. I broke the silence by asking him if he knew who I was, he nodded and bowed his head in what I guess was a show of respect.

So I am able to speak English to animals and they understand me, and I understand them telepathically. I’m a real Dr. Doolittle! My new feathered friend cawed that he will let his murder know that I am here and to be of assistance to me and my family in any way they can. I smiled and nodded in appreciation.

Entry 10 Independent’s Day here in the good ol’ U.S.A. One tradition that I never quite understood was the annual hot dog eating contests where participants try to eat as many hot dogs as possible in a limited amount of time. The most famous of these contests are sponsored by Natan’s Hot Dogs on Coney Island in New York. Of course, small towns and cities all over this Nation have their own local competitions to see who in their community is the most gluttonous. Being the prankster that I am, I thought it would be fun to attend one of these displays of face-stuffing fun and hedge my bets, so to speak. Monrovia CA was having theirs in the park of the local library in the center of town. There were 8 contestants ranging in age from 18 to 70, both men and women. I chose the 70-year-old man who looked like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Ebenezer Scrooge. When the whistle blew the competing eaters started ferociously chomping on the pile of meat sticks in front of them. They had 10 minutes to eat as many of the 50 hot dogs in their buns placed in front of them with only water to wash them down. Of course, the younger participants started off strong, but then, thanks to me, my man started sucking down dogs like an alcoholic in a beer drinking contest. It almost looked like he wasn’t even chewing them, effortlessly letting those wieners slide down his throat. He finished his plate of 50 in approximately 6 minutes and then started reaching over to the plate of the girl next to him and started eating hers! The crowd was on their feet and going berserk! Part of the thrill for me was watching to look on the old guy's face as he was devouring the dogs in this meat-fest. Being the kind-hearted Satan that I am I made sure that the winner and all of the contestants had no ill effects from their gorging. HAIL THE HOT DOG!

I imbibed a little too much and tried to impress Beth by shooting bottle rockets out of my ass and spelling I LOVE YOU in the night sky. Good night.

Entry 11 It dawned on me that if word was to get out that I indeed was Satan and had these powers, I would be hunted by every religious whack-job on the planet. The fact that they had a physical target to blame all of the Worlds problems on, as well as their own personal shortcomings, would make me Terrorist #1. (I would make Hitler, Pol Pot, and Trump look like amateurs!) I’m sure I would hear everything from, “Children are starving because of you!” to “You’re the one who keeps taking my job!” even “The weather sucks today ‘cause of you!" If I was to get caught by these whack-jobs would they string me up and hang me, making me the ultimate martyr like Jesus, or would the military want to use me for their own evil doings? Now I know why I should keep my ministry on the down-low.

Entry 12 It’s hot as Hell today - pun intended. Temps here in Southern California hit 122 degrees in some areas, wtf? When did we move to Death Valley? I have a confession to make, I may be Satan Incarnate, but I HATE hot weather! Unlike old people from the East Coast, I will not be retiring in Florida. I’d be quite content living out my final days in Alaska (sans Sarah Palin and her dysfunctional clan), Canada, or the Highlands of Scotland. But since I was home here in Pasadena and off work today, I set the temperature in our hotbox of an apartment to a comfortable 68 degrees, turned off the ac to conserve electricity, and stayed in with my demon-dogs. They love when Beth and/or I am home with them, especially when I conjure up a big bowl of shaved ice for each of them.

Since we live across the street from the only Jewish Temple in Pasadena, I like to have fun with those obnoxious ‘chosen people’ who think that they are holier than thou. Tonight is the Sabbath. According to Jewish religious law, from sundown on Friday night to sundown on Saturday night Jews are supposed to usher in the Sabbath, or Shabbat as they call it, by going to temple, lighting candles and praying. Every Friday night it is impossible to find a parking place in front of our apartment because the temple goers have parked their Mercedes and BMW's in every available spot on the street. So to test their faith and teach them a lesson, I sent the most savory smell of bacon, ham, and shrimps-on-the-barbie to permeate throughout the temple. I’ll bet that the Denny’s on Colorado Blvd. will be filled with Jewish families ordering Moons Over My Hammy with a side of bacon and fried shrimp. You’re welcome.

Entry 13 - 9:45pm I decided to have some fun tonight. On the east coast, it’s 3 hours ahead of us here in California which makes it about 12:45 am. I used my Satan Sense to hone in on VP Mike Pence and Attorney General Jeff Sessions to make sure these two faithful children of God are fast asleep. I then telepathically visited each of them in their bedrooms, waking them as I appear as their God Almighty complete with white hair and beard, white gown, and puffy white clouds surrounding me. “I AM ASHAMED AND DISAPPOINTED IN YOU MY SON!” I said in a deep, booming voice. “USING ME AS AN EXCUSE FOR YOUR FINANCIAL AND POLITICAL GAIN, DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT I DIDN’T EXIST AND COULDN’T HEAR ALL THE VILE LIES YOU TELL IN MY NAME?!? THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR SINNERS LIKE YOU!” Both of their wives also woke up, saw, and heard me alongside their chicken-shit hubbies so there were witnesses. Jeff Sessions actually peed his pajamas, while Mike Pence started sobbing and apologizing like a little kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Will it change their stance on policies? Maybe not, but it sure was fun!

Entry 14 A First Aid/CPR class might not be the kind of environment to play around with my powers, but this particular class needed a little levity. First of all the instructor was an egotistical stick-in-the-mud who has been teaching these training classes for way too long, it felt like he was phoning it in. I could tell that most of the other attendees were getting bored and frustrated, so I decided to lighten things up a bit. The instructor, I'll call him Joe, was going over how to approach a person (the CPR dummy) who is unresponsive. His dry example of how to get a response from the nonresponsive person was the perfect opportunity. Just as he was about to lean down and give the two breaths, I had eyes, that wasn't previously there, open and look right at him. The look on his face and the girlish squeal that uncontrollably blurted out of his mouth was priceless! And just as quick as the eyes appeared, they vanished with no trace of what he just saw. The whole class gasped in unison and then broke out in laughter. Needless to say, we were all sent on a break after that.

* I put the 'lo' in El Diablo (as in down-low).

Entry 15 All fun aside, there is a very real and present danger to society looming over the United States - Christianity. With Trump and his right-wing cronies in the Federal government, their push to bypass the Constitution and drive to make Christianity the official religion in the U.S., the need for the varied people of this country to come together and fight this fascism is critical if we want to halt another Holocaust of that scale and larger. Those in power (governments, religions, banks, etc.) have been using the Divide and Conquer method to keep us separated and fighting amongst ourselves for Centuries. They use everything from a Bipartisan System, to sports, and even how products and services are marketed. Almost everything is modern society is designed to divide us up into more factions. Even amongst the same groups such as race, gender and politics there is fighting and turmoil. They want to undo decades of legislation to protect 1st Amendment rights, freedom of religion, gay rights, as well as the right to assemble. As Satan #31, I feel a strong sense of duty to support this fight and protect as many people as possible. (Crap, this feels like the most daunting tasks I’ve ever had to do!) Secularism is threatened every day. There is a movement in the right-wing community called Project Blitz. Their goals are to inundate government on all levels with Christian ideals, promote Christianity in public schools, and flood society with Christian symbolism.

I think I’ll start by more actively supporting the efforts of The Satanic Temple financially to assist with their growing legal costs. Next, I think promoting the After School Satan program and Women’s Reproductive Rights campaign will be important causes to help spread locally and nationally. Free and critical thinking should be offered to every child regardless of economic class, culture, or gender. Women’s Rights are a given, women should be recognized, heard, and fairly compensated for their active roles in society. The more transparent this work, the more people will clearly see that these Satanists are kind, loving, and compassionate individuals.

Now it will be much easier to send mass mailings, emails, and text messages to politicians. THE PEOPLE WILL BE HEARD!

Entry 16 Today I donated a substantial amount of money anonymously and specifically to the Security Department where I work. I stated that I wanted all Security Officers to receive a 25% raise, permanent structures in the entrance pavilion to keep the officers that work there comfortable and protected from the elements, and free ice cream for all Security staff anytime they want. The only clue as to whom this contribution came from was a note attached that said, “From a concerned Member.” That ought to keep ’em guessing for a while <wink>.

While I’m still working there I perform little miracles when needed, such as making people with faux ‘Service Dogs’ feel guilty when they approach me trying enter or causing the make-up of a model to run horribly down her face when she tries to come in to do an unauthorized photo shoot. One day I heard a call on the radio that there was a photo shoot going on in the Chinese Garden so I sent a small murder of crows to dive-bomb them and disrupt their plans (now THOSE would be some awesome pictures!).

Entry 17 I just had an AH HA! moment. It’s time get back on the stand-up comedy stage and influence audiences to the truth about God, Satan, and religion (Oh yeah, among other things I’m a stand-up comedian). I can write comedy bits about God and Satan interacting with characterizations of God being mean and short-tempered and Satan being as polite as an English gentleman. This is going to be fun!

Entry 18 The 'doing good work in the World' is the easy part. The hard part is using restraint when the urge to be painfully vindictive creeps in. Sometimes people piss me off so much that I just want them to feel the wrath that their behavior creates. Oh, how fun and easy it would be to make somebody pay for his or her arrogance, aggression, and stupidity for the rest of his or her lives. I've been finding that doing good work doesn't mean laying down and letting the negativity of the World walk all over you but sometimes using uncomfortable acts to get people's attention and wake them up. For example, I would love to set those people on fire who say to me, "Oh, it's not that hot today!" while I'm sitting outside in the 100-degree heat under an umbrella that makes it feel like I’m in an oven. But I hold back, and simply kill the air-conditioning in their office (only for a day).

Entry 19 Today I found out what scares the Jeebus out of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Me. 10:00 am there’s a knock on the front door. After carefully peeking out the front window, I open the door looking like Tim Curry as The Devil in the movie LEGEND. Red face and body (ripped I might add), goat hooves, and huge black demon horns. As I spoke in a deep rumble, “Good morning ladies, how can I help you?” smoke drifted out of my nose and mouth. They hesitantly offered me a copy of The Watchtower, which burst into flames and ashes the moment it touched my hand. That was all these Jehovah-Loving-Witnesses could take! As they turned to run away, they tripped and started crawling over one another to get away. I guess their faith wasn’t very strong. At least they didn’t piss themselves as A.G. Jeff Sessions did.

Entry 20 I remember once when I was in my twenties, I was assisting in a personal growth seminar - Insight Transformational Seminars. I witnessed a woman go through what they called Crabbing. Crabbing is when a person is going through a great deal of emotional release and their hands contort and stiffen-up like a crabs claws.

I can only equate when parishioners of televangelists go into those spastic fits claiming that the Holy Spirit is working through them, to Crabbing. It’s all in their minds and emotions, there is nothing spiritual about it. When believers claim to be possessed by demons and one of these flamboyantly Christian preachers ‘exercise’ the evil out of them, well that’s just bad acting.

My dear reader, you have probably guessed that I would treat them to a real possession at this point. Yes, but not the way you might think. I was watching the popular faith healer and televangelist Benny Hinn on television and he was going through his usual paces of knocking down the congregation with the wave of his jacket, er, I mean the Holy Spirit, when this one man claimed to be inhabited by an evil spirit that made him growl and bark like a dog as he rabidly showed his fangs (teeth). Just as Benny Hinn was beginning to ‘exercise’ this poor lost soul, I possessed Mr. Hinn. “THIS IS ALL FAKE YOU IDIOTS!” I exclaimed. “THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE DEVIL. I JUST WANT YOUR MONEY, AND STOP BARKING AT ME!” The ‘possessed’ man in front of me/Hinn and everyone in the television studio/church froze in silence. When I exited Mr. Hinn’s body I felt slimy like a snail. Of course, when Hinn regained consciousness he didn’t remember what just happened. The uncomfortable silence seemed to last an eternity until one of Hinn’s assistants whispered in his ear what just took place. Immediately the faux healer spoke up and assured the audience that there truly is a Devil and that it is more important than ever to $upport the Church. Sometimes you just can’t fix stupid. As for me, I need a shower!

Entry 21 I am offended that some people are comparing Donald J. Trump, the 45th President of the United States, the WORST President of the United States EVER, to the Antichrist. That idea lowers the bar way too much and gives this pee-brain moron extremely too much credit. The Angel that man has created to fall from the grace of their God in Heaven, the true Ruler of this physical realm (Satan), is in no way related to this pompous asshat! Cheeto-head also gives puppets all over the World a bad name. If Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd, Lambchop, and Madame were here today, they’d be on the front lines protesting this ignorant poser. As Satan #31 in these troubled times, I’ve got my work cut out for me. With the internet, social media, and international spy’s mucking up information to the public, getting people to think for themselves and take better care of each other is going to be a quite a challenge, to say the least.

Entry 22 Just got my 6 6 6 morale patches in the mail! I’m a Beast, Baby!

Entry 23 So rock music is The Devil’s music, well DUH! Who has had the tastiest licks, best beats, and most heartfelt lyrics? A: The Devil’s music. Music began as a rhythmic form of communication. Drumming, dancing, and chanting were all primal ways of expressing emotions and stories; both joyous and tragic. This level of vibration came from the Earth, from humans, from Satan. God and his heavenly hymns are lofty and boring. I love all the controversy about rock musicians worshipping Satan, selling their souls, and making teenagers take drugs and kill people. I’m actually kind of flattered to be worshipped for my music, but the selling of souls is waaaaay out of left field. Maybe some poser of a record exec. was playing God by requiring bands to sell themselves out to his label, but I have yet to come across any ancient or recent purchased souls in my Satanic studies. Teenagers taking drugs and killing because of some richly theatrical rock band and their deeply poetic lyrics? Maybe a closer investigation into the kids home life and relationship with his/her parents and their beliefs would give more clues as to the behavior of their gothic little angel.

You see, none of it is real, NONE OF IT. It’s all illusion, a stage show, a prop. The ‘good’ - church/temple/mosque, morals, the saviors, the good-guy-in-white, and the ‘evil’ - Satanism, paganism, horror movies, rock concerts - all fake. Humans over the centuries have given these things power by labeling them as good or evil, usually to use extortion to control the masses. Often times if you look closer, you’ll see that it is evil and corruption in the good, and goodness and kindness in the evil (ie. Satan here to do good in the World). I know that this pisses off the religious-right to no end because they think that EVERYTHING has come from God. God doesn’t exist, man has created the doctrines that generation after generation has blindly followed. You’re welcome.

Entry 24 Looking at the triplex we live in, I decided we needed some upgrades. First I talked to Beth and our neighbors about me doing some upgrades to the property such as the landscaping and painting the place as well as little repairs here and there. They were all okay with it. The only one who knows how I’m really going to do it is Beth, the rest I’ll have to make it look like I’m doing the work (it’ll just get done a bit faster than usual). Second, I contacted the owner, Barbara. Barbara is an elderly wealthy widow who lives in Santa Barbara (how ironic). This property is basically a tax right off. She hates to put money into this property and only comes to see the place every few years to do a quick inspection and then raises our rent. I informed her that I will be happy to take excellent care of the building and grounds if she would cut all the units rent in half. She was aghast at first and wrote me off as a big joke. I told her to come to see her property in one month, and if she’s not impressed the deal is off. But, is she likes the improvements I’ve made we have a deal. She agreed, probably thinking that she just got some free work done on the apartment complex she owns.

The first thing I did was replace all the pipes with brand new, larger copper ones. Now none of us will have clogged and backed up sinks and toilets again, and we’ll have great water pressure. Next, I fixed all of the electrical panels with more wattage and fixed all of the outside safety and patio lights, and then added some solar panels on the roof to lighten our energy costs. For the outside, I had all the bushes and plants trimmed and healthy in our new drought-tolerant landscaping. The final touch was painting the building. I chose an earthy brown with a sage green trim, very California (faux) Craftsman. Just to make it look like I was working I’d put a few ladders, drop-cloths, and paint cans lying around and did the whole thing in about a week (so it didn’t look too magical).

The day of Barbara’s inspection. The look of shock and then odd approval was priceless. I simply explained to her that I had the time and experience to do this kind of work and since all of her tenants have been long-term renters, including us, and weren’t planning on moving any time soon, I wanted to make our apartments the most comfortable and pleasant as they can be. I had a document drawn up putting this agreement in writing which she signed without hesitation. Home is where the heart is.

Entry 25 Sometimes I like to badger Christians on Facebook that post things about thanking God for their good fortune or sending thoughts and prayers. I will pose the question, what if God had nothing to do with it and those things happened simply because they happened? Their righteous comments usually are full of, “God gave us free will” “It’s part of God’s plan” or “God has promised us our place with him in Heaven for believing and loving him.” The more I bring logic into the conversation, the more they sound like a broken record (for those of you who don’t remember vinyl records, when they got damaged or scratched the needle would get stuck on that part of the song and keep repeating), but God, but God, but God, but God, but God, but God… I figure if I keep mentioning logical things, maybe some of it will seep past their brainwashing into their subconscious and plant a seed of free thinking in that skull of theirs.

Time to get off the computer, go outside, and help a little old lady across the street.

Entry 26 Bad parenting lesson of the day - keep an eye on your children at all times. After witnessing countless parents stroll along casually as their little angels run far ahead of Mommy and Daddy, I thought a lesson in parenting was in order. Just to be clear - no parents were harmed during this eye-opening experience.

