Saturday, February 3, 2018

The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

(disclaimer: All Marvel and other characters belong to Marvel, Disney, etc, blah!)


The sun became darkened, the moon had become red and the stars winked, one by one, from the sky. They had been dead for ages now. Only recently did the final rays shine and fade from Earth. Time was ended.
"Tony, you gotta come see this." Bruce said. "I may be wrong, but I think we're seeing a black hole!"
The Iron Man rolled his eyes. "Banner, I think you can be quite assured that we're not seeing a black hole."
"Instruments don't often lie Tony.  Whatever it is it's got one hell of a mass! What's your take Steve?.....Steve? Hey, where'd Cap run off too?" Banner said.
"I have no clue Bruce but he was buck-ass naked-look." He pointed to the heap of Steve Rogers uniform and vibranium shield.
Tony and Bruce watched the sky as it grew dark grey and nearly black in places. Lightening flashed. Thunder roared. Thor wasn't around so it had naught to do with him.
Tony and Bruce watched as baseball sized hail fell from the sky, intermingled with sulfur and flames. They watched as people became replaced by empty piles of clothing.
Tony turned to say something to Bruce and was stopped short. "What in hell is that and....why don't I have one?"
Bruce poked from the inside at the bubble-like forcefield surrounding his body. He couldn't leave it, apparently.

Down on Broadway a strange event unfurled.  From the dark gloom the skies parted and myriads of winged creatures followed a man as they descended to the Earth.  Steve was there and just as disoriented as every other raptured being.  He was too flumoxed to ask questions and too overwhelmed to do anything but follow. He'd been raised a believer. He had faith. He was saved. But at that moment he had no clue exactly what all was included...or implied. The only question he'd dared ask what he assumed to be an angel, was, "Is What am I now?"
The angel answered without sparing him so much as a glance. "You are one of the remnant of  144,000 souls bought from the Earth. Roughly speaking, you are a fellow King and Priest with Christ. Congratulations. You're a rung up on the heavenly food chain, part of a group second only to The Father and Christ himself. You have fun with that!" Then the angel laughed mirthlessly and flew off.

All over New York piles of clothes replaced people, some people were inside protective forcefields and others had no forcefield and hadn't been raptured.

Everyone, however, was confused.

Two men slowly approached each other on Broadway. On the one side was a nondescript man who wore blue jeans, a t-shirt, denim jacket and a cheerfully insane grin and shaggy blonde hair. Lucifer this one was called. His legions followed. Some were so beautiful you couldn't believe it and some were so ugly you couldn't believe it.

From the other side approached a similar looking man-a twin. Dressed the same but this one was somber of face and the graveness of all creation rest upon his brow. Christ this one was, the man named Jesus. They drew nearer. Lucifer chuckled. "So...the lamb really does lie down on Broadway!"

They stood two feet apart. It was a gunfight with no guns. Minutes passed. Lucifer finally leaned over and spoke in conspiratorial tones, " you, or do you not....have my back?"
Silenced reigned. No myriad behind Jesus spoke. Some so beautiful you couldn't believe it and some so hideous you couldn't believe it.

Five minutes passed.

Slowly, Jesus reached his hand out. Lucifer took it into his own and shook it.

And then Lucifer stood side by side next to Jesus and both legions and myriads parted like the red Sea for the two brothers as they began to march slowly upward as if gravity was their plaything. Because it was, really.

"I have no clue what's going on here, but I have my suspicions." Tony said. "Jarvis? Suit please." Tony stood as his virtual servant carried out it's robotic commands.  He dashed through his foyer and barely registered Pepper pressing against her bubble as if to escape. "Um, Tony, could you? Okay." She sighed and shrugged as she continued to puzzle over her forcefield.

Tony flew upward, dodging angels-and hitting some as he sought out Cap. If anyone knew anything about this shit it was Steve.  He stopped in midair as a strange thing befell the earth and it's inhabitants. It were as if light from the center of the planet flowed outward.  Everything was crystalline in appearance and invisible. "This shits not right." Tony muttered to no one in particular.
"I am merely your humble servant. I do not deign to understand what is or is not going on here." Jarvis said, although no one asked.
"Yeah, yeah, thanks for pointing out the obvious, Jarvis." Tony said.
Tony peered down as he passed and caught a sight he never expected: Thor, along with Loki, and Heimdall as well. He decided a brief pitstop was in order. "Thor! What are you doing here? And what's he doing with you?"
"There's no need to be coy. It's obvious you mean me." Loki said (although no one asked)in his best bored, slash, offended tone.
"It would appear your world is having it's Ragnarok." Thor said.
"But why are you three here?" Tony puzzled.
"The Allfather has exiled us. Why? We do not know." Heimdall said.  Tony sighed. He eyed them, all three. He had his misgivings about Loki but now was not the time to split hairs. "Just...." he scratched at his armored head as if it were his own. "Ah, crap. Just go. All three of you. Get to the tower. Keep an eye on him!" he pointed at Loki who only shrugged and flashed his most delighted and brilliant smile. "No need to offend. I promise to behave. And I may even have that drink you offered me a few years ba-"
"Stay away from my liquor cabinet. I've changed my mind you narcissistic dilattante."
Thor ran toward Stark Tower with Heimdall and Loki in tow as Iron Man went to find bigger fish to fry.