<In my best Rod Serling voice>Two young boys, about 5 year's old racing each other a good 40 feet ahead of their parents on a crowded walkway. As they approach me, I wave to them with a hello gesture and *POOF*, they're gone! Not really gone, just invisible. Physically they are there, you just can't see them. I can tell that the boys themselves were having fun with not being seen, playing tag and sneaking around people. Just to add to the mystique of their disappearance I made them silent. Not only could you not hear their voices, but you couldn't hear their movements either. Of course, I was able to see and hear them.

By the time the parents of these two little ghosts reached me, I can tell that they still have no clue where their boys are, moms eyes were glued to her cell phone playing Pokemon Go and dad was taking pictures. I motioned for the boys to come over to me. I instructed them to follow their parents for as long as they can until they stop and wonder where you are. At that point, I suggested that they give them a little scare, nothing too crazy, we don’t want to give them a heart attack.  Their screams will be my cue to make them visible again. I hope those parents learned their lesson!

Entry 27 Oh, thank Heaven, for entry twenty-seven. I’ve always wanted to have one of those Candid Camera types of shows where you do something or set up a scene to watch peoples reactions. Now I can do it anytime I like. I love being out in public, such as at a farmers market, a bar, or a restaurant. As I walk past people, I would say, “Hello, I am Satan” in their native tongue. It’s always more fun when my target is wearing a cross or some kind of religious pendant. I love doing this to cultures that are very religious - Spanish, Italian, and French are fun, but the best is saying it in Latin. I walked past a superfluity of nuns on the street the other day, I made eye contact with one of the nuns, grinned as wide as I can, and said, “Salve, Satanas sum,” then I winked and blew her a kiss. The look of horror on the other nuns was priceless, the beautifully embarrassed blush of the one I had my sights on floored me! HAIL SATAN!

Do you want to have some fun? Here are a few that you could try out yourself!

Hola, soy Satanás (Spanish)

Bonjour, Je Suis Satan (French)

Hallo, ich bin Satan (German)

Ciao, sono Satana (Italian)

Salve, Satanas sum (Latin)

Usually, once the person looks at me inquisitively and possibly asks me what I just said, I just look dumbfounded and say, “I didn’t say anything” in perfect English.

Entry 28 I've noticed a lot of pop-up churches around town lately. Signs for church gatherings and services at other established churches. For example, I saw signs for a Presbyterian Church service in front of a Korean Church. They must be renting the church for their own congregation. My question is this, how many god-damn churches do believers need? And there are new ones popping up all the time - The Calling Church, Cenacle of Faith, TLC Church, but my favorite church is the Jews for Jesus. To the J of J, I say, "Make up your fucking mind!" Is the United States government just handing out tax-exempt status like candy on Halloween to anyone who claims to be a Church?

For shits and giggles, I had bumper stickers made that say, "SATAN LOVES YOU MORE" and I take selfies with it in front of any house of worship that I come across. This was inspired by countering the JESUS LOVES YOU signs that religious fanatics carry around in public. I now have a HUGE gallery of these pics. Maybe I should make a coffee table book of them and sell them, then donate the money to organizations like the Planetary Society and the Freedom From Religion Foundation.

Entry 29 I’m a huge star on YouTube, and nobody knows it. All of those videos of cars speeding down a street and suddenly get into an accident with what appears to be nothing - that was me. Putting invisible barriers in front of speeding cars is easy. Any video with an animal painting or drawing, me. All the paranormal shows and ghost hunters that experience garbled voices, cold spots, and an electromagnetic entity, yours truly. I love video editing, the way I do it.

Entry 30 My favorite saying these days, “It’s hot as Hades!”

Entry 31 Just for fun, I posted a photoshopped picture of a King James Holy Bible in a barbecue on fire. My Atheist friends thought it was funny, but I had some folks take quite an offense to it. I get it, burning a bible is akin to burning the America flag, two extremely revered objects that people kill in the name of. Would those offended feel better if I burned a copy LeVey's THE SATANIC BIBLE? I did it to make a point - they are just objects, physical things and nothing more. The value of these items is given to them by humans. I could take a 2 X 4 of wood and say that it is the most precious hunk of a tree on the planet and if I get enough people to believe me, then I have a sacred item - The Holy Post of Satan! If you burn my Holy Post, well, then you'll have kindling. If Jesus' bloody body hanging nailed to a wooden cross could be considered sacred, then so can my 2 X 4.

Entry 32 I wonder how many other Satans there have been, and what did they do? I feel like a new regeneration of Dr. Who but as Satan. This would be a fun trivia game that I could play by myself - look at world events over the Centuries and see if I can spot the ones that were facilitated by Satan. The Roman Empire? World War 1 or 2? Did Satan #30 leave me to deal with Donald Trump?!? (Satan never gives you anything you can’t handle)

Entry 33 San Diego Comic-Con International is the largest multi-genre entertainment and comic convention in the World, and a [relatively] safe environment for someone with actual superhero/super-villain powers to strut his stuff. Since getting in shape via the Satanic method meant that I could wear any lycra costume and look awesome. I chose instead, to go with the open shirt look of, wait for it…HELLBOY! Too obvious? Actually, it’s the perfect cover. When I make lasers actually shoot from a Stormtroopers gun, or make a kid dressed as Superman fly, they’ll never suspect HELLBOY.

I did it up right, morphed myself to look just like the Ron Perlman make-up from the movie, complete with oversized stone right hand and cigar (I love smoking cigars). I even smelled like roasted peanuts (hardcore fans will understand this). Personally, I chose this character because it just felt right.

Of course, Beth joined me, her hero of choice - Carol The Bowler from MYSTERY MEN. She looked great! She wore Dr. Marten’s, black jeans, the exact same jacket with the same patches on it, nail polish, dark eyeliner, dyed green hair, and without missing a detail - the enchanted skull bowling ball. Yes, I hexed her bowling ball prop so that she had power over it.

This was our first time attending ComicCon. It’s true, this convention has gotten huge and is mostly the entertainment industry buying and selling their next (they hope) billion dollar franchise. Regardless, the costumes of the Con-goers and hardcore fans are amazing! From toddlers dressed as the ‘mini-me’ of their parents' characters to the elderly wearing skimpy costumes that they probably shouldn’t be wearing, everybody looks fantastic and has fun posing with each other for friends and the media. One of my favorite groups that were there were the folks from Magic Wheelchair. They custom design motorized wheelchairs for kids with mobility issues. They do everything from an X-Wing Fighter from Star Wars to a Unicorn Princess, to a dragon or even a pirate ship, and they are all built by volunteers. The look on the kids' faces in their matching costumes was priceless (I’m such a big softy of a nerd).

Beth had everyone amazed at how she was able to make her bowling ball fly and control it. She was having fun flying the ball directly behind someone’s head and making it hover there like a balloon. When the unsuspecting character turned around, usually after someone near them told them to look behind them, they’d find themselves face-to-face with Carmine The Bowlers grinning skull. There were more than a few macho superheroes squeal like a little girl when confronted by his boney grin.

I kind of stood out also because I made myself 6’ 6.6” tall (Corny, huh?). I had the accent and dialect down pat. Some people started to think that I was Ron Perlman making a surprise appearance, even some of the event coordinators were on their cell phones trying to figure out who I was. One of my favorite things I did was to make people act in different ways as if they were hypnotized. I might have a guy dressed as Aquaman hiss and meows like a cat, or a Catwoman bark like a dog. I freaked out a kid dressed as Shazam!, when he started acting like the character trying to figure out how to fly, I made him levitate and then fly over the heads of spectators before gracefully landing in the same spot. (Speaking of Aquaman, I think I’ve got a man-crush on Jason Momoa) When I came upon the three guys wearing the Kim Jong-un, Donald Trump, and Vladimir Putin masks I couldn’t resist. I walked up behind them as they were dancing in front of a crowd and loudly exclaimed, “Well well well, what have we got here? The 3 Stooges!” I scared the holy dictator-shit out of them! “Kimmie, go suck a nuke. Don, ‘YOUR FIRED!’ And Pooty-Poot, stay out of our business!” The crowd went fucking wild! I love comic book geeks.

Entry 34 As often as I can, I like to go into a mixed neighborhood and wander the streets. Whenever I come across people, I like to just say hi, maybe ask them a question, and then shake their hand or pat them on the shoulder. Then when I do that to another person, I give them the power to experience some of what that last person I touched thinks and feels. You might say I’m sowing the seeds of empathy and understanding. No expectations, just spreading awareness in a friendly, social way. Imagine what could happen if in some of the poorer neighborhoods around Los Angeles the Latins, Blacks, Asians, Armenians, etc. start getting along and agreeing on things - shit’s gonna change real fast!

Whenever I travel anywhere I do this. I hope this awakening goes viral!

"He say I know you, you know me One thing I can tell you is You got to be free Come together, right now Over me” ~The Beatles

Entry 35 Welcome to Hell. I have found it, and we are all living in it. Yes, it is right here, our lives on planet Earth. Religion has convinced people for centuries that there is a firey place of hellfire and damnation that you will be sent to after you die if you have sinned while you were alive. Of course in some religions such as Christianity, there's always that loophole, or as I call it your 'get out of Hell free card.' Confess your 'sins' to a priest or donate a buttload of money to the Church and *POOF* magically you are saved! It's the oldest plot line in history - good vs. evil. There is always a hero and a villain, with their minions of angels and demons to do their bidding. This story of good/bad has been used primarily to control the masses. If you behave yourself, follow the scriptures of the religion you were brought up to believe, and don't question those in power, you'll go to Heaven. But if you think for yourself, question authority and choose to sin without asking for forgiveness from their savior, you're on your way to an afterlife of eternal pain, torture, and the repetition of your sinful ways (actually that last one doesn't seem too bad).

This existence we call life is either going to be our own personal Heaven or Hell. If you feel good about how your life is going, you could say life is like Heaven and you feel blessed. If you experience stress, depression, or anxiety due to the present state of the World at large, you are in your own personal Hell on Earth. What we, even Satan myself, choose to focus on will be how we judge whether we are living in Heaven or Hell. Don't get me wrong, I love the theatrics of Death Metal and Satanic Masses, but that's all they are - theater, entertainment, with lots of smoke and mirrors. The evangelicals love the drama as well, miracles and faith healing are two of their favorite things they use to exploit believers. Most religions use the image of Dante's Divine Comedy to scare followers into believing their rhetoric, which I find very comedic. I do love how organized Hell is. There are 9 levels called Circles of Hell. Depending on what your sin was, you are sent to the appropriate Circle. Lesser violations are sent to the upper Circles, while the hardcore sinners are sent all the way down towards #9. And then there is also Purgatory, which is a kind of 51/50 (72-hour hold) of purification before being allowed to enter Heaven. It seems like a lot of politics to me.

Entry 36 Part of the work that I do as Shaitan (word for Satan from the Quran) is challenging the stereotype of being the ultimate scapegoat for everything judged as bad. This act of not taking responsibility for one's own actions has been around as long as the good vs. evil plot line. It’s easy for people to pass-the-buck onto The Devil when things don’t go right or tragedy strikes. Geraldine Jones what famous for saying, “The Devil made me do it!” If this was true, I would have quite an impressive resume to brag about.

I love changing signs and billboards that blame The Dark One into blaming God’s Wrath. I saw a sign that read

GO TO CHURCH Or the DEVIL Will Get You!

So I fixed it. Now it reads

GO TO CHURCH Or God’s Wrath Will Get You!

Here’s a billboard that I saw

SHARIA LAW THREATENS AMERICA by UnitedAmericaCommittee.org

So I changed it to

GOD’S WRATHTHREATENS AMERICA by God.com

Do they want to play the fear game? I can play the fear game!

It has always seemed to me that when God doesn’t get his way or his followers don’t abide by his rules he punishes them, ie. the story of Noah’s Ark and the big flood. Satan doesn’t demand humanity to be loyal to him, he wants people to learn, think for themselves, and enjoy life. The people who invented God use fear and power to control their flocks, while Satan sings, "Come on people now, Smile on your brother, Everybody get together, Try to love one another, Right now” by The Youngbloods. Yes, it’s true, Satan is just a big ol’ music lovin’ mush bug.

Entry 37 My favorite actor to play The Devil on television is Ray Wise from the show REAPER. His mature, suave, and sexy look and demeanor was what I would want to be like if I was The Devil. Well, here I am, not exactly the Satan I thought I’d be. But it’s okay, I’m happy with how I look and my unique style. Again, like Dr. Who, each Doctor had his own unique style. I guess that goes for Satan as well. For a favorite movie actor as Satan, I would have to say Al Pacino in DEVIL’S ADVOCATE.

John Milton: Who are you carrying all those bricks for anyway?

God? Is that it? God?

 Well, I tell ya, let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch.  He’s a prankster.  Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement, his own private cosmic gag reel, he sets the rules in opposition.

It’s the goof of all time. Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, don’t swallow.*laughter*

And while you’re jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing? He’s laughing his sick, fucking ass off. He’s a tight-ass. He’s a sadist. He’s an absentee landlord. Worship that? Never! Kevin Lomax: Better reign in hell than to serve in heaven, is that it? John Milton: Why not? I’m here on the ground with my nose in it since the whole thing began! I’ve nurtured every sensation man has been inspired to have! I cared about what he wanted and I never judged him. Why? Because I never rejected him, in spite of all his imperfections! I’m a fan of man! I’m a humanist. Maybe the last humanist. Who, in their right mind, Kevin, could possibly deny the 20th century was entirely mine? All of it, Kevin! All of it!Mine! I’m peaking, Kevin. It’s my time now. It’s our time.

Entry 38 I’m finding that even in Satanism there is angst and fighting between sects. It’s sad when even groups that truly want to do good in the world are corrupted by greed and power. Too many rules and doctrines end up working against the organization that is implementing them (see The Catholic Church). Here is another example of how the trickle-down effect doesn’t work. The people who occupy the upper-echelon want to stay at the top. Giving it away may sound Saintly, but I guarantee they would rather continue their comfortable, lush lifestyle than live like the majority of society. To soothe their guilty conscious, they donate scraps of money to charities that they deduct on their taxes.

If I become aware of this kind of selfish behavior, I like to make their generous ‘contribution’ check bounce, or their wire transfer fail. Not that I want to keep support from these charities, I would just rather them come from a more honest source, such as me.

Entry 39 Amorphophallus Titanum, aka The Corpse Flower. n. Latin: amorphos (without form, misshapen), phallos (penis), and titanum (giant). The flower gets its nickname from the pungent odor similar to rotting meat or a decaying corpse.

Lil’ Stinky as we call it at the Garden is quite popular when it blooms, which seems to happen anytime within an approximate 4 to 20 year period depending on the environment and conditions. The gardens become a media circus, and people waiting with bated breath to see and smell this natural wonder.

Just last week ol’ Stinky started to open, so the folks in the Botanical Department put it out on display and alerted the media. The biggest question of the week has been, “Has it bloomed yet?” When it does, hordes stand in line for hours to get a picture and a nauseating whiff of this infamous smelly penis flower.

I decided to take this display of [morbid] botanical beauty to the next level. I waited until Saturday to begin the facilitating process, since there will be more visitors, and there also happens to be a Members Summer Concert that night as well. Not only did Lil’ Stinky open, but grew to a size of over 20 feet in a matter of hours. Along with the size increasing exponentially, the odor intensified tenfold! Breathing inside the conservatory where it is housed and displayed, was almost impossible. About 1 in every 3 people lost-their-lunch, which just added to the death-like stench. They actually had to close down the viewing in order to clean up the mess and get some fresh air in there.

And, it was I that called the good folks at The Guinness Book of World Records. You’re welcome.

Entry 40 Often throughout my life, I’ve felt that one of my roles as this character I call me has been to act as a catalyst for change. Not necessarily earth-shaking events, but a change in policy, thoughts, or relationships. Many times when I’ve been involved in an organization, whether as an employee or a volunteer, major shifts take place during my stint with them. Sometimes it has manifested as a physical move to a different location or a change in policies. Roles and relationships change. I’m not saying that (up until now) I have consciously been making these shifts happen, but in hindsight, there has definitely been a pattern.

With the influence I have as Satan, this trend will continue, but more intentionally. Lately, I’ve been going to jails and prisons as a volunteer to simply talk to inmates and give them a chance to interact with someone other than fellow inmates and guards. Many of them don’t have friends, family, or a spouse to visit them. By being a neutral sounding board for them who doesn’t judge them is a great gesture in and of itself. I assist them a bit further by clearing their consciousness a bit more about life and the choices that they have made and why they are there. Sometimes this extra assistance bleeds over to some of the others incarcerated as well as some of the guards (oops, my bad).

Personally, I would love to see all of these for-profit prisons to go out of business. The less innocent people and low-offense (such as marijuana and drug abuse) folks are locked up, the more people in society to make positive changes in the world. Crooked politicians who are invested in these human money machines will be financially pinched hard by the loss of their inhumane investment.

Entry 41 God of the Bible (Old and New Testament) judges and punishes man, Satan accepts and supports Man in his efforts to enjoy and thrive in life. Just the simple fact that God is nothing more than a concept of man’s construct mostly used to control the masses, and Satan has been a tangible force doing good in the world says a lot. We are actually living in, as best as I can describe it, a reality that is more like the Upside Down from the series Stranger Things than we think. Here, people believe that God is good, Devil is bad. Yet there has always been more harm done in the name of God than anything that the Satanic Panic has ever yielded. Crucifixion, the Crusades, and the Republican Party are good examples of this. Whereas Witches, Pagans, and Satanists have been blamed for everything from bad crops to Smallpox, to the weather. Pills are good for you, but a plant is a drug. Priests are not Pedophiles, but Heavy Metal music makes kids kill. Trump is smart, while the press is fake news. Actors make good politicians, while kids who survive school shootings are called Crisis Actors. White is the new Black, and Brown is the new bad guy.

Don’t blindly believe everything that you’ve been taught your whole life. Do some research. Allow yourself the opportunity to see things through someone else’s eyes. Ask yourself, “What if what I know about something is the complete opposite?” What if Hell was a spa, and Heaven was a desolate, frozen and dead landscape? Be careful of labels.

Entry 42 Lettuce Prey. A favorite meme of many a Satanist on social media. There is a growing movement of Atheists and other secular groups that are attacking the concept of prayer to fix things such as natural disasters and ill-health. I just watched a satirical video about praying the gay away.

pray: verb - address a solemn request or expression of thanks to a deity or other object of worship.

Expecting an invisible being to adhere to your requests because you believe in them is as naive and childish as thinking that the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are real. I’ve heard God described as not being ‘the Great Bellhop in the sky.’ Humankind has always seemed to place its faith in events and changes outside of itself.

So my question is this, what about the myths of people selling their souls to the Devil in exchange for talent, wealth, and power? Blues guitarist Robert Johnson supposedly met the Devil at the crossroads and sold his soul in exchange for being a virtuoso on the guitar, and thus made him a blues legend. I’m beginning to think that it really was The Devil that granted Mr. Johnson his extraordinary talents, as far as the soul-selling thing, I don’t know. If it’s true that humans souls are only their emotional reaction to things such as music, and that there is no otherworldly destination called Hell, maybe the Satan at that time was playing along with the whole Heaven and Hell story to bestow those talents to Robert Johnson simply because Satan loves the Blues.

I personally think the theatrics of pleading your case to The Devil and signing a contract with too much fine print, in blood, is very entertaining. Does it mean anything? Hell no! Plus, it would put you, as Satan, directly in the spotlight and might undermine your work to do good in the world.

Entry 43 I heard from Satan #30 last night in my dreams. He came through in the middle of a pee-dream (a dream that has some urgency to it in hopes of waking you up to go to the bathroom) where I was frantically trying to get somewhere on my URB-E but could never quite make it. There he was, at every stop that I thought had a bathroom. He was just checking on me to see if I had any questions or needed any assistance. I actually said, “Where the fuck is a bathroom around here?!?” He replied, “Down the hall on the right.” After acknowledging his answer with gratitude, the only thing I wanted to know was, am I doing it right? Was I doing enough with these Satanic powers? Should I kick it up a notch? Do I look good in red? He reassured me that I was doing great and reminded me to continue to have fun with this ‘work,’ actions speak louder than words, and [almost] always use caution. He then vanished, leaving me with a full bladder and a comforted mind.

Fully awake, standing over the toilet relieving myself and smiling. Today is going to be a delicious day!

Entry 44 "Now his holiest books have been trampled upon No contract that he signed was worth that what it was written on He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health He's the neighborhood bully.

What's anybody indebted to him for? Nothing, they say. He just likes to cause war Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed  They wait for this bully like a dog waits for feed He's the neighborhood bully.

What has he done to wear so many scars? Does he change the course of rivers? Does he pollute the moon and stars? Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill  Running out the clock, time standing still Neighborhood bully."

I love the lyrics to many of Bob Dylan's songs, especially Neighborhood Bully on his INFIDELS album. These are the last three verses of the song. I can't help but wonder whom Dylan was thinking of as the neighborhood bully in this song, Satan? Is Satan really such a bad guy, or has he just been labeled as the Neighborhood Bully of the World?

~

Yesterday Beth expressed to me that I don't look like The Dark Lord and I agreed, I look more like Gimli from the Lord of the Rings with a farmers tan, the only things dark on me are my arms and face.

Entry 45 This entry I dedicate to the 45th President of the United States, no really, this is the best dedication. I know dedications, I've dedicated billions and billions of dedications for many many years. I got good dedications. I am the best dedicator ever.

Just kidding! That bloated-orange headed-fast food chomping-megalomaniac who is being referred to as the evilest man on the planet is giving Satan a bad name! Maybe another nickname such as Purgatory Pete, or Donald the Damned, or simply Scum of the Earth might fit him better.

I did give him food poisoning from one of his two Big Macs, and both of his Filet-o-Fish sandwiches (this is only one meal), 3 out of 4, I was feeling generous.

Entry 46 Thanks to centuries of religious doctrines, the vast majority of people on this planet are lemmings, blindly believing anything that their holy men, politicians, and advertisers tell them. They have been trained to obey, spend more money than they have (aka credit and loans), and feel overly righteous about their culture. How does one motivate folks to think for themselves and put their differences aside?

I could help promote Dan Barker’s book - GOD The Most Unpleasant Character In All Fiction. Mr. Barker basically uncovers and highlights the vast number of times GOD is jealous, petty, unjust; an unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously, and a malevolent bully in the Old Testament. This ought to open their eyes and get someone’s panties in a bunch.

After finding out in the news that Howard Lorber, the Executive Chairman of Nathan’t Famous Inc. (the makers of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs) was hosting a fundraiser in the Hamptons for President Trump, I thought that tainting the production of some all-America hot dogs would be a good place to start to add fuel to this fire. Choke on it, Mr. Lorber! (Hmmm, I seem to be feeling rather wrathful lately)

Entry 47 And on His 6th and 7th days, Satan rested, because those were His days off from his day job. Not that I didn’t do any good deeds, I just chill-out the most on those days; smoke pot, do a bit of cleaning around the house, fix potholes in the street we live on, smoke some more pot, nap with the dogs, cook dinner, and wipe the sweat off of my brow.

Just thought of an awesome slogan to fit-in with today's generation - SATAN IS MY SUPERHERO. Maybe we’ll start with bumper stickers, then t-shirts, hats, and capes!

Entry 48 This is going to sound odd, but as of late I have decided to not continue as a member of The Satanic Temple. Wait, Satan doesn’t want to be a member of The SATANIC Temple??? Yes, it’s true. I found out that there was a power struggle going on between the higher-up and the local chapters, so following many other Satanists, I quit. Like the rest of TST expats, I still believe in their mission and the 7 tenets, but being a part of this organization is not working for me if you get my drift (Now THERE’S a statement that shows my age!).

I’ve learned about myself that I don’t seem to last very long in an organization.  I’m kind of a lone wolf in a way. I also tend to become a catalyst for change wherever I am. Just recently I have accepted this fact as well as fully embrace it.

Entry 49 If I ever start my own metal band, I’ve got the perfect name: SEB - Satan’s Eternal Benevolence (How’s that for getting personal?!?). I’ll be the lead singer, maybe I can get Robert Trujillo (Metallica) to play bass, Kerry King (Slayer) and John 5 (Rob Zombie) on guitars, and my cousin Rod Morgenstein (Dixie Dregs, Winger) and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters) on drums. Oh sweet the sound. Our first single - Satan Loves You More is a counter-attack to the signs, Jesus loves you, that believers like to carry around.

Entry 50 Captains Log - August 20, 2018: I’ve seen more SATAN LOVES YOU MORE stickers all around town from Pasadena to Downtown Los Angeles, the San Fernando Valley, and all the way down to Redondo Beach. Your boy gets around! Almost like a subliminal message planting a seed in their subconscious, I’m letting them know that I am there for them.

Mikey ‘The Good Christian’ Pence has been spouting off lately again. He’s still pushing for creationism to be taught in public schools, wants the government to pay for gay conversion therapy, and hinted that condoms are ‘too modern’ and ‘too liberal.’ I guess my last visit as his Almighty God didn’t get through to him, time for a more direct approach. From now on, every time Mikey mentions God, the Bible, or utters the word Christian his ass from his tight little butthole, to his cheeks, and around to his tiny little pee pee will burn like the fires of Hell that he is so damn afraid of. I guess you could say he’ll be a real Royal Flush. He’ll look like the poster boy for Red Devil Fireworks. Matadores will yell OLE! and bulls will want to gouge him with their horns. Latin Americans will call him El Diablo (Wait, I take offense to that!). This ought to be fun to watch - the VP is going to go viral!

Entry 51 On my playlist these days:

PIG - The Gospel, Risen

FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH - And Justice For None, Got Your Six, War Is The Answer, The Wrong Side Of Heaven And The Righteous Side Of Hell

PINK FLOYD - The Final Cut

Entry 52 ’Hackers’ <wink, wink> deleted the credit card debt of hundreds of thousands of credit card users, mostly VISA, MASTERCARD, and DISCOVER. A good majority of AMERICAN EXPRESS cardholders can afford their debt so they can keep it.

A homeboy was pulled over on the side of the street having car problems with his lowered, gold Chevy Impala, so as I rode by on my URB-E I nodded to him and fixed his ride instantaneously. Without even questioning what just happened, he simply gave me a nod of approval and thanks. Maybe it was my motorcycle helmet with the three devil horns mounted on it, but there was a sense of respect at that moment.

Entry 53 I had another visit from Satan #30 last night, he was just checking in on me (WOW, the Satanic support staff is AWESOME!). I shared with him that I’m getting the hang of doing the Devil’s work and I wish I could do more. He reassured me that patience is one of Satan’s best friends, but to be very aware of Vampires. I asked him if Vampires actually existed, and he was extremely assuring that they did. He said that they have been on this planet as long as man has, and as man evolved so did they. Over time they have learned techniques to blend in with mankind and improve their tactics on how to not only survive but thrive. They’ve learned how to suck the life out of someone, yet keep them alive and craving more from their vampire. This species of vampires is one of the worst. The Latin name for these vile creatures is Vampires de Emotus, or more commonly know as Emotional Vampires.

Emotional Vampires, along with their close cousins the Mental Vampires, will suck the will to live right out of you. At first, they seem like a friend or relative that is going through some frustrating issues, but the moment you step in to help, they trap you and slowly begin torturing you with their long and drawn out monologues of woe-is-me. You want to escape their grasp, but guilt overcomes you and feeds off of your decency as a human being. *Note to self: unfriend 80% of my friends list on Facebook.

Entry 54 There is a small group of homeless folks that make camp by the Gold Line Metro Station on Allen Ave. I ride past them daily on my way to work. They recognize me and wave in appreciation of my acknowledging them. They are never hostile or beg for money from me, it’s like we are neighbors seeing each other around the same time each day. The most social of the group is a guy that goes by the nickname Chuckhead (I didn’t ask.) He’s a tall - 6’5”, broad-shouldered and bald rock of a man, and also one of the kindest and most genuine I’ve ever met. Chuckhead told me that he was a steelworker from Pennsylvania, but when worked dried up because of Trump messing around with tariffs, he moved out west. With no money and no permanent address, it’s been hard to get a job and find a place to live. He hooked up with this bunch as a way to always have somebody to watch your back and what little stuff you might have.

I set up accounts with Dominos Pizza, Vons, and Jameson Brown Coffee Roaster and have them deliver to Chuckhead on a regular basis. I explained to Chuckhead that I’m doing this to assist them in taking care of themselves while living on the streets. I simply asked that they use their strength find something to do for money, that is legal, and that they feel good about themselves for doing something for themselves.

Funny thing, people in trucks and vans started coming around looking for laborers to do yard work or help someone move, hmm.

Entry 55 There is a kind of Universal Knowledge that Satan has the ability to access. It's like tapping into a vast database of history and current knowledge, sort of like how the human subconscious records everything that a person thinks, feels, and experiences, but on an infinite scale. I started to notice that when I wondered about something I would get an answer. After a little bit of investigation, I found out that this is true and started testing it. Often. This is like having the fastest internet connection you could imagine but in your head.

Entry 56 The other day I watched a DIY video demonstrating how to make a magic [looking] wand from a chopstick using a glue gun and some paint. I thought, how fun would it be to have a cheesy little wand that I can do actual magic with. No one will ever suspect that a homemade magic wand made out of the finest disposable pine chopsticks would actually be able to perform real magic. I can make up wizarding sounding words such as, "Shutus Trapus" (to silence a person), "Vanisimo" (to make someone or something vanish), and "Gigglitis" (uncontrollable laughter) to command my powers.

I bet I could make some serious change busking as a street corner magician. I'll wear a top hat and cape to give me that old-time magician look. "Hocus pocus, alacazam - turn this girl into a man!" And poof, this cute little 9-year-old eating frozen yogurt, with a flash of light and a billow of smoke, instantly becomes a full-grown bearded man wearing tight jean shorts and a t-shirt that says, 'BEAR' on it. The best part was when she hugged her dad out of fear of the light and smoke part of the show, and they both realized that she was now a big ol' he. Of course, I turned her back to her original self when I distracted the crowd with an impromptu light-show across the street.

Seeing the looks of surprise and amazement on people's faces, and the smiles and laughter is the real reason I do this kind of stuff (but the pay ain't so bad either).

Entry 57 57 Varieties of Pickles" by the H.J. Heinz Company. That’s the first thing I thought of when I realized that I was about to start Entry 57. Heinz Tomato Ketchup was my absolute favorite condiment to smother all over my french fries, onion rings and scrambled eggs.

Since California is my home turf, I healed the San Andrea's Fault. Sort of like fixing two pieces a giant ball from pulling apart by using Super Glue. No more shakers, rattlers, or fear of California falling into the ocean. No 'Big One,' just peace of mind. I don't think anyone will notice, except for the geology geeks at Cal Tech.

Entry 58 I’ve developed my own style of stove-top cooking that creates food that is to-die-for. I take a skillet with a high edge (approx. 2”) and let it pre-heat for a minute or so, then I add one drop of cannabis-infused oil to the center of the pan. As flames rise around the edge of the skillet, I place my food; vegetables, chicken, or fish, in the dead center. The flames then envelope the tasty morsels and cook them to the point where the inside is cooked perfectly and the outside is charred deliciously for the best look and feel. I call this method Satan Flambé.

Entry 59 Whenever I’ve asked a believer in God where Heaven was, they would inevitably point to the sky. Okay, I get it, Heaven is up and Hell is down, but what I want to know is why does Heaven always looks like it’s just above a bunch of fluffy white clouds, seen from the window of a plane, in our atmosphere? Believers will argue that it is beyond space, but again I ask, why does it look that way? And how the Hell do they know? The bible was written by men Centuries ago, long before air travel, they would have no way of knowing what it looked like beyond the clouds. While I’m at it, which one of those lily-white-ass holy men knew exactly what a sinner would expect when they arrived in Hell? I think some scholars with some hallucinogenic plants and a great imagination had a field day composing the greatest piece of fiction man has ever created.

Entry 60 I often hear overly empathetic believers say, “Thereby the grace of God go I” when they see someone who appears less fortunate than themselves. I figured if they can use God as their fictional character of caring, I can use any other fictional character that I choose; “Thereby the grace of Ironman go I,” “Thereby the grace of Captain Kirk go I,” and my favorite, “Thereby the grace of Satan go I.”Try it sometime, it’s fun!

Entry 61 Mankind is a tough nut to crack. From the beginning of the human race, from small tribal villages to modern urban cities, man has been in love with power. Power over another person or people, power over the environment, power over the weather. To control others and profit from this behavior has become the Universal Dream. The negative side of greed - void of morals and value for life. This is the side of greed that sees other human beings as merely a commodity, a vehicle to exploit and discard. The positive side of greed is the motivation to do more and to want better for yourself and others.

I find that individually people are incredible, more than a couple and you start to get that group mentality. Groups can be dangerous because 1) they’re larger and more powerful, and 2) they can be more easily led to believe untruths. Groups become a generality, a race or culture of people, whereas one or two people are simply that, people. Fellow human beings with histories, families, stories, triumphs, and failures.

There is an insane amount of division between folks these days. Party lines in governments, religions, economic class, ethnicity, age, sports - it always comes down to us against them. We have been divided up and fattened for slaughter. My big quandary is how in tarnation am I going to do enough good in the World to make a difference? I already knew the answer to my own question - the only one judging me on whether or not I’m doing enough good in the World is me.

“What, me worry?” - Alfred E. Newman

Entry 62 The people that totally crack me up, but are extremely dangerous to society and the environment are those that claim to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. From Kondratiy Selivanov and Ann Lee in the 18th Century to the nutcases Oscar Ramiro Ortega-Hernandez and Alan John Miller of today, these extremists actually think that they are the embodiment of Jesus Christ. According to Wikipedia, there are 30 of these folks from the 20th and 21st Centuries alone. This is cosplay on a whole different level. I mean yeah, you'll find guys dressed as Jesus at Comic-Con, usually riding a T-Rex and sporting an automatic weapon, but they know that they are just playing around. To spout gospel, start your own cult, and take innocent people's money, and sometimes their lives are downright criminally insane.

Here are a few quotes from Alan John (AJ) Miller, head of the Divine Truth cult in Australia, "There's probably a million people who say they're Jesus and most of them are in asylums. But one of us has to be. How do I know I am? Because I remember everything about my life."

"Just a little over 2000 years ago, we arrived on the Earth for the first time."