Friday, January 19, 2018

It Had To Stop

My name is Christine and I am an alcoholic and addict. It has been three months since I've had a drink and even longer since I've gotten high. But it's only been two days since I recognized and quit my most insidious of addictions: text based role play.

Text based role play involve either fan based character or Original Characters (OC,'s) or both. You have one or more characters at your end, a role playing partner has characters at their end. It Each person takes turns writing and adding to the story. It can be via email, chat program or places like private Facebook groups, Tumblr and forums. For some people the end of a role play occurs when they naturally outgrow it or become bored with it or it just fades. Sometimes one person is ready to end before the other is and the replies come further and farther between along with the excuses and promises.

Unfortunately, in my case, I'm Almost always the last one to want to end an RP and due to my overly sensitive and addictive nature, the endings are excruciating for me. I not only hurt, but I can feel the panic and pain of my character because there is almost always romance involved and some smut.

It's especially difficult when there was a pregnancy and children involved. Recently I had one like that. My character got to hold the newborns one time and then my partner ended the role play and had the gall to ask me to start a new one. Right. When I'm doubled over in pain along with my character in a state of grief.

I really don't understand the nature of what a character actually is. They act on their own behalf, have their own food preferences and clothing styles. They have a form of free will inside my head and in the story. I am only the hand that writes.  I am the scribe.

In the beginning was The Word.

I believe, although I cannot prove, that characters are living things, no matter brief their lives or limited their consciousness.  The thing is, is that I don't know. But what if they are? I don't want to bring more characters into being and subject them to futility and heartbreak. No more pain for two. 

I created a special written ritual where I took my ex partners characters and the babies and put them in that secret place I keep the 'alive' ones who aren't ready to die and that I can keep as a more vivid memory. I take them then I cut the ties. My characters don't go into dumpsters and neither do their loved ones.

Am I attached to form?  Maybe.

Am I just crazy? No doubt but also know that I possess enough compassion for beings that may be only figments or concepts. Either way, I won't take chances anymore. There is enough futility in life to bring in more potential life and subject them to eventual futility as well.

"Well off is the man who has died. Better yet is the one who has not been born." - Solomon

So it's time to walk away, be content with the sanctuary I created and learn to live without the sound of another person talking in my head.

Friday, January 5, 2018

Our Father (you've been warned)

"The Profiteer

With conquest long beneath the ground,
Your likeness is a poverty of emancipation,
With glory before freedom.
Your purchase washes liberty
With the tarnished blood incision,
Where earth might struggle with pride."

Dear Father,

Just thought I'd shoot you a letter...let you know how school's been doing.  I don't like it much.  It seemed like a good idea when we all made plans, but if I'd had any clue it would be like this? I'da passed. Big time.

So far I've learned how to be homeless as young person. I learned how to be homeless as an older person too.  It's not fun crawling out of the van you live in to walk into Wal Mart and take a whore bath and then don my blue vest and work as a cashier there.  Not at the age of 40.  When I was 19, it was an adventure.  Remember when I told you about  parking the car at Circus Circus in Las Vegas? Yeah...we had blankets up in the windows to block out the desert sun and I played electronic football.  People passing by looked at us pretty weird. We just laughed. That's actually a good memory.

I learned how to be a drug addict. I learned how to be paranoid and stand in the door way with mistrustful eyes and my hand on the shotgun, ready to shoot people for the imagined threats they posed.  Or was all that imagined? I don't know.  Those were weird days and I still wonder about a great many things.

I learned how to recover from addiction too.  That was almost as much of a bitch as being an addict.  Oh! Oh! I learned this neat little acronym from the 12-Step groups: S.O.B.E.R.  It stands for: Son Ofa Bitch, Everythings Real. Pretty nifty, huh?

I also learned, thanks to church, to turn the other cheek.  I did this on a fairly regular basis at school.  I remember the time when some kids followed me home.  They used a stick to scoop a dog turd into tin can and toss it at me.  I didn't cry.  I didn't run. I walked.  And held my head up and didn't look to the left or to the right.  That might  have been bearable if home had been sanctuary.  But it wasn't.

Oh, I'm no saint. Don't get me wrong.  I thought all my endurance of that stuff was for 'righteousness sake'.  But it wasn't.  It was just a series of days in the life of.  It could have been the life of any other number of kids. Oh. And it is. It's going on allll the time. In turn, I beat my sisters, tormented them, scared them and probably scarred them as well. It's what I learned to do.