"My name is Jesus and I'm serious."

This guy is a classic cult leader who has done his homework. He has plucked peoples heartstrings by calling himself Jesus. He uses the 5 common methods of mind control;  1. People are put in physical or emotionally distressing situations, 2. Their problems are reduced to one simple explanation, which is repeatedly emphasized, 3. They receive unconditional love, acceptance, and attention from a charismatic leader or group, 4. They get a new identity based on the group, 5.  They are subject to entrapment (isolation from friends, relatives and the mainstream culture) and their access to information is severely controlled. Miller has mixed in scientific proof with biblical bullshit and called it Gods Truth. It sounds convincing, but come on, humans have only been around for 2000 years?!? (It's actually closer to 200,000)

*note to self: never be like that.

Entry 63 After a little research, I found out that only a handful of families own and operate the World Banks and are heavily invested in all of the Fortune 500 companies. Ah ha, so I’m not a conspiracy nut! This mafia of money has almost every major country in their very deep pockets. These money magnets figured out what makes the most money - destruction. If they create, allow, and promote any kind of disaster that will need fixing, they finance it and get fiscally fatter. War is easy, push some false propaganda about a country who doesn’t want to sell their resources to these world banks, send in a bully such as the United States to create a coup, and finance both sides of the war and the rebuilding of the country. The devastation of natural disasters is a major cash cow. Mankind has been messing around with controlling the weather [scientifically] since the 1940s. Cloud seeding is real. The larger and more powerful the storm, the more flooding and devastation, the sweeter the payout is for these robber barons. The mainstream media are puppets that they control to promote the fear-mongering and hatred that keeps people divided and fighting. To them, human beings are merely collateral cattle to do their bidding, over-populate, and die off in the slaughter.

And they say Satan is the evil one! If greed is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, these Bastards should be very dead (oh that’s right, the bible is just a book of fiction). I love to mess with their capitalistic system by hitting them where it hurts, in their wallets. I like to create boycotts of companies and products that are morally guilty and have safety issues and hazardous ingredients. Now you know why Walmart and Amazon stocks keep dropping like a lead balloon (Sorry guys, should be treating your employees better and paying them a decent wage to live on).

Entry 64 “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64.” - The Beatles

Today I was challenged by some dimwit visitor at work. He thought he was being funny by wearing his admission sticker somewhere hidden. When I asked him if he had his admission sticker he quite confidently exclaimed, “Yes!” When I asked to see the sticker he declared, “Don’t worry, I AM wearing it.” At this point, I was ready to have some fun. I very politely said, “Game on. Let’s play. If you truly are wearing that sticker, it will begin to burn through your clothing and brandish itself onto your skin. If nothing burns, you don’t have a sticker and need to go buy one, AND one for another person waiting in line. The fire has been lit, and the burning will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2,1…

It was like watching a live action cartoon, his face went from a smartass cocky grin straight to a look of horror and confusion. I found out real quickly where he stuck that sticker. After letting him jump around smacking his own ass like he was riding in a rodeo, I stopped the burning. As a parting gift, I left the sticker inked onto his skin as a permanent reminder of our time together. What can I say, I’m a giver.

Entry 65 I love the names of some of the fundraisers that Satanic groups come up with; SOLES FOR SATAN, MASTERBATIN’ FOR SATAN, MENSTRATIN’ FOR SATAN, SATANIC BLACK MASS, SATANIC STORY TIME, EXERCISING DEMONS, SPEAK OF THE DEVIL. I think there should be something for senior citizen Satanists - CONSTIPATED FOR SATAN, GRAMP’N FOR SATAN, or for the Jewish Satanists - SHALOMING FOR SATAN. HEIL SATAN for those dedicated German Satanists, and for the White Supremacist Satanists(?) I’LL KILL MYSELF FOR SATAN.

Entry 66{6} Via one of my favorite information source, Wikipedia, some Number of the Beast history and trivia:

In Kabbalistic Judaism the number 666 does not play any significant role as such. However, the perfect number 6 and some of its multiples (e.g. 36, 72 and 216) represents the creation and perfection of the world. The world was created in 6 days, and there are 6 cardinal directions (North, South, East, West, Up, Down). 6 is also the numerical value of one of the letters of God's name, associated with the Sefirah of Tiferet, which represents harmony, beauty, and cosmic balance. Rabbi Eliezer Horovitz, quoting the Vilna Gaon, mentions in his book Mosad ha-Yesod that the number 666 contains hidden within it exalted and lofty messianic potential, but does not explain any details of this conjecture.

Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the beast identified by the number 666 represents the world's unified governments in opposition to God. The beast is said to have "a human number" in that the represented governments are of a human origin rather than spirit entities. The number 666 is said to identify "gross shortcoming and failure in the eyes of Jehovah," in contrast to the number 7, which is seen as symbolizing perfection.

Seventh-day Adventists taking this view believe that the Mark of the Beast (but not the number 666) refers to a future, universal, legally enforced Sunday-sacredness. "Those who reject God's memorial of creator-ship—the Bible Sabbath—choosing to worship and honor Sunday in the full knowledge that it is not God's appointed day of worship, will receive the 'mark of the beast.’"

"The Sunday Sabbath is purely a child of the Papacy. It is the mark of the beast.”

Idealism, also known as the allegorical or symbolic approach, is an interpretation of the book of Revelation that sees the imagery of the book as non-literal symbols. The idealist perspective on the number of the beast rejects gematria, envisioning the number not as a code to be broken, but a symbol to be understood. Idealists would contend that because there are so many names that can come to 666 and that most systems require converting names to other languages or adding titles when convenient, it has been impossible to come to a consensus. Given that numbers are used figuratively throughout the book of Revelation, idealists interpret this number figuratively as well. The common suggestion is that because seven represents completeness and is associated with the divine, that six is incomplete and the three sixes are "inherently incomplete". The number is therefore suggestive that the Dragon and his beasts are completely inadequate. Another suggestion is that this number represents an individual's incomplete or immature spiritual state.

In 1989, Nancy and Ronald Reagan, when moving to their home in the Bel-Air section of Los Angeles after the 1988 election, had its address—666 St. Cloud Road—changed to 668 St. Cloud Road. In 2003, U.S. Route 666 in New Mexico was changed to U.S. Route 491. A New Mexico spokesperson stated, "The devil's out of here, and we say goodbye and good riddance."The phobia has been a motif in various horror films such as The Omen and its 2006 remake. The number of the beast also appears in other films such as Pulp Fiction, The Doom Generation, End of Days, Bedazzled, and The Phantom of the Opera. Some women expressed concern about giving birth on June 6, 2006 (6/6/06).

I know that I should have waited until Entry 666 to lay all this Number of the Beast stuff on you, but I just couldn’t wait to share.

Entry 67 I have actually come to appreciate the creators of government, religion, and commerce. Their patience in their long-term goals of corruption and greed is unsurpassed. They knew even then, that control of the minds, hearts, and money of the masses would ensure them wealth and power. The Catholic Church has been molesting children for centuries, and followers to this day still believe that the Church is here to do good in the World. According to TIME magazine, the Catholic Church is worth somewhere between 10 and 15 billion dollars, and they don’t pay taxes on any of it! The naivety of a huge portion of the populous, for this long, is almost unfathomable. Countries have been spying on each other, keeping secrets, and starting wars not for the reasons the mainstream media tell us, but for private profit. And of course, major corporations know that enough money spent on lobbying and bribes buys you control of both governments and religion. The 'War on Drugs' is funded by the U.S. government. The U.S. military protects the poppy fields in Afghanistan, then supplies the drugs made from the poppy, and then uses the drugs as an excuse for police brutality and more drug-related arrests. Privately run prisons make a killing off of the minor drug convictions. None of this is new, they just keep getting better at pulling the wool over the sheeple's eyes. I guess you could say I am the fly in the ointment, the wrench in the system, the thorn in their side. I’m like the older brother sticking his finger an inch from his little brothers face while repeating, “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you…”

Entry 68 It's officially Fall here in Southern California, which basically means it still feels like Summer. Daytime temps are in the 80's and 90's and humid in the evenings. It can be difficult to get into the Halloween spirit when the smell of suntan lotion fills the air and people are walking around in shorts and t-shirts. Here is Satan wishing for cooler weather <insert irony here>. I'm starting to think about what I want to be for All Hallows Eve. Since October 31 in Beth and my wedding anniversary, that night holds a special place in our hearts. Every year we do something fun and darkly-themed to celebrate our nuptials such as visit the Winchester Mystery House, take a trip to New Orleans or even go camping at a ghost town. But this year will be the first time I honor my love as Satan.

Entry 69 The yin and yang, the sex position, 96 to a dyslexic. The key is finding a balance. I'm finding out that I can't, and probably shouldn't try to save the world. A very wise supervisor once said to me, "Sometimes you've got to let it fail." This is a good reminder also to not draw too much attention to myself Satanic self. It's so easy to want to right every wrong, make every criminal pay for their crimes and be the hero, but I've got to remember - Satanic Lowriding (Satanic lowriding sounds like I'm riding around in a murdered out black Chevy Impala with red leather interior and hydraulics).

Entry 70 I have a confession, I like watching videos of people having huge pimples popped and blackheads squeezed. It's like a car crash, you don't want to look but you can't help it. Seeing the pus pulp of dead white blood cells and fresh red blood being pushed forth from the skin of their host makes me feel like I have the cleanest skin EVER! There is a woman on Facebook who goes by the name of Doctor POP that is a true artist at dermal cleansing. It's so beautifully sterile the way the patients are covered in surgical protectants leaving only the infected area exposed for Doctor POP to lacerate and squeeze like she's popping a champagne bottle with her latex covered fingers, true anatomic artistry.

Entry 71 Beth and I are not planning on having kids, but if we did, I'd like to use the names of the Devil to identify our little bundles of joy and also piss off the religious right. I just read an article about seven boys named Lucifer in England and Wales, how fun is that! Those towns are going think that it's an evil uprising coming to take over the World! I can just see our boy Lucifer burning up the streets on his skateboard, Satanas attending her first prom, and baby Beelzebub bouncin' 'round the room. My minion of misfit minors. I would teach our kids to be confident but not aggressive (unless it is necessary), to be proud of their names, and always keep their sense of humor. What will baby Bee's first word be, flies?

Entry 72 Last night I worked [security] for a wedding at the Garden. The usual big fancy set up with lots of staging, flowers, and rich people dressed to the 9's. The event was fine, until about 10:30 when a few of the neighbors in this wealthy suburb complained about the volume of the music coming from the dance floor. It was a beautiful celebration and everything was running smoothly until that visit by the police to turn things down, which did put a bit of a damper on the bride and grooms special day. As an anonymous wedding gift, I placed an invisible sound barrier around the property and told informed the DJ to turn it up. I asked my supervisor to step outside the gate of the garden near where the reception was being held to check the decibel reading. When she confirmed that it was quiet as a mouse across the street, we let the party rage on. The list of songs Mr. DJ was spinning from his laptop computer was an awesome mix of classic wedding tunes such as, "We Are Family" and "The Time of My Life, " to modern hip-hop. Mazel Tov you two crazy kids.

Entry 73 October 1st. Despite the fact that it is 95 degrees and sunny hasn't put a damper on my Halloween enthusiasm, as a matter of fact, it only motivates me more to find creative ways to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Since we are in Southern California and don't get the cool Fall weather with trees changing to a lovely Autumn orange and yellow, my image of this spooky time of year is that of an old western ghost town - dusty streets with tumbleweed blowing by, an old cemetery with wooden grave markers, and skeletons wearing cowboy hats and boots. Even though our apartment looks like we decorate for Halloween all year round, things get even more creepy during the last few months of the year. The 'Holiday Season' is a hauntingly beautiful time. Our neighbors have agreed to let me decorate the whole building, which means there will be a lot of traffic on our street due cars slowing down in amazement of our ghoulish display while expelling shrieks, ooo’s and ahhh’s. Time to start designing…

Entry 74 I had fun today at work doing nice, little, anonymous things for people. When I saw a co-worker with a handful of stuff approaching the reception door, I’d make the door gently swing open just as they arrived at the threshold. People would suddenly get great cell phone reception. Flowers would slowly fade from their original color to another hue, and then back. I even put a smile on a woman’s scowling face. Seeing the look of confusion convert to a pleasant surprise in her eyes was priceless.

Entry 75 Faux 'Service Dogs' used to really bother me when their obnoxious owners would get defensive when I would stop them to ask the two questions that, by law, I am allowed to ask, 1. Is it a Service Dog, and 2. What specific task is the dog trained to provide for their disability? The lying dog owner would always get agitated and blurt out something like, “Medical reasons” or “According to the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) you can’t ask me that” which just proves their dishonesty and arrogance. Now, I simply ask the dogs.

Today a couple tried to get in with not one, but two dogs. The white Maltese pups were on extending leashes held by the tattooed-shaved head-muscle shirt-douche with an attitude. When I asked him the questions he gave me the standard answers, they were service dogs and that I was not allowed to ask him the second question. I immediately looked down at the canines and asked them, “Are YOU Service Dogs?” to which they replied by telling me, “Service? We just want to run around, pee and poop!” They then both peed on their lying owners' legs and turn around to run back the other way. I politely look at him and said, “Service dogs huh? Get out and stop abusing a law that is for protecting the rights of disabled people whom legitimately need a dog to assist them through life.” He shot me a look of pure hatred that I found extremely humorous as they turned and stomped away, all the while his girlfriend never said a word, only rolling her eyes in embarrassment.

Entry 76 Typical of the church, they find something that people celebrate and enjoy and steal it for their own propaganda. I love a good haunted house, the more realistic the better. Hell Houses are the Christian haunted houses that show vignettes of the horrors of sinning - Anti-abortion, anti-drug, anti-free thinking, etc… The earliest hell house appears to have been created by Rev. Jerry Falwell in the late 1970s. The concept was picked up in 1992 by Keenan Roberts. His first Hell House was in Roswell, NM. Since then, he has become a pastor of the Destiny Church in Arvada, CO and sells Hell House Outreach™ kits to other churches. Included is a 263-page manual which covers everything from casting to publicity to instructions on how to make hamburger meat look like a fetus and where to store vats of blood. Roberts was once quoted saying that Hell Houses, "show young people that they can go to hell for abortion, adultery, homosexuality, drinking and other things unless they repent and end the behavior.” Can you believe this shit?!? Taking something fun like being frightened by gore and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night (which are healthy things to be afraid of), and scarring kids for life with these barbaric recruitment tactics.

There is a Hell House in West Hollywood, CA. I thought to myself, “How much fun would it be to visit their little moral macabre show and scare the Hell out of THEM?!?” So I did. It wasn’t very crowded, mostly parishioners of that church and their delusional families. I acted humble and quiet, waiting to see the horrors of modern life they were about to show me. In all of the rooms I went into, I changed the attitude of the actors to the enjoyment of the sin they were demonstratively demonstrating as opposed to the negative scare tactics of which they intended to portray. I had couples thanking God for the ability to get an abortion because of rape, men and women/men and men/women and women passionately making love, and one scene where a family was sitting around the kitchen table smoking pot and drinking wine and beer. For fear that anyone would see this gross display of carnal pleasure, this Hell House closed almost immediately after I left the premises.

Entry 77 So the story goes that back in the heyday of Rock and Roll on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood there was a drinking club made up of musicians known as the Hollywood Vampires who hung out at the famous Rainbow Bar on Sunset Blvd. next door to the Roxy club. They acquired the name Hollywood Vampires because they were only seen at night and quite often were drinking red wine. Fast forward to 2015. Three friends - Alice Cooper, Joe Perry of Aerosmith, and actor/musician Johnny Depp get together and decide to form a band to honor their dead drunk friends from rock and roll's past, and aptly name the band the Hollywood Vampires. Along with some of the best session players in the biz, the Vampires totally shred on songs by their friends from bands such as The Who, Led Zeppelin, T-Rex, and many others. I have been listening to their debut album non-stop for a couple of weeks! Alice Cooper being the rock and roll patriarch of the group owns the stage with his commanding prowess, while Joe, Johnny and the rest of the band rock the hell out of the songs of their fallen compadres. Never stop rockin’!  

Entry 78 I’m sort of happy that the folklore character Krampus is becoming more popular, at the same time I’d hate to see such kind-hearted ally become the victim of over-marketing. Krampus, in European folklore, looks like a fur-covered half goat/half demon. He plays the bad-cop to Saint Nicholas’ good-cop. While ol’ St. Nick rewarded the good children with toys, Krampus punished the bad kids by beating them with a birch switch, gathering them up in his wicker basket he wears on his back and tosses them into a special place in Hell. I’m tired of seeing all the faux goodwill towards man bullshit around Christmas time, and then it’s back to displaying our prejudices and hate to each other.

Entry 79 Not surprising, I support the supposed ‘War on Christmas.’ Of course, there is no War on Christmas, it’s just the extreme right-wing Christians that feel threatened because there are other people who celebrate the Winter Solstice differently than they do. Everything has to be “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.” They get their Jesus loving panties in a bunch when Starbucks’ holiday cups don’t look Christmasy enough. They actually think that December 25th is the birthday of their fictional savior. Oy Vey.

Christmas lights on churches can’t seem to stay lit for some reason <wink wink>. People who display giant crosses as part of their Christmas decorations tend to find them inverted each night when they turn on their retina-burning light displays. Hypocrites who complain about Starbuck’s cups but continue to buy their coffee find that holding that not-Christmas-enough cup is impossible because it is hot as Hell in their sacred hands (making McDonald’s coffee seem like an ice bath).

Every time a choir sings, a demon gets their wings.

Entry 80 I think I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the year and wait for the overly sponsored Tournament of Roses Parade on New Years Day. Maybe I’ll hex the floats so that none of them stall or breakdown on the parade route. Happy New Year!©

[queenlizzyxxxx]

QUEEN LIZZYS ASCEND

ITS QUEEN LIZZY BABY!!! I’m QUEEN

LIZZY and my new album LIZZY just dropped!!! xxxx

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE FOR MY NEW ALBUM LIZZY. THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. I MADE THIS FOR YOU GUYS!!! THANK YOU TO EVERY COLLABORATOR. THANK YOU FOR TRUSTING ME. THIS IS THE BEST ALBUM EVER. I LOVE YOU ALL!!! 💕💓

[1]

Baby, i’m candier than candy

more chrome than chrome

will love you more than your girl

i will bring you home (bring you home)

im more sparkle than sparkle

im lovelier than love

come on baby, i will get you off (get you off)

I'm hard on the outside

But if you give me time

Then I could make time for your love

I'm hard on the outside

But if you see inside, inside, inside [2]

Red and chrome All the broken glass sparkling I guess we're partying [3]

I got Chrome Hearts hangin' from my neck

(I got Chrome Hearts hangin' from my neck) 

[4]

That soft pink matter

Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, ohh

Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you [5]

I got my red dress on tonight Dancin' in the dark in the pale moonlight

Done my hair up real big, beauty queen style

High heels off, I'm feelin' alive [6]

And a lust for life, and a lust for life And a lust for life, and a lust for life Keeps us alive, keeps us alive Keeps us alive, keeps us alive [7]

You want a real taste At least I'm not a fake

You want a real taste At least I'm not a fake [8]

Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh

Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh [9]

Baby, i’m candier than candy

more chrome than chrome

will love you more than your girl

i will bring you home (bring you home)

im more sparkle than sparkle

im lovelier than love

come on baby, i will get you off (get you off)

You want a real taste At least I'm not a fake

You want a real taste At least I'm not a fake [10]

Alexis was listening to his favorite Popstar QUEEN LIZZY’s new single „Candy“ as he saw the notification in his inbox. 

„MY PRETTIEST ANGEL! YOU’VE BEEN SUCH A LOVELY BOY! YOU EARNED YOUR SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART AND I WANT YOU TO BE THERE AT THE BANQUET BEFORE MY CONCERT TODAY!

XXXX YOUR LIZZY“

„you are now in posession for an exclusive access code to QUEEN LIZZY’s ceremony“

Alexis was rapturing in joy. He closed the doors to his room. After all this time, he could finally be there as well. Be at the ceremony with everyone else. See the things he only heard myths about. Alexis put on his glasses and scanned LIZZY’s gift. 

Alexis wanted to see her for real this time. While the livestream was loading he hummed along the refrain of LIZZY’s newest single „Candy“ and joy filled his soul.  

When he opened his eyes he instantly felt, that, when standing inside the villa, aura is affirmed absolutely. [1]

In the beginning, there was darkness. But out of the darkness a light emerged. He felt, that it was her - but not yet. Slowly the light emerged and it got brighter when she slowly moved through space. He started to see silhouettes. He started to see colors. 

It was the queens’ most baroque fantasies of glamour and stardom. [2]

Light crystalline notes seemed to emerge out of the silence which accompanied the Queens glide. Somehow out of nothingness a choir as perfectly clear cut like colorful marble in the most beautiful patterns emerged.

Alexis saw her gliding along the ground from far away, although he felt like he saw one short glance of her eyes going to his direction. 

He glared at the fabric falling down upon her like a thin, ultra light continuous skin—clearly visible. What was especially miraculous was that especially from inside he saw the building move towards a "textile like" definition of architectonic space. [3]

The ornament felt like folded embroidery encapsulated in astonishing ecstasy of colorful marble and indistinguishable textures of golden and platinum figures illuminating the fabric upon they seemed to be appended. Everything seemed like it was flickering. Flickering like a soft but strong candlelight, giving the structure a pulse. All colors seemed enhanced and the details exaggerated which made it even more dazzling in Alexis’s eyes.

In the midst, his queen. 

Adjacent to her path there were two banquets, with shining pearl-white layers of fabric. Filled with all the plenty of things.

She seemed to be absorbing the banquet, while Alexis now knew.

These heavens do not proclaim the glory of God. [4]

But the heavens of his Queen. 

QUEEN LIZZY. 

He listened closely and let these heavenly halls enter his heart while he witnessed her, slowly vanishing the chamber. She seemed to have ingested everything she needed for todays concert, as she ascended into another chamber. For the next chamber, Alexis knew, he was not worthy enough yet. He could only imagine the things that lied beyond these magnificent gates.

Alexis knew, that he needed to see her again tomorrow. And now he finally had the access code to the banquet, so he knew it was possible to see her whole ceremony, to really get to know her. And maybe. Maybe he will see her on stage someday. The magnificent stage next to the Seine, seemingly born from one of Bosch’s paintings seemed to set everything around into a dreamlike state of exuberance. Leaving even the most polished buildings around it appear to be rusted.

United with all his fellow Angels, Standing in front of Notre Dame. See his QUEEN LIZZY face Notre Dame, while he, Alexis faces his LIZZY. 

And perhaps, he longed. Perhaps one day. One day i might meet her in reality. 

„THIS STREAM HAS ENDED! WITNESS QUEEN LIZZY AGAIN TOMORROW!“

Somber but ecstatic, Alexis takes off his glasses and puts on his favorite music, while

leaving his flat for an evening stroll at the Seine.

Queen Lizzy is

breathless

at the bacchanal 

bewitched, senses

submerged, her image

mirrored, her mind 

magicked, her emotions 

modulated

magnified

unmoderated and maybe 

immodest, herself 

multiplied [1]

Music sprays an anaesthetic cloud over things and drug used to spare us the terror of the real. [1] It is these traits that enable it to go anywhere, to go everywhere, into site and psyche alike, to appear ever fascinating yet ever harmless even as it plies its undermining subterfuges and sly deceits [2]. Forces come and go, from and in all directions. [3]

Where do we want to go? [4]

Remember: Icarus flew away, toward the sun. [5] One sees the burning heat of the sun scorch the wings of the wretched young man, as the blazing fire smokes, and one can almost hear the crackling of the burning feathers, while death can be seen sculpted on the face of Icarus, and on that of Daedalus his emotion and sharp pain. [6]

Historically, thousands of subjects have done so, suffering, killing themselves, dressing, perfuming themselves, writing as if they were Werther. [7]

The baroque dramatist clings fervently to the world. [8]

We are expecting a move toward a falling in sync with the architecture of the Baroque, but on different levels of abstraction. [9]

Contemporary time, however, can sustain these baroque illusions. [10]

Today, Maximum is the ultimate ornament, the most self righteous crime, the contemporary Baroque. [11]

the whole building is the decoration. [12]

And Delicate bronze allegorical figures adorn the case. [13] We have seen roofs made of copper, glass, and gold, and elegantly decorated with ceilings gilded or coffered in gold, and picked out with sculpted crowns and flowers, and even statues. [14]

We are in excess. [15]

And excess produces virtuality. [16]

By the early twenty first century, our time, a mythic time, we are all chimeras, theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism; in short, we are cyborgs. The cyborg is our ontology. [17]

Whereas the musical call rises from noise to meaning while avoiding both. 

Vibrating softness and the hammer’s hardness. [18]

Life is excess. [19]

This surplus of absence, the place of nothing, when exaggerated threatens all meaning with indifference. [20]

But the lights have to go on again. [21]Exactly, In indifference, the excess becomes manifest. [22]

A modern ritual, a modern Bacchanalia, escalation, excess. [23]

So here we go. [24] This is Queen Lizzy.

If you want sex, why not go get it? [25]

If dolphins go extinct, why worry? [26]

If we’re all going to drown, why not jump from the highest heights and feel the rush of adrenaline? We’ll learn diving eventually. And 

The point turns into a baroque pearl. [27]

flashes of inspiration 

fascinations

colours, glitter 

decadences

balls: exuberances 

festivals and 

congregations, close 

communions

travel at the speed of sound, lightspeed 

communication

instantaneous pools of

commonality

the vibe and exultation, the 

euphoria

the sharpwit razor of precision, the 

ingeniousness

the shared experience

the climactic joy, the

sacred orgasm of

life [28]

When will we stop apologizing for being romantic? Why not now? Here and now? Right now. We populate the desert with singing trees and unruly blackbirds. We leave the cynical laughter behind and no longer hesitate to be naive. The cliché is not kitsch, it is simply beautiful. [29]

Let's follow the hedonism creed, kick the whole world off, get out of work, go to bed, and join together with your "great Louis XIV" to shake this hypocritical world into a bright sky. [30]

Ah, bless the very “false windows,” so valued as decoration and so useless in a building of artificial light and ventilation! [31]

This possible world is not real, or not yet, but it exists nonetheless: it is an expressed that exists only in its expression — the face, or an equivalent of the face. [32]

Then, we built churches in excess for a common belief in an artificial persona. God.

Tomorrow, we will build in excess because it represents living in a world where the power lies within the plenty. The plenty is excess and she give birth to it by giving it a face in physical space. From nihilism, hedonism emerges and they will dance together in euphoria like Dionysus did with his followers. 

She will acquire the plethora and give the acceleration a purpose.

It is time to stop holding on to flag poles standing in the current.

We should start to accept the drowning, to then be fulfilled by the current teaching us how to swim. 

Excess is accepting. Excess is giving the power a face.

She says: Come, live with me. Watch me exist.

Because,

we are part of it: we are

a part

of everything, every

thing

is part of us

we are the gods

we are the universe

we are the energy

we are the code

we are the probability

we are the failure and the hope and the despair 

we are the triumph

of existence

and that is what she is: she

is

Queen Lizzy [33]

[1] Charli XCX Reddit AMA

[2 ]Lady Gaga + Blackpink, Sour Candy

[3] Lorde, Dynamite

[4] The Weeknd, Escape from LA

[5] Frank Ocean, Pink Matter

[6] Lana del Rey, Summertime Sadness

[7] Lana del Rey, Lust for Life

[8] Lady Gaga + Blackpink, Sour Candy

[9] Lana del Rey, Summertime Sadness

[10] Lady Gaga + Blackpink, Sour Candy

[1] Purdy, On the Ruins of Babel Architectural Metaphor in G

[2] Goldsmith, Capital New York Capital of the 20th Century

[3] Acocella, Stone Architecture Ancient and Modern Construction Skills

[4] Tsoukala, Intersections of Space and Ethos Routledge Resear[1] Serres, The Incandescent

[1] Serres, The Incandescent

[2] Sykes, Constructing A New Agenda

[3] Spuybroek, The Sympathy of Things

[4] Serres, Hominescence

[5] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968

[6] Vasari, The Lives of the Artists

[7] Barthes, A Lover s Discourse Fragments

[8] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968

[9] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Coding as Literacy

[10] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968

[11] Sykes, Constructing A New Agenda

[12] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968

[13] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London

[14] Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books 1988

[15] Zizek, Less Than Nothing

[16] Schumacher, The Autopoiesis of Architecture Vol 2

[17] Haraway, Cyborg Manifesto

[18] Serres, Statues

[19] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII

[20] Doyle Savic Buehlmann, Ghosts of Transparency

[21] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968

[22] Doyle Savic Buehlmann, Ghosts of Transparency

[23] Serres, The Birth of Physics

[24] Hofstadter, I Am a Strange Loop

[25] Spuybroek, The Sympathy of Things

[26] Morton, Hyperobjects

[27] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Symbolizing Existence

[28] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Quantum City

[29] Camille de Toledo, in: Goodbye Tristesse, 2005

[30] Louis XIV Show

[31] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

[32] Deleuze Guattari, What Is Philosophy

[33] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Quantum City

[walriding]

     Do not worship the swarm, nor allow the delusions of the patients to influence your beliefs. Any sentient being based in this technology will be so far superior to us that illusions of godliness will be reasonable.               

                                We have always looked into chaos and called it God.                              We now are blessed with sufficient power that such belief could destroy us.                                                            Do not be tempted.  

     Miles Upshur has never really been the religious type. There were the obligatory church visits as a child, naturally, a cultural and spiritual necessity in the eyes of his parents. By the time he was older (and a touch more cynical), he decided the idea of worshiping an invisible entity who was supposedly content to allow humanity to continually fuck itself over just wasn’t for him. If God was real, then he was a much bigger asshole than any pious individual was willing to give Him credit for.

     Thus, the ancillary trappings of his faith -- a belief in angels and demons and spirits -- fell similarly by the wayside. They were good for stories, great for drunken conspiracy theorizing, and fuck, maybe there was something to be said for the supernatural, but such concepts were nothing more than vague notions in the back of his mind.

     He’s recently been forced to reconsider his stance.

     Since the beginning, Wernicke was loathe to attribute the Walrider’s existence to anything other than the brilliance of mankind. The deification of it was a product of weak-minded delusion and nothing more, of that he was adamantly certain. It was science, mathematics, the result of complex equations and careful calculations. You started with madness, multiplied it exponentially through the Morphogenic Engine, and were left with unimaginable power. And the technology, that was the key. A meticulously curated film splattered with blood and Rorschach ink, an injection of nanomachines designed to co-opt the natural processes of the human body, lines of coded 1′s and 0′s to orchestrate it all. Fluids, wires, electricity, like a modern mockery of Victor Frankenstein’s laboratory. And was the end result not the same?

     Man makes a monster.

     Such is the punishment for attempting to play god; you get more than you possibly could have bargained for.

     But machines do not feel. They do not hunger. They do not crave. They are fueled by lines of 1′s and 0′s and wires and electricity -- not nightmares. 

     Wernicke’s complex equations and careful calculations were missing something.

     Something he was far too blind to willingly see.

    "The doctor told me once that if you showed a caveman our technology, he would think it was magic. And if you showed a modern man magic, he would think it's technology." In this assumption, Wernicke was not incorrect. The tables have turned. The tides, reversed. Humans cling to logic, now, the great destroyer of all uncertainty. No longer are simple tricks of the light misattributed to spirits. No longer are fingers pointed at ghouls or goblins or ghosts as the root of a problem. We’ve outgrown such childish beliefs.

    But things have a funny way of existing whether people believe in them or not.

     There have always been stories regarding the things that go bump in the night. It’s human nature to explain that which cannot be understood, to try to make sense of a sometimes nonsensical world. Good things, beautiful things -- those are the work of loving and benevolent gods. Bad things, ugly twisted horrible things -- those come from a different place entirely. A child is born lifeless; surely it is the work of dark entities. A child disappears without a trace; it was the shadows that claimed him. A sleeper wakes but is immobile, the corners of the room leering at him like towering figures; a monster planted itself upon his chest to claim the nightmares in his skull. These myths pervade across countries and cultures, variations on a unifying theme.

     It comes at night, baited by your breath or your dreams or your soul, and it comes to feed.

     It’s had a variety of names over the centuries. Perstanta in Catalan. Ammuttadori in Italian. Alp in German. The legends have typified it with mixed success, for the creature does not create nightmares so much as it exacerbates them, digging into the darkest corners of your subconscious and wallowing in it, splashing flecks of repressed pain and torment like an animal churning up mud. 

     Experiment: you take men with fractured minds and you finish shattering the pieces. You connect them to a thrumming machine, their thoughts in splinters and their blood heavy with nanites, and you wait for a breakthrough.

     Hypothesis: if the ruined bodies accept the nanites, they will manufacture something extraordinary. 

     Results: a nightmare.

     Conclusion: you have baited something demonic. 

     The stories had to come from somewhere.

     Wernicke and Murkoff did create something incredible, pioneering the field of nanotechnology in a way no one else had been able to accomplish. That the human body could be manipulated to perpetuate a population of nanites was miraculous in and of itself. Maybe that was their error -- twisting biology too far. Or maybe they knew they were crossing the line and simply didn’t care. 

     Or maybe they never saw the line at all.

     How often we turn a blind eye to that which we do not want to see. 

     (The scales on Saul’s eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see.)

     The body of the beast was manmade, a synthetic nanite swarm to grant its wielder terrifying strength. Yet the brain, the soul of the best was not produced: it was summoned. Called in the most ancient of ways, beckoned by the promise of prey. The Engine therapy chummed the waters and set a banquet for a shark, and Murkoff couldn’t weave a net large or strong enough to contain it. Their safety measures were useless, for once the unholy terror they’d bred and groomed attached itself to the vessel they hollowed out, there was nothing to stop it. It fed on Billy’s rage and anger and pain just as it feasted on nightmares in days of old, only now... now Murkoff had given it a body. It bent all too willingly to the boy’s will, to his thirst for vengeance and hunger for retribution. He couldn’t control it -- no one so fragmented ever could. For that was the corporation’s fatal mistake. They crippled a mouse and gave it to a serpent, and the serpent ate the offering but was not truly satisfied. Without the thrill of the hunt, the meal sat hollow in the serpent’s belly until it was all but burned up, and it tore through everything in sight but could not find the morsel it needed, the one that would satiate it for the rest of its existence.