Speaking of school, dear Father, let me ask you a question: All those poor starving kids in Africa and other undeveloped countries: What are they here to learn? How to swell up and explode?

It's been 2000 years since older brother came down to teach people.  I don't meet many people who've learned much from him.  A glance around the world tells me that much.  Two words, Dad: Epic Fail. Yeah.  Oh, older brother did good.  But let me ask you about that part where he asks you, "Father, Father, why hast thou forsaken me?" Well, what about that, old man?  At this 'resurrection' why didn't any of his disciples recognize him by his body?  They all thought he was the gardener!  So, who's body was it?  And what happened to the body he was born with? Where'd it go, Dad?  Where'd big brother go? Pretty hinky if you ask me.

When I think about it, I get this haunting feeling of deja vu.  I look up at the stars and I know that my older brother isn't there.  I think if I look down at the ground, I'd be closer to the mark.  You know...the law of Moses say's a Life for a Life. could one mans life equal more than just one life?  What about everyone else?  I don't know, but I have a pretty good idea.  I think when a person dies, they can't ever have their original body back.  But a body could be any number of things, right?  After all, a body is just a system. A system of organs, bones, muscles, nerves and blood.  Science, clever thing that it is, has taught me a great many things such as how self-similar everything works. Circles within circles within circles. A regular clockwork.  Nice, well-oiled machine. Just like my body. A body can be any system.  But tell me...who'd volunteer to be a bolt in the machine? Or a nut or a screw?  Or a beam? Sheep.  Nice, frightened, obedient sheep.

But you know.....for a long time I've been wanting to come back home.  And I wonder why.  I don't remember a goddamn thing.  And all that aside, aren't kids supposed to leave the nest?  Sorry pop, but I don't want to be the 40 year old virgin living in the basement with smelly linens, 2 day old pizza and empty soda cans next to my computer.

Just call me Noah's Dove.  Just call me your wandering, backsliding daughter.  Or Son of Perdition if you like.  Maybe I'll wander about looking for the Nazarene.  The one that got left behind to rot in hell for the last two thousand years.  Heh... a thousand years for a day, right?  By God reckoning? Nothing is ever the way it seems.  Well, he rose on the third day, right? It's been two one thousand year days now.  But that's a mysterious work, ain't it?  Soooo then...yeah.  The one who treads the wine-press alone.  He aught to be good and insane by now.  I wonder how it felt. I really do.  Did it feel like two days human reckoning? Or...or...did it feel like two days....your...reckoning?  Yes.  That would do the trick.  That would drive anyone insane.

He's wherever I walk you know.  A closer walk.

Here's my key, Dad.  I know you have  mansions and whatnot, but I love these poor slobs down here.  I love how they keep trying no matter how hard life gets.  As long as there are poor and suffering, I'll stay your ever-wandering and backsliding daughter.  Keep the fancy mansion and promises. And find someone else to play your game.  I'm done with it.  I'll just go on sinning and loving, although not necessarily in that order.  I'll just think what I think, say what I say and do what I do and let the chips fall where they may.

I'll tell you the most valuable thing I've learned since I've been here: Nothing is ever as it seems.  You can get what  you want, but it never turns out to be the way you imagine it.  In my case, it's like.... a big disappointment.  Yeah, promises fulfilled, covenants kept, but what do you get?  Something that doesn't look in any way how you implied  it would look.  The Whopper on TV always looks better than the one you buy at BK.  That's goddamn right.  Have it your way.


Your Anonymous, Backsliding Daughter

P.S. I'm not sorry anymore. I'm done being sorry.
P.P.S. Dad? Just how far does the apple fall from the tree? Just a thought.

"What do you get for pretending the danger's not real
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel" -Sheep by Pink Floyd, Animals

Wednesday, June 7, 2017


I went camping from last Thursday til yesterday.  It wasn't RV style-we roughed it.  The fanciest things we had were the fold down back seat of the van to sleep on and a small, portable, Coleman stove.  There were no porta potties and no trash receptacles, we had to use trash bags to dispose of our trash.  It was pretty primitive as far as camping goes.  But aside from several backpackers on Saturday, it was nearly silent.  I would sit or lie and listen for the different bird calls.  There's a pair of crows that bicker back and forth and several I couldn't identify.  Truth be told, the crows were the only ones I identified.  Oh! And I saw a pair of small falcons too!

A short ways from the campsite is a beautiful creek going under a bridge and coming out of the other side to flow over huge stones that have been eroded for who knows how many thousands of years.  The erosion looks like tiny steps on the rocks slanted at an angle.  We played a game called stick races: you place a stick or leaf in a spot on the creek where it cannot be immediately swept away but which can eventually be swept into the stream.  I found myself mesmerized as I followed the progress of my little twig hoping it would get swept into the stream before my ex's did.  If it gets stuck for too long or permanently stuck... disqualified! 