     A new creature appeared in the serpent’s domain. Foolishly brave, fighting on in spite of damage that would have wrecked the average being, it clawed its way to the heart of the serpent’s territory with no weapon, no defense aside from its willpower. And that creature sliced the mouse from the serpent’s belly and eliminated it, and in its famished desperation, the serpent knew that this meal would carry it indefinitely. 

     And so Miles Upshur was consumed.

     Though perhaps consumption is a misnomer. Parasite though it may be, the Walrider cannot perpetuate itself without the body and mind of its Host. Miles’ cells keep the nanites flowing, and the memories in his brain keep the demon fed. The Swarm needs both to exist as it currently does -- not as a formless shadow, but as a tangible entity with the ability to damage in ways it was previously incapable of. It will exist without a Host as it did for centuries before Murkoff decided to kick a hornet’s nest, but it’s had a taste of true power, now. Why relegate yourself to a life of myth when there are better options? Besides, Miles needs it just as badly -- without the Walrider his heart will cease to beat.

     Thus, man and machine and myth tangle in an endless circle, a flowing ouroboros with no beginning and no end. Around and around the serpent trails, fangs latched in its own tail. If it eats too little of itself the cycle is broken. If it eats too much in a fit of greed, there will be nothing of it left.

     And so Miles Upshur must live because he is needed, still, and will be needed until a Host more ideal walks this Earth.

    (This is the gift of the Walrider.)

[manycoloureddays]

Oh wait I have another one!!! Hogwarts AU where Finn is a slytherin???

Finn was happy being a Slytherin. He was happy to be known for his ambition,and for that particular kind of clannishness Slytherins cultivated. He had peoplewho were his people, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that they were moreimportant to him than the war that seemed to be brewing outside the castlewalls. At least he wasn’t ashamed to admit it in front of people who weren’tDirector Organa, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who hadseemed quite convinced of the need for all magical kind to band togetheragainst the forces of darkness when he had met her over summer. Intenselyconvinced. But green and silver suited him, and he had never wished the Hat hadSorted him differently. He just sometimes wishes his housemates were… more openminded. And less willing to say horrible things about people just because theywere Gryffindors. Right now was one of those times.

“Then there’s that weirdo, whatshername? Rey something or other. Does sheeven have a last name?” Finn clenched his fists. He had promised ProfessorMothma at the end of last year that he wouldn’t end up in detention in thefirst week of term.

“Oh yeah, did you see her stuffing food into her mouth at dinner? Like shewas raised by werewolves.” The snickers that follow cover the sound of Finn’sknuckles cracking. He shoved out from the desk and hurried toward the door,ignoring the calls of “hey Finn, running off instead of defending yourgirlfriend’s honour?”

He took a few seconds to breathe deeply, getting his heartrate to shudderslow into something more manageable, before he headed up the stairs to thedungeon corridor, and up towards the Quidditch pitch. Training hadn’t startedyet, for any of the teams – it was only the 2nd of September afterall – but if he had any money to be he would put it all on Poe or Rey, or bothof them, being down there. Rey didn’t get to fly over summer, unless shevisited Poe or Jessika, living as she did in a Muggle orphanage. And Poe wasalways happy to run drills with her before the start of the Quidditch seasonmade them official enemies.

When he made it to the stands they were two blurs racing each other aroundthe pitch. Finn watched as they soared up higher and higher, looping andwhirling and diving so close to the ground he was worried they’d crash. Hesettled himself in to wait, pulling out his wand to practice the charm they’dlearned that morning.

Fifteen minutes later the Poe shaped blur slowed down enough that Finn couldmake out his grin as he sped toward the stand.

“Hey buddy,” Poe grinned, dropping his broom and pulling Finn into a hug. Hebarely managed to hold himself back from melting into Poe’s hug completely. Itwas getting to be a bit of a problem, especially after spending all of Augustwith the Damerons. Poe was very tactile. “How was your first day back?”

“You saw him this morning in Charms, and then after lunch in Defence,” Reysnorted, flying down to join them.

“And that was before he had finished his first day back, wasn’t it?” Poeshot back.

“Not bad,” Finn answered, before either of them got any ideas about flirt-fighting.He smiled at Rey and she cuffed him around the ear before launching herselfinto his arms. Where Poe’s hugs were warm and a little too comfortable, Rey’swere bone crushing in the best kind of way.

“Then why,” she asked his collar bone, “do you look like someone put lemonin your pumpkin juice?”

He sighed, considered lying, or deflecting, and decided that they would usetheir collective powers of persuasion to pull the answers from him anyway so hemay as well hold on to some dignity.

“Frustrating conversation in the common room.”

Their faces harden in understanding.

“Just come and live in my room,” Poe offers, not for the first time. He hasbeen operating under the illusion that the other boys in his dorm would behappy to step over and around Finn for the next two years. Finn has been unableto convince him it would be inconvenient.

“If you stupid common room wasn’t underground you could leave a broom underthe window like we do, for a dramatic exit.” Rey’s smile is full of mischief.

“I wish I’d been there to see Organa’s face! I’m sure he was gearing up fora fight and then wham, opponent outthe window!” Finn crowed. It was one of his greatest regrets, missing thatparticular escapade.

“A truly beautiful moment in Hogwarts’ history,” Poe says, wiping awayimaginary tears. “I’m so proud.”

Reye ducks her head, pleased but unable to deal with people lavishing praiseon her. Finn can relate.

“Did you hear he’s asking people to call him Kylo Ren now?”

Poe’s face darkens. There were a lot of conversations about the First Orderover summer. Kes and Shara had Leia and her husband, war hero Han Solo – and thathad been such a cool moment, and Finn had been the complete opposite of cool –over for dinner quite a few times. And each time they had kindly asked the boysto clear the table, and go watch a movie or hang out in Poe’s room afterdinner, so that the adults could talk. Behind closed doors discussion stillmade Finn nervous, and they had frustrated Poe no end.

“Yeah, we heard. But if that greasy haired git thinks I’m going to call himanything other than Ben Organa he has another thought coming. I’ve known himsince he spent summer afternoons trying to teach worms how to become pictures,I’m not scared of him. And doesn’t he remember what happened the last timesomeone changed their name and started practicing the Dark Arts?”

That was another conversation they’d had a lot, holed up in Poe’s room. Poe,red in the face with emotion, and Finn trying to find the words to make itbetter. Or at least okay. Or even to just find a plan, something they could do, because they would both feel so muchbetter with something to do.

“Okay,” Finn said, after the silence they’ve lapsed into starts to feel lessangry and more fearful. “Okay, topic change. How were your days?”

They talk about the sudden flood of new coursework on the first day(annoying, even worse than last year, but ultimately most likely for the best),Professor Rook’s gaunt face and emphasis on learning your history so you don’trepeat the past in their DADA lesson (pointed and necessary and terrifyingconsidering the role he played in the last war), and the possibility that Jessand Rose might have started dating over the break (adorable and perfect and Poewas going to kick Pava’s butt if she didn’t tell him soon). They talked untilte sun had well and truly set, and Rey’s stomach started to audibly rumble.

“We should head in,” Poe said regretfully. Finn nodded. It was true, he justwished it wasn’t.

“We should stop by the kitchen, get some food,” he suggested. He just wantedto stay with them.

“If it gets too bad, you’ll let us know?” Rey gripped his hand. She didn’tlet go either, just started walking down the row of seats towards the exit.When the walkway widened Poe slipped into step with them and took Finn’s otherhand.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not so bad, really. Justa few idiots talking louder than the rest of us and destroying the tranquillityof an underwater common room. Sometimes I wish the three of us were in the samehouse.”

Both of them squeezed his hands.

“We’ll get a place together when we finish school,” Poe says, like its easyand a done deal, and not something that makes Finn’s heart race and Rey griphis fingers so tight they start to protest. Neither of them know how to handlePoe’s casual and unshakeable belief that the three of them will be this importantto each other forever. “And until then we have loads of shared spaced in thecastle.”

“You should wow them speechless with all the wandless magic you’ve beenpracticing,” Rey adds. Both of them murmur lumos,conjuring balls of light in their joined hands to illuminate the path backacross the grounds.

“Shit, that’s never not going to be cool.” Poe’s voice was quiet. He was silhouettedagainst the castle, lit by Rey and Finn’s joined magic, and looking at themlike they were the most magical things in this strange and magical world theylived in, and particularly handsome. It was becoming more and more difficultnot to kiss him, and a quick glance at Rey confirmed that she was thinking muchthe same. And maybe, Finn thought, maybe this year they would. Holding handswith both of them – his friends, his family – it was starting to look more andmore possible. Inevitable.

[survivingart]

HOW TO BUILD A GOOD FOUNDATION FOR YOUR CREATIVITY

When we think about creativity and inspiration, we might picture an image of a spirit, a muse, that comes forth from the heavens and touches us in funny places at the most random of times imaginable.

But these moments aren’t random, and there really is no extraterrestrial or divine power fondling our brains. It’s all an illusion, a misunderstanding of causality and how our perception and thinking work.

While the idea of inspiration coming from outside of us isn’t that far from the truth — the building blocks of any idea are build, similarly to dreams, from our encounters with reality — it’s not the outside that needs to come into alignment for us to get a “great” idea. 

It’s our insides.

Before writing this blog, I struggled with sitting down and doing my thing for about 4 hours; mindlessly scrolling Facebook, checking my podcast stats and Mailchimp settings and playing around with the WordPress installation of my website, all just trying to find something, anything that would make me sit down and actually get to work.

Well, it didn’t work — even though you’re reading my blog as always — it didn’t happen because I magically got inspiration from my YouTube analytics page. It happened because I went for a run.

Let me explain.

The creative “spirit” or, because I don’t believe in metaphysical phenomena, let’s call it creative thought, is a very primitive beast. Not as primitive as our most basic drives to eat, sleep and copulate, but it’s not the super-computer everybody thinks it is.

It’s a state. 

And like with all human states, it needs to be cultivated, nourished and forced if necessary — because to be honest, 99% of us don’t need to be creative; we are well fed, we have clothes and a home and wi-fi and nice sneakers. 

Many of us get through life without ever encountering real danger or opposition. And no, having a mean boss doesn’t count. Having a bad day at school doesn’t even come close and neither does your car breaking down, your favourite pair of pants ripping or your beloved Netflix show being cancelled.

Creativity is an evolutionary trait that came to be because we humans are a weak species when it comes to physical strength, speed and most other types of bodily capabilities that various other animal species possess to stay alive in this jungle that we call life. 

So evolution, chance and a myriad of other forces produced in us a strong capacity to simulate — to think ahead and imagine what could be.

Alfred North Whitehead famously said: “the purpose of thinking is to let the ideas die instead of us dying” and he was right. In the olden times this was our only defence against going extinct; famine was prevented because people that used to live in my country decided to toil away on fields the whole summer, so that they could survive the harsh winters with the produce they cultivated.

Opposition back in the day was real and the threats were much harsher and more unforgiving that they are now — thanks to advances in politics, technology and medicine, not to say in our basic understanding of what humanity is all about.

Even just 70 years ago, my grandfather knew a completely different opposition from the ones we know today (at least in Europe and other developed countries). 

He and a bunch of other men, women and even children stood half naked and sometimes barefoot in the coldest months of winter, clothed in semi-functional rags and maybe a pair of boots that were almost definitely too big or god forbid too small — much more likely, which usually meant they cut off the boots’ toes, effectively making them about as winter proof as a silk handkerchief — and waited to repel a foreign force that was armed with automatic machine guns, tanks and the belief that all slavs are wild beasts that need to be eradicated from the face of the earth so as to give the “true, rightful breed of humanity” the ability to rule the earth.

Many of them died. There was no “equality”, no ethics and no morality. No social services or HR person to complain to — the only human resources that were measured were the amounts of people that were sent into oblivion, because a few people decided that having a certain face shape and eye colour wasn’t exactly to god’s standard.

Not to get off track here, I myself am only an observer, so who am I to even judge or tell such tales, but I grew up with them and embodied them as a child. I only wish to propose them as a broad context for what I’d like to talk about today — discipline and adversity.

Not exactly the kind that the army enforces upon its members, but not exactly unalike either. Creative discipline is something a lot of us lack and more of us forget — even if just from time to time.

Nobody is born with it, nobody even remotely thinks they need it — especially us creative types, that want to be “free” and roam the pastures of life, exploring and playing around in our self-constructed heavens of the sublime.

Discipline is earned by hard work and lost by nothing more than a brief hiatus. But the biggest problem with creative discipline is, that unlike physical discipline — where the goal is to induce a moderate amount of pain and suffering to the practitioner, so that they may cultivate a masochistic part inside of them over the long run and enjoy the actively and predominantly self-induced pain and even find solace in it — creative discipline is harder to manifest. And even more so over the long run.

Creativity is play, not work. And as such, play must be free, undisturbed by any outside forces that might distort or even break the illusion that play provides for those that are partaking in it.

Think of a simple game like playing family (where children enact the power dynamics that unfold inside a family); one child will play the baby, one the mother and the other will play the father and/or mother and all the combinations in between — this is an open minded blog, so I have no idea what the “contemporary” family unit is comprised of in leftist-heavy places, but whatever it is, let’s also include that and any other ones into our example to not delve too deep into politics, as nobody cares about them, or closer to the truth, I don’t care about them; live and let live.

If someone disturbed this charade of social roles that is taking place; if the child playing the daddy decides he wants to be mommy now, they will break the spell of the game and playtime has ceased to be — even is just for a moment.

It’s the same if two teams play football and each team has one player that is absolutely horrendous at the sport — if they wish to make the game enjoyable for all the other players, they need to get rid of the bad ones, so that the flow of the game isn’t disturbed by anyone being out of line. 

And there are many other ways of disturbing games — game theory being a wonderful field to have a go at for anyone interested — I just want to focus on the fact that one can break the game.

And to get back to discipline; discipline can break the game. Not in the same way as the two prior examples, but in an even more detrimental way. Unlike being bad at a game or one of the players deciding to boycott the game and kill the vibe for the other players, discipline kills the whole essence of a game.

That’s why learning anything new isn’t fun until you can at least do the basics. Nobody likes guitar if all they ever did was practice the G scale for 2 weeks. Nobody will like basketball if all they did was train how to dribble the ball for a month without ever actually playing the game.

Only the people that get to the point of proficiency, where they can at least semi-competently execute rudimentary instances of any game, get to the point of feeling a positive connection with it.

And the real goal is to balance the scale, so as to have enough discipline to never stop growing and always deliver whatever it is you should be delivering — it doesn’t have to be good, it only needs to be regular — and to never stop liking the game and enjoying it whenever possible, so as to not grow too far apart from the actual reason that made you start playing in the first place.

So, a run made me do this blog — and usually when I write my blunders, I do them in one take. One hour, sometimes two and that’s it. The hard part is never making them, but to start making them.

Therefore I started to discipline myself; I wrote daily for almost half a year until recently, when I had too many other responsibilities and work related things on my calendar, where I decided to only make one a week and rather than focusing on quantity, give quality priority.

But the main point for me is to run. Why?

Because I never liked it. To run was to me equal to wasting my life, a metaphor for running away from my responsibilities and issues and it felt not only demeaning, but boring. And it was the boredom that I couldn’t face.

But now I run three times a week, sometimes more and sometimes less, but I try to do about three each week. Because going for a run and consequently doing weight exercises doesn’t only give me a physical boost and a more health body — not saying having four times the stamina as I had a year ago isn’t a big plus — it gives me a strong kick in the ass to do what I otherwise wouldn’t do. 

And it does it in perpetuity. 

I know there are those of you that don’t need such regimes — and kudos to you all — but I do, and I bet there are a lot of us out there that would, for the love of god, rather smoke weed and drink cold ale all day than actually do what we love. 

Not hate, or ought to, but love!

And now to why running works (for me). It might be sleeping for you for all I know, the point is, each of us has to find their own thing and stick to it.

Running for me makes me do something I don’t like (albeit to be fair, I have grown accustomed to doing it now and only partially hate it — I might even someday like it). And doing something I don’t like that much teaches my body not to whine and to act whenever it needs to, not only when it feels like it.

Because there is no real danger to my life (and believe me, our bodies know that running out of Snickers bars or tobacco isn’t the same as being chased by an angry Nazi or wild cat), my body starts to become dull, inattentive and unresponsive to stimuli — especially cognitive, coming from my own mind. 

That’s the adversity that we’ve lost because of the safety we now enjoy in developed countries — and don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for it, but we have to pay the piper, too.    

And because there is no real outside threat that we feel, our bodies become lazy and stubborn — why move if I can lay in bed all day? Why cook if I can order pizza? Why do anything, really? In the end, isn’t all life purposeless and void of meaning?

That’s when nihilism slowly seeps in and starts to gnaw at the soul. And the problem is, it’s not a fallacy — life is void of meaning in the grander scheme of things, and a dull and fatty body that only cares about instant gratification will always sway the mind to become at least in a way a proponent of nihilism — even for those of us that aren’t as attentive to know what nihilism is will tell you the populist version of it: They don’t give a fuck.

But this force is quite older than nihilism.

In his book The War of Art, Steven Pressfield describes it as The Resistance, but it had names even before plumbing was invented. The original Hebrew term sâtan is derived from a verb meaning primarily “to obstruct, oppose”. And if used with the definite article (ha-sâtan), it means the heavenly accuser himself — the devil. But you had Apep in Egypt and Erebus in Old Greece too.

The point is, the Obstructor has been around since the dawn of man, whispering and lightly influencing each and every decision our ancestors made. And he is still going strong. 

When you don’t really feel like it and decide — 5 min before getting to work on your new painting — that you’ll rather start tomorrow, he’s there. When you then persuade yourself that starting tomorrow is actually better because of a lack of materials, your schedule, something about your spouse … he’s there too. 

And he is absolutely there when the alarm goes off and you decide to “just close your eyes for a sec” the very next day. He practically invented the snooze button on your phone.

The question therefore is: What can we do when this immortal, supernatural force is exploiting our weaknesses and curating our demise?

It is really, really hard to go at it alone. But there is a trick that simplifies the process immensely. It is in fact so simple, it made the inventor of the cure one of the biggest names in our society and his products have been gathering a cult following for decades.

It’s even universal; works for painters the same as it does for musicians — even actors and actresses can use it. Hell, even bankers, busboys and businessmen can, it just works every single time.

The secret?

Just do it.

from Surviving Art https://ift.tt/2ZTEY9H via IFTTT

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S MAIN RAP, LEAD VOCAL KANG HANBYUL...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Sirius CURRENT AGE:  24 DEBUT AGE: 17 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 13 COMPANY: 99 SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): 별 – byul ; which means star. a childhood nickname his parents called him and sometimes still do. INSPIRATION: his parents served as his biggest inspiration, introducing him to music at an early age. without them, he wouldn’t be where he is today. SPECIAL TALENTS:

oddly flexible waist and back that he is nearly unbeatable at the limbo.

quite clever at acrostic poems.

NOTABLE FACTS:

owns a large vinyl collection of vintage songs dating back to the ‘60s.

a big harry potter fan.

has two older siblings.

pacific wide shoulders. 

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

hanbyul has been low-key since his scandal made headlines early 2018. his opportunity to debut solo was stripped, indefinitely postponed, but he hopes to finally release some kind of music possibly in 2019. the gravity of his scandal makes an official solo debut vague. so, he has hopes he can start small with features in songs, unpromoted and maybe, when more time passes, a feature in chain station as well. he had thought, considering love scenario’s popularity, he could have jumped on solo endeavours but the scandal set him too far back, that his main goal as of now is to get back on the good side of the company and public once again. for now, he does want to write and produce for poizn if another chance comes his way.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

this is overreaching, but hanbyul is aiming to hit it big like soloists before him: tiger jk, outsider. except he isn’t a soloist yet; he’s from a boy group and that is stigma and a setback within itself. regardless, he remains positive to at least reach a margin of their success if he can’t have it all. he wants to branch away from the rules of being just an idol; he wants to break that stigma idols aren’t artists. and he hopes to do so with his music.

if chances emerge, producing songs for other artists outside of POIZN (not just exclusive to those in 99 entertainment) are avenues hanbyul very much wants to traverse through. he has a flare for dabbling in different genres, so he never wants to be confined to one type of venture. he wants to branch out musically and lyrically to a wide variety of different idol groups if possible.

IDOL IMAGE

crooked smirks, intense glares—they tell hanbyul that’s what suits him best. to be tough, to act tough. to be that stereotypical bad boy, who is hard around the edges but with a heart of gold. cliche, really, but works on the fans. they eat it up, screaming his name—no, screaming sirius because that’s him. the star that burns (only to burn out).

on stage, sirius is charismatic, powering through performances, burning through the grid iron, shredding through lyrics. he performs like his life is on the line, that every stage is a competition and he must win against himself; he performs in the circus of the entertainment industry at the risk of plummeting without a net to catch him, at the risk of burning… out. hard work and diligence as well as fiery passion exude in the harsh growls between notes, in the vein protruding and jaw clenching as he never fails to put on a show.

it’s where he shines best. what he does best.

99 likes that about him. likes the switch between sirius and hanbyul. sirius, who is a firecracker in the night sky. and hanbyul, who is a soft blaze in the day. a ray of sun behind a wisp of cloud.

that is the heart of gold part of him thought to be true. the heart of gold that snares with silly, prepared jokes and timely good reactions that has cameras panning to him. he is the one who looks directly in the eyes, smile soft and gaze softer—tender, like he’s looking through you (but you can’t see through him) as he recites acrostic poems. this is the hanbyul he brings to the table during intimate moments of fansigns and interviews. this is the hanbyul that surprises and catches others off guard. this is the hanbyul that plays the part of what others want from him.

hanbyul knows what to do to make it work. knows what everyone likes because he’s been pleasing people since he was young. he will pretend to be whatever works to fit himself into hearts and garner attention. because it works to be well-received, well-liked, to be an illusion of a star people gaze at, awed, when deep down he doesn’t have that heart of gold.

it’s tainted; he’s tainted.

for years his parents mold him into someone they preferred until hanbyul can’t recognize who he truly is. then it comes to him when he’s once again taken over a recording studio, he’s an ambitious people-pleasing chameleon; someone who twists his face and personality to better slot into the situation for his own personal gain.

nobody will like this version of him, he thinks, so hanbyul tucks it behind a friendly smile, convincing others he is all nice with no ulterior motives. bad boy sirius with a heart of gold is better than kang hanbyul, an ambitious soul acting like someone sweet so people can like him—so he can get what he wants, anyway, right.

IDOL HISTORY

the kangs’ guide to creating the perfect idol.

step one: have a child. kang jinyoung and kim sora have two children, but they had hanbyul with the hopes he can fulfill their lifelong dream. each, a failed product in the chase of fame (jinyoung didn’t pass the comedian test, and sora, a singer, never found herself signed to an agency). together, they want nothing more than to vicariously live through hanbyul, to have him famous, to have him adored by a sea of thousands—millions. their time was up, but for hanbyul, it was just beginning.

step two: training. as soon as he can walk, they teach him dance, simple choreography he can grasp and maybe master until he’s old enough to attend proper classes. and as soon as he can talk, they teach him to sing, and eomma has that covered. no need to spend expenses there, expenses they don’t have but continue to use to craft hanbyul into the perfect product. they forget about their other children, and they forget hanbyul is just a child, who is only eager to please them.

step three: auditions. any opportunity in busan is snatched. hanbyul is brought to auditions for commercials, pictorials. nothing big, nothing that can launch him into overnight success, but baby-steps. instead of making friends at school, who tease and ostracize him for not knowing how to mingle well, always busy living for his parents, hanbyul is pampered by lights too bright, he has to squint to see the cameras.

this is something he never gets used to but pretends to.

step four: seoul. the capital has more chances for hanbyul, his parents decide. so, they uproot the entire family and move to seoul with nothing but some money hanbyul earned. his hyung and noona hate it, despise the move and blame hanbyul for being so easy to fool. he doesn’t get it, though, doesn’t understand he’s being used and exploited. and he won’t understand for years to come. the lights blind him for that long.

step five: more auditions. but they are no longer for lesser tier commercials that do nothing for his fame. instead, they are for companies. thirteen, hanbyul comes prepared with a song he rehearsed over and over again until perfection—or something close to it. his eomma recommended it. a jackson 5 song because she likes michael jackson and wanted similar recognition for hanbyul once. this is a hint of his parents’ delusions, the ones his siblings warned him about, but hanbyul ignores it. for good reason because he impressed the panel enough to make it.

step six: 99 entertainment. they take him in and raise him like his parents: training, training and more training. but unlike his parents’ strong beliefs, there is nothing outstanding about hanbyul. he realizes this in vocal class when others sing better than him, clearer, higher—in dance class when he can’t seem to time his steps, can’t seem to catch up and stay in sync with everyone else. his parents warn to steer clear, that potential friends are competitors and they’re vying for limited spots. quitting isn’t an option, though. when his voice fails to reach notes, when his feet struggle to keep up, hanbyul tries regardless. tries and tries and works himself dogged tired just to keep up. his addiction to perseverance and hard work begins here.

step seven: more training. his parents aren’t remotely proud of hanbyul when months then years pass and there is no word of his debut. they assume he’s slacking off, not doing his best and accuse him of wasting their efforts to get him to where he is today. finally, he is getting a glimpse of what his siblings talk about: that his parents are only in it for themselves. he just refuses to believe it at first. yet puberty wrecks his esteem more, his voice easily cracking. someone suggests taking up rapping, that it better suits his image, anyway. so, again, hanbyul is tasked to try, and he sucks at it. but his addiction kicks in—the one aimed to please with blood, sweat and tears.

step eight: expand yourself. he finds escape in rapping, thinks it’s something similar to telling a story: his story. hanbyul listens to more of it, to the lyrics that speak of injustice, of how unfair the world is, how unfair life can be, of trying to only end up with nothing. the hardships, the pain, he relates to. pen to paper, he writes down what he stored from years having barely anyone to truly talk to, what hurts him, what pains him, the blisters on his heels, the ache in his back, the bruises on his limbs. hanbyul reads for inspiration, listens for muse, writes and writes until he can twist his tongue around his own words, his own tales and makes something out of nothing, make his stories into songs.

step nine: jump at chances. and the company likes it, likes him for pushing himself to the limit, for not giving up, for finding avenues to go on until he is considered a valuable asset. a rap competition, broadcasted, provides an opportunity to show him off, to display on a pedestal what they have hidden in their roster. young and full of potential, plus his parents are thrilled he is getting his name out there, hanbyul greedily hops at the chance to boast, to gloat, to rip through stages he exhausted himself over day after day, night after night. the reviews are mixed. while his talent is not denied, it’s judged and put under a microscope. no one thinks hanbyul deserved such a high placement, but he’s happy. his parents aren’t.

step ten: avoid scandal. hanbyul returns to training, disheartened. his parents berate him for losing, express their disappointment in him with cold shoulders and icy glares. he finds no sympathy from his siblings, who are happy the ‘golden child’ has failed, and he barely has friends after being forced view everyone as competition. again, the addiction revs its engines and the thirst of recognition he’s barely tasted erupts, and hanbyul is back punishing himself to get better, to be better, to debut so his parents will love him again. finally, finally—poizn is announced, and he’s in the final line-up. his parents are only more than happy to sign his rights away. it should be the greatest time of his life, but it isn’t.

poizn is problematic. scandal after scandal, they are continuously benched from promotions. they spend more time back in training rooms than they do on stage. this is not what he had in mind, not what he wants. where is the spotlight. hanbyul writes more than he raps, learns to produce more than he has a chance to perform his own songs. it’s what he does to keep himself sane, to tells his parents he is doing something in his spare time, but the accusations are tossed, anyway: they blame him, they blame his members, they start believing the articles and rumours of apparent bad attitudes as if they don’t know their own son. they also threaten him to stay clean, spotless because being in poizn itself muddles his name.

for years, hanbyul manages to stay pristine. then the pictures happen. all because he fell for a girl, trusted a girl but became too busy for that girl (training, writing, producing, being a workaholic) and had to break up with that girl. in return, she released his pictures right after a monster hit. after management finally chose one of his songs for a title track. after his parents showered him with compliments and affection and he was satisfied. hanbyul loses everything because of a single post.

step eleven: this is no step eleven. not for hanbyul because he is far from the perfect idol his parents raised him to be. yet he’s still trying. he won’t give up to achieve their goals because they are his, too–they ingrained it into him even if it burns him out.

[shefa]

Facing the Storms in Our Lives

FACING THE STORMS IN OUR LIVES

FIRST DAY ROSH HASHANAH SERMON 5778 – 2017

Rabbi Stephen Weiss

B’nai Jeshurun Congregation, Pepper Pike OH

I’m going to be honest with you. This summer just has not quite turned out the way that I had planned. It was supposed to go something like this: After sharing in my favorite holiday tradition – the all-night study on Shavuot, I would head to Europe to lead our congregation’s Jewish Heritage Tour of Budapest, Prague and Berlin. The rest of the summer would be punctuated by two bike trips I was planning to take. I would ride my bicycle from Cleveland to Cincinnati and then along the Erie Canal from Buffalo to Albany. And of course, the piece de-resistance – the most important, the single most important event of the summer by far – was that at the end of August we would celebrate our daughter’s wedding.

Well, the wedding was unbelievable – beautiful, joyful, the happiest day of my life. I still pinch myself. It’s hard to believe that it was real; and for that I will forever be grateful to God. It was a weekend filled with absolute magic.

But the rest of the summer? Well by now you all know about my car accident in May – yes, for the record: car, not bike! Despite my repeated attempts to force myself back into the world, my injuries were severe enough that I was basically out of commission the whole summer. Two weeks before the wedding I was still unsure I would be able to enjoy my daughter’s big day. Even now, though I have returned fully to work, a number of problems related to the injury persist. I won’t be riding my bike any time soon.

So, this summer did not turn out in the way I had planned for and expected. The truth is, that’s how life is for most of us.

As the Yiddish proverb says, “A man plans and God laughs.” Except it’s not always funny. Many times, when our life goes “off script” we find ourselves confronted with tremendous, even overwhelming adversity.

For Sheryl Sandberg, the C.O.O. of Facebook, life went “off script” when she found her husband lying dead of a heart attack on the floor of a gym at the resort where they were vacationing in Mexico. In her book, Option B, she tells the story of how, weeks later, she and a friend, Phil were planning a father-child activity. They came up with a plan for someone to fill in for her husband, Dave. She cried to her friend, “But I want Dave.” Phil put his arm around her and said, “Option A is not available. So, let’s kick the ‘heck’ out of Option B.”

That statement pretty much sums up life’s challenges. For better and for worse, few of us live a life that is always Option A. We live a life that is always some form of option B.

Raise your hand if your life is turning out exactly the way you thought it would, if your life followed the trajectory that you expected and there have been no surprises, pleasant or unpleasant along the way…. Go ahead…. You see, no one goes untouched.

There is an expression in the Talmud, the rabbis said: Tzarot rabim chatzi nechama – “the troubles of the many are a half-comfort.” It helps to at least know that we are not alone.

If our lives sailed along as we planned and envisioned them, we would have no need for these holidays with their soul-searching and introspection, their pleas for forgiveness, for blessing and life. We would not sing through our tears as we chant the Unetaneh Tokef prayer: “On Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: Who shall live and who shall die, who shall wander and who shall be at peace, who shall wax rich and who shall be impoverished, who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low?” No… in place of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer – if our lives were Option A – we would come, offer a prayer of thanksgiving, have some apples and honey and call it a day.

We are here because too often life throws at us challenges that come from nowhere and seem utterly insurmountable. It might be a sudden injury that brings our lives to a grinding halt. Or the shattering of a relationship around which our world was built. Or the loss of a job leaving us unsure how to meet our needs and the needs of those we love. It might be suddenly confronting serious debilitating, degenerative or God forbid terminal illness. It might be our grief over the death of a loved one, especially when that death comes unexpected and too soon, most especially if it is the loss of a child. And this year, in this congregation, as I look out at all of you, I know that we have seen far too many storms.

Like the Hurricanes which brought such devastation to Texas, Florida and the Caribbean, these events sweep in with a force that cannot be deterred and utterly change the landscape of our lives. Sooner or later it happens to all of us, sometimes repeatedly, sometimes coming as many storms at once. And after the storm, we are never the same.

In her book, Sheryl Sandberg uses her experience to guide us through the challenges of accepting Option B and learning how to confront and move beyond adversity and rebuild our lives. In doing so, she turns to the writings of the founder of positive psychology, Martin Seligman. Dr. Seligman underscores what he sees as three impediments to our ability to recover from adversity and go on. He calls these three impediments the Three P’s: Personalization, Pervasiveness and Permanence. Learning how to avoid these three Ps would take us a long way toward nurturing the resilience that we need to overcome the challenges in or lives.

Personalization is the belief that we are at fault. When something goes wrong in our lives there is a great tendency to want to blame ourselves. Sheryl tortured herself with the illusion that she had been responsible for her husband’s death. If only she had gotten to the gym in time she could have saved him. If only she had realized that he had heart disease, she could have saved him. That guilt in turn spilled over into her apologizing for everything in her life: to her mother, who put her life on hold to stay with her, to her friends who dropped everything to come to the funeral, to her clients for missing appointments, to her colleagues for losing focus. It took her a long time to understand that if the doctors didn’t know that her husband was going to have a heart attack, how could she? Her psychologist made her ban the words “I’m sorry” from her vocabulary.

Now you may be thinking, “Rabbi, isn’t that what these High Holidays are all about? Aren’t I supposed to feel guilt for the things that I’ve done wrong? Shouldn’t I apologize to those people that I’ve hurt? In fact, isn’t the whole point of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer to move us to teshuvah, to repentance?”

And the answer is yes… yes, of course it is. This is the season of teshuvah. And teshuvah is fundamentally about recognizing where we have fallen down, what we have done wrong, who we have hurt; and seeking to change. That is the prime goal we engage in at this time of year.

But sometimes when we are hurting, we can confuse what we have done wrong with the hurt that we are feeling. There is a difference between apologizing for that which is within our power and feeling guilty for that which is beyond our control. Let me say that again: There is a difference between apologizing for that which is within our power and feeling guilty for that which is beyond our control.

That’s why over and over again during these holidays we will ask God for two things: selichah and mechilah. Those two words are repeated over and over again in the High Holiday liturgy.