And a little sunburn and a lot of bugs!  There were mosquitoes, small black ants, large black ants, noseeums, fireflies and bees of various sorts.  There was even a beetle with a metallic outer wing in orangish pinkish greenish blue.  Yeah, like that made sense.  I got bit up by bugs in spite of using skin so soft, or else the sun gave me a rash (like my ex claims), or both.  I think it's a mixture of bug bites and maybe contact dermatitis from a plant.  At least it didn't get on my butt!

There were short walks.  My ex knows those woods like the back of his hand so he took me into the woods to see where the small stream that comes out of the mountain meets up with the main creek.  Always always take a walking stick with you!  My ex has navigated steep inclines using two sticks (two-stickin it he says) like they were two extra legs.  I tried it once but you really have to have some strength anyhow.

Anyhow, we had a great time and it was so peaceful.  As long as it remains a little known secret, it will stay that way.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

A Walled In Sim

NoFor those not familiar with the series, there's a game called The Sims.  There's four versions now.  In this game, you create a digital person; you determine their looks, give them a wardrobe, assign traits and a life goal, and then you plop them on a starter lot to live out their little lives.  It's really fun.

As the game progresses, they have wishes you can either help fulfill or you can ignore them.  They have careers, fall in love, fight, fish, and fuck.  They even have some free will thrown in for good measure, so you may occasionally find them chatting up a stranger rather than doing the shopping you sent them out to do.

There can be dark elements to this game.  Let me explain.  The first edition I played was a console version called Sims: Bustin Out.  Or something like that.  I let my sim flirt with one of the pre-made Sims.  They fell in love.  I had mine propose only to find out she was already married.  Bummer.  So... I went into buy/build mode and built four walls around the competition then unpaused from build mode.  This is called walling in a sim.  Over time the little sim starves to death and dies because it has no door to walk through and no way to get to food. 

So I played and watched and waited for this sim to die so that mine might marry the girl he wanted.  The thing is, is that these little digital creatures turn around and look at you.  They point at their mouths to let you know they're hungry.  They get lonely and cry.  They lose control of their bladders and end up wallowing in a puddle of their own piss.  I could only take this for so long before I was bawling my eyes out and going into build mode to tear the walls down.  He ate, cleaned up, peed and socialized and slept.  All was made right at last.

"So where are you going with this?" you may be asking by now.

I'm talking about a human being as a walled in sim.  I am a walled in sim.  That is to say, I feel trapped in my home and sometimes unable to perform even the simplest of duties like bathing or washing my hair.  Sometimes the terror I experience just thinking of leaving my house is intolerable.  And I don't feel like I'm in control of any of this.  I feel programmed to be this way to the point that I sabotage my efforts to lose weight (my programming seems to dictate that I can't drop below 205 pounds.) When I apply myself with determination to get even one pound below 200 just to prove I can, the programming kicks in followed by weight loss fail, or even a rapid gain to punish me for my audacity.

However, food must be bought and dishes must be washed so I can cook a meal so whatever evil hand hovering over that big mouse in the sky finally puts me in build mode (which I must not be conscious of)and builds a door or window of time, I can temporarily get a few things done.  I don't fool myself into thinking this is free will anymore.  It's all fear driven.  As soon as I get home I feel relieved and just want to slunk down the front door. 

Whatever hand hovers over the mouse in the sky must be owned by something that really hates me and enjoys tormenting me.  I see people who's lives seem to be lived in the sun and their sim angel or whatever, loves them and blesses them.  Mine just likes to get my hope up and then snatch my hope away.  Any time something starts looking promising, I wait for the other shoe to drop.  Most of the time I don't even look any more.  I'm just waiting for my sim angel to grow bored enough to delete my file. Hey, rearrange the letters in file and you get life!

In Heathen beliefs it could be said that I was born under the dubious auspices of an ill willing Norn.  Perhaps I was an assignment someone didn't want so I get tormented.  Who can say?

Not me.

I don't know if I really believe any of this or not, it sort of smacks of The Matrix, but it's the best analogy I have to describe my frustration.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Suffer In Silence

My ex surfs YouTube, seeking heart rending songs.
He finds a few.
I hear the tremble in his voice as he barely sings along-he stifles his passion to make it manageable.
I hear all this and remain silent.
I cry quietly, politely,
with my back turned so we don't have to acknowledge the obvious vulnerability that screams from our souls.
We suffer in silence because we fear the rain and the flood should one or both of us speak.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

A Year To The Day

It's been a year to the day since Sage reached the clearing at the end of the path.  I miss him and Dusty so much.  I need them and I can't have them.