Selichah means forgiveness. God should forgive us for the things that we have done wrong, for the people that we have hurt, for the ways in which we have turned away from God’s commandments, for our failures of morality and ethics. Selichah is forgiveness for our sins.

Mechilah is often translated into English in our prayerbooks as “pardon;” but that’s not really an accurate translation of the word. To be “moichel” somebody – maybe some of you recognize that word if I say it in the Yiddish. It’s the same word – to be “moichel” somebody means to relieve them of responsibility. Somebody has an obligation to me and I say “I moichel you” – “you don’t have to do that.”

Selichah is God forgiving us for what we did wrong. Mechilah to be “moicheled” is God releasing us of the burden of those things for which we are not responsible. God is saying to us: “Let go of that! You did not control that. Don’t let that weigh you down.” God forgives us for those things too because sometimes we have to learn to forgive ourselves, to let go and to be able move on. We have to be able to move past personalization.

The second P, pervasiveness, is the belief that an event will affect every aspect of our lives. It is the belief that if we are suffering or grieving or struggling over one thing in our lives, then we must suffer, grieve or struggle in every other part of our life as well. Everywhere we look we see pain and sorrow. And should we feel momentarily happy, we beat ourselves up and feel guilty about it.

In her book, Sheryl Sandberg writes: “As I blamed myself less, I started to notice that not everything was terrible. My son and daughter were sleeping through the night, crying less and playing more. We had access to grief counselors and therapists, I could afford childcare and support at home. I had loving friends and colleagues.” Being able to feel success, joy, love and peace in other aspects of our lives allows us to access our spiritual reserves, to find the strength to go on.

This is what our sages called “hakarat ha-tov” -- recognizing and acknowledging the good in our lives, taking stock of our blessings and expressing gratitude. That may seem obvious to you or, if you are hurting right now, it may seem incredibly hard. But our tradition is clear that as Jews we are bidden to find sources of joy in our lives even in our times of sorrow, and to find good that we are thankful for even when we are struggling.

When someone passes away, we observe the rites of mourning. During shiva, for seven days, we don’t leave our homes. We wear the torn garment. We engage in all the mourning practices. Except for one day of that seven. Which day is that? Shabbat. Shabbat overrides the mourning. The rabbis teach that Shabbat counts as one of the seven but we don’t observe it as one of the seven. We are not allowed to mourn or grieve on Shabbat. Why not? Because on that day we have an obligation to express our gratitude to God for the gift of creation, of peoplehood, of Torah. We have an obligation to be with community and feel appreciation for the other lives that touch us, support us and uplift us. Hakarat ha-tov: Even in our deepest pain, we have to recognize the good.

So many good things happen in our lives every day, small and large, that we too often take for granted. The very fact that we are alive and breathing, that we have family, friends and community. The beauty of our natural world. It can be as simple as, for me, the small miracle of the invention of silicone ear plugs that enabled me to dance at and enjoy my daughter’s wedding despite the loud volume of the band! For others, maybe it’s the miracle of cochlear implants, or of a walker that allows you to be more active and get around and not be tied down, or recovery from a recent illness, or getting a job, making a friend, or finding love. Maybe it’s just a beautiful day, or having just a little less pain today than yesterday. There are so many good things that happen in our lives at every moment. Far more than the dark moments we face. And when we can recognize and acknowledge them, when we can tackle the pervasiveness, we are on the road to healing.

The third impediment to our recovery -- the third P, permanence -- is the belief that the aftershocks of the event will last forever: that because one relationship ended we will never find a new partner, because we failed once we will always fail, that because we are grieving a loss we will never again feel joy. Sandberg shares that “For months, no matter what I did, I felt like the debilitating anguish would always be there. Most of the people I knew who had lived through tragedy said that over time the sadness subsides… I didn’t believe them.” She goes on to say, “When my children cried, I would flash forward to their entire lives without a father. Dave wasn’t just going to miss a soccer game, but all the soccer games. All the debate tournaments. All the holidays. All the graduations. He would not walk our daughter down the aisle at her wedding.”

Here’s the thing: it’s all true. Her husband would not be at any of those events. But what is not true is that all those events would therefore completely void of any joy, that she would feel the same grief then that she felt at the time of his passing. The human soul is hard-wired for optimism and hope. Give us a cloud and sooner or later we will find a silver lining. In fact, Sheryl Sandberg brings studies in her book that show that we all tend to overestimate how much negative events will affect us.

In one study, some students were asked to imagine their current romantic relationship ending and predict how unhappy they would be two months later. Other students were asked to report their unhappiness two months after an actual break-up. Guess what? Those who experienced a real split were far happier than expected. In other studies assistant professors thought being denied university tenure would leave them despondent for the next five years. College students predicted they would be miserable if they got stuck in an undesirable dorm. Both turn out to not be true. The bottom line is we are very bad, and overly pessimistic, in predicting our future emotional state.

How do you combat that feeling of permanence? By banishing words like “never” and “always.” Instead of saying “I will always be struggling,” say to yourself “today I am struggling.” Instead of saying “I will never again know joy,” try saying “sometimes I can’t feel joy.” Live in the moment; and if the moment is sad, or difficult, or frustrating that’s okay. But you own that moment, don’t let that moment own you. Don’t let the moment define you. Remember that what you feel today does not determine what you will feel tomorrow. Leave yourself open to the possibility of feeling joy and joy will find you.

At the end of her book, Sheryl Sandberg writes: “But just as grief crashes into us like a wave, it also rolls back like the tide. We are left not just standing, but in some ways stronger.”

The challenges and storms in our lives don’t need to be personal, pervasive or permanent; but resilience can be. We can build it and carry it with us throughout our lives. We can recognize when to let go of guilt. We can learn again to feel gratitude. We can rise above our grief and allow ourselves to rediscover love and joy. For all those who suffered the effects of Irma, Harvey and Maria, and for each of us facing storms in our personal lives, may the coming year be a year of resilience, a year of rebuilding, a year of hope and healing and blessing.

[gracewithducks]

The rain fell, and the floods came (Matthew 7:24-27; originally Hebrews 12:1-2,12-13)

So I had this whole sermon planned. I mean, this is kick-off Sunday. It’s kind of a big deal: the Sunday when we start up our programming year, when we kick everything back into overdrive, when we start up all our small groups and studies and meetings and ministries in earnest.

 And I was going to talk about how, growing up, this was always one of my favorite times of year: not just because I have a September birthday, and so I may be a bit biased, but because there is something tangibly powerful about the start of a new school year – even more so when both your parents are public school teachers. In our family, this time of year means fresh, un-faded, never-before-stapled paper going up on every bulletin board. This time of year means opening new packs of markers, before any of them have even had a chance for the tips to be squashed and the ink to dry out. This time of year means the smell of new crayons, reams of new paper, pristine folders, just waiting to be filled. This time of year meant new clothes and new backpacks and new shoes and a new beginning.

 This is the time of year when anything can happen: when you reunite with old friends and meet all kinds of new ones, when you get the chance to try new things, to learn new subjects, to set a whole new set of goals.

 And I was going to remind us that learning doesn’t stop when we graduate; that all of us – not just the kids, but all of us – get a new beginning. And I was going to challenge us to think about what we hope to learn, how we might be challenged, and what our goals for the year ahead could be.

 It would have been a pretty good sermon. I had all this stuff about new shoes and running races worked out, and you would have really liked it, I’m sure.

 But it’s not the sermon we need to hear today.

 So today, I’m calling an audible. Today, I invite you to hear these words from the gospel of Matthew, chapter 7, verses 24-27:

 Jesus said, “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had [its foundation] on rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell – and great was its fall!”

 Friends, I grew up with this scripture; maybe you did, too. It’s one of those passages that Sunday school teachers and youth group leaders like to come back to again and again, partly because there are such great visuals out there – pictures and videos that can demonstrate the dangers of short-sighted thinking, gorgeous mansions slipping into the sea, as the sand beneath them crumbles away; there are many real-life reminders of the dangers of not taking the time to put a  proper foundation under your house. And partly, too, this is one I remember because there was a song we sang every year at summer camp: “You better build your house upon a rock; make a good foundation on a solid spot. Oh, the storms may come and go, but the peace of God you will know!”

 I remember being told to be like the wise man, to build my life on the foundation of the rock of Christ, to build my life on Jesus, and I’d be able to weather any storm. And I also remember passing smug judgment on all those people too foolish and greedy to put a good solid foundation under their lives.

 Which is ironic. Because part of the “words of mine” that Jesus calls us to hear and act on, if we want to build our house on a rock – is “do not judge, so that you will not be judged...” This very same chapter of Matthew’s gospel starts with Jesus talking about trying to take a speck out of our neighbor’s eyes and failing to notice the log in our own.

 And then Jesus says, “In everything, do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

 And he says, “Beware of false prophets… You will know them by their fruits.” And he warns, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven.”

 And only then does he talk about building your house, not on shifting sand, but on this solid rock. Build your house of faith on this foundation: search for truth, and discern it by its fruits; do not judge others, but treat them the way you’d like to be treated.

 Build your life on something solid. That message has been especially echoing in my heart and mind, for what are probably obvious reasons, this week.

 Last week, some of you will remember, we spent a lot of time talking about Hurricane Harvey. And we prayed for those affected by that disaster, and we gave – and gave generously; thank you, church, for being such a generous people – we gave generously to help.

 But then this week, Irma entered the picture. Another hurricane. An even bigger hurricane, wreaking havoc even now, as we speak. It was a week when suddenly everyone was watching the radar and weather reports, calling and checking on our loved ones down south, watching evacuations and preparations and sending up so, so many prayers.

 And many of you know that even as Irma smashes Florida and the Georgia coast, Jose and Katia are out, spinning over the waters and biding their time.

 But do you remember, long before there was Harvey and Irma, there was Andrew? Twenty-five years ago, Hurricane Andrew ripped through Florida – it was the first major hurricane to hit the state after more than forty years of near-misses. For forty years, hurricanes either changed course or unraveled before hitting the Florida coast, which means, for forty years, people grew complacent, comfortable in the belief that the next big storm wouldn’t come.

 And over those forty years, there was a construction boom in Florida. Building codes were loose and varied from one county to the next, and even where better codes were in place, they weren’t always followed. People looked for ways to keep expenses down by cutting corners: using particle board instead of sturdy plywood to build roofs, for example, and holding those roofs together with staples rather than roofing nails. Everything looked fine; everything seemed fine, and nobody asked too many questions about what was hiding under the shingles.

 And then Andrew hit. And those shoddy roofs were torn apart, turning into dangerous and deadly projectiles. Homes were destroyed, and people died, because of all those years of thinking: it won’t happen here; all those years of thinking: why worry about tomorrow, when we can just do what’s cheaper and easier today?

 After Andrew, Florida’s building codes were completely revamped. Engineers looked at every aspect of homes, searching for weak points, planning ways to minimize the devastation of the next potential storm. Twelve years later, those codes were put to their first major test: when four hurricanes – Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne – four hurricanes hit the state in just one season. The new homes, built under the new codes, survived; the amount and severity of the damage was drastically, dramatically reduced.

 But rather than celebrating this success, the state started looking for ways to scale the codes back – the reason? All those safeguards were expensive, and home owners and builders were complaining. The lessons of Andrew – the reality that this state dangles right out into the path of many powerful and dangerous storms – it was all ignored and forgotten, once again, for the sake of what’s faster and easier and cheaper today.[1]

 And now, here we are. And the result of those choices is yet to be seen.

 This is the danger, the risk we all face – when we forget about tomorrow, and think only about today. We think, it can’t happen here; it won’t happen to me. It’s the illusion that lulls us into a false sense of security – that tempts us to forego health insurance, because we’re not currently sick; to ignore climate change, because addressing it means drastic and costly changes to the way we live; and we are tempted to put off buying life insurance, because surely we won’t die anytime soon… and we are tempted to live like we’ve got all the time in the world to do the things that matter, when the truth is, the reality is, not one of us knows what tomorrow will bring.

 As Irma was battering the Caribbean, while Florida and Georgia braced for impact, I read an very interesting article on the BBC this week, written by Amanda Ruggeri, with the provocative title: “We could lessen the toll of hurricanes – but we don’t.”[2]

 Ruggeri writes how we tend to describe the kinds of storms we’re seeing now as “unprecedented” – but, she reminds us, “Natural disasters aren’t aberrations. They’re all-too-frequent occurrences – ones that, if anything, are becoming more damaging. And thinking about each one in isolation each time it happens has a dangerous, even deadly, effect: it discourages us from adequately preparing for them to begin with.”

 In short, bad things happen. Denying that bad things happen only hurts us in the end. Pretending that, when bad things happen, they’re the outliers, the exceptions, and won’t happen again – it only hurts us in the long run. Imagine if, every time someone was diagnosed with cancer, every time someone had a stroke or a heart attack, we treated it like a single, isolated disaster – unprecedented, completely unpredicted, unlikely to ever happen again.

 Certainly, when you’re the one who’s been diagnosed or who’s suffered the attack, this suffering catches you by surprise. But if, on a larger scale, can you imagine if our doctors just threw up their hands and said, “Wow, that’s terrible luck for you. What are the odds? Sure wish there was something we could do, but you know, nothing could have ever prepared us for such an unprecedented tragedy.”

 No. Doctors look at many cases, and they try treatments, and they study, and they learn, and they teach us how to live a healthy life-style. And doctors still know that sicknesses and pains are coming: they may not know exactly which people are going to come through the ER doors on any given day, but they never forget, never doubt, that more are coming. So they never stop preparing to help. And when we need it, we’re given treatments, and we’re given medications, based on what’s been learned and tried along the way, so that we might have the best chance of being helped, too.

 Does it mean everyone is healed? No. But does it mean that more people have a better chance? Absolutely. That’s what medicine, that’s what medical science, is about.

 And that’s how it is when, instead of a heart attack, we’re faced by a natural one. The reality is that “there are known, sometimes simple, ways to lessen the human and economic toll of disasters like these. The trouble is, [it’s expensive, and it takes effort, and] doing so requires politicians, businesses and the public to change how we think about the future.”

 Lives can be saved… but we have to act long before the clouds show up on the radar. Lives can be saved in the future – but only if we are willing to make some sacrifices and preparations today.

 Jesus says, “You are wise if you hear these words and act on them” now. You are wise, if you remember, on the one hand, that the future is coming – and you prepare now, as best you can, to weather whatever storms may come; and you are wise, on the other hand, if you remember that life is fleeting, and spend today on the things and the relationships and the work that really matters, the things that will last.

 Friends, we do stand at the beginning of a new programming year. And I still have so many hopes, for all of us, in the year to come. But perhaps my biggest hope is this: that we will spend this year well. That we will find ways to keep one eye on the big picture, to keep one eye on the future; that we will not be swayed by what is quick or what is easy, but we will have the courage and the faithfulness to do what is necessary and what is right – not just for ourselves, and not just for today, but for the future, for our families and our neighbors and for people around the world who we might never meet.

 May this be the year when we work on our own houses – when we take care of our own spiritual health, when we shore up our foundations and reinforce the heart of our faith, so that when the storms hit – not if, but when – when our lives are turned upside-down, we will still have something solid left to hold on to.

 May this be the year when we invest in our communities – when we take care of our neighbors, not just in dramatic acts of generosity and charity, but through the long-term labor of love that it takes to get to know our neighbors, to learn their names, to hear their stories, to share their lives, and to dream together for the future – and to work together to help those dreams to come.

 May this be the year when we remember that one day, for every one of us, the end will come. Each and every person in this room will die one day. No death is unprecedented or isolated; every single one of us is mortal. And so this year, let’s remember that our time is precious; and let’s do what we need to now so that, when that day comes, whenever and however it comes, we are able to face our death – and face our Maker – in peace.

 This fall, friends, we are going to be starting a new series; we’re going to do something a little bit differently. This fall, between now and All Saints Sunday, we are going to be getting to know the stories of the saints – specifically, we’ll be getting to know some of the saints who have lived in the last century. We’ll hear their voices; we’ll see how their faith shaped their lives, how it helped them  weather the storms, and how the gospel helped them  decide what, in the end, is worth living – and dying – for. My hope, my prayer, is that we will be challenged by the cloud of witnesses who’ve gone before us, challenged to live faithfully in our own way and in our own time; challenged to believe that God is still working in us and through us, and our lives and our stories really do matter.

 Friends, may we be generous today, and may be wise, as we keep one eye to the future, and as we make the most of this day. May we love God and love our neighbors, as best as we can, with all that we can, today, and may what we do today reveal God’s love and justice and peace for generations to come.

 O God, when the storms of life come,  we are so overwhelmed. We feel like Peter, sinking into the water, crying out for you to save us – and we long to hear again your promise that the waves won’t overcome us, but you are with us, and we are yours. God, you know how much we struggle to do what is right: and we’re not always sure, even when we do our best, whether it matters at all. Help us; help us to use our lives, our resources, our time, our choices, to show your love – now, today, and in the future. Teach us to see as you do; teach us to love as you love. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

[1] Alan Gomez, “Hurricane Irma could test Florida’s Hurricane Andrew-inspired building codes” (Aug 10, 2017) https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2017/08/10/hurricane-andrew-florida-building-codes-weakened/490364001/

[2] http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20170907-we-could-lessen-the-toll-of-hurricanes-but-we-dont