But there is no "Hell" in this story, the "shades" of the dead in "Hades" are not punished and do not burn. They remain as they were when their bodies were still alive, they remain themselves, or, a shadowy version thereof, despite what Milton, or Dante, or the many authors of the Old and New testament have to say about the matter.
(Draft)
"Mind Moves Matter" -- Virgil
I am my self (my mind) and myself is my soul (my mind is my soul) And therefore self and soul are the same, not two things equal to each other, but one thing in the same. There is no separation between myself and my soul.
How could I sell my soul independently of my mind. Why would it matter to me to sell my soul, assuming it were possible, to the Devil. If I am not my soul, then it is a thing separate from me, my mind, and so why would I care if the Devil takes my soul. He could just as well have my car, or my house, or my favorite synthesizer; and none of that, after the death of the body (and the brain with it), none of that makes any difference anymore when you have "given up the ghost." The only thing that matters is how you choose to move on in this vast construction of the universe (perhaps to a more intense, bright, "heaven" or to a less intended "shadow" or "shade" (not "utter darkness" or the "abyss" as yet [notably named "The Gulfs" in the works of Clive Barker]) in "Hell" or better for my arguments, "Hades" or "the land of shades" as these souls have chosen to retain the personalities and memories of their previous life, but in the absence of a grip on that life, the only way to hold on to it is that fall away, back, down, to a lesser light if not a lesser truth. But if the soul craves the light and "love" of God in "heaven," to move up and away, into the light and the greater truth, then one follows that tunnel to the light at its end, and joins the 2/3rds of the angels, in the company of God, the Holy Ghost (modern: "Holy Spirit") and his son whose name is actually Yeshua or "Joshua," a bizarre mis-translation from the old Hebrew "Yeshua" which is most definitely not "Jesus." It reminds me of the "Jehovah's Witness" movement. They mistranslated, mispronounced the name of God, YHWH, or Yahweh as Jehovah and then stuck with it even when it was pointed out to them that they were saying it "wrong" (who can really said to be "wrong" about these things? Perhaps "incorrect" is the better term.) There's also some dispute among theologians about the original version of the birth of Jesus. Some say that when Mary was called a Maiden, which can mean "a virgin" OR just mean "a young woman" that the translators mis-translated it to mean Mary was a Virgin and therefore the only way she could have been impregnated and given birth to Jesus was if "God" and his angels did so (not at all unlike the Greek god Zeus who impregnated a "few" women in his time (quite a few if you look it up), which may be the origin of the drastic mistranslation and subsequent near (or up close) "worship" of Mary in the Catholic Church (which was originally just called "The Church." --egad, what heresy does he spew?!) Her near deification has always bothered me, even when I was a Christian. It seemed so "pagan" which actually did come in handy when converting the "heathens" to Christianity by Missionaries across the globe who found the plethora of primarily female deities an easy way to slide Mary, mother of the Christian god, right in there. And today, it's become a distinct, actual deification by the "feminists" who claim she is a goddess, and is the feminine side of God, thus "resurrecting" the motives of the missionaries.
But then who's to say that there aren't "higher" or "lower" places than Heaven and Hades (once again, in modern Christian theology: Hell, in my version: Hades)? Perhaps an infinite of both directions, like a Jacob's ladder leading up to heaven, or down to earth, or lower, down into hell. And what if what he perceived as an infinite up and an infinite down are actually one great wheel that meets itself again, coming and going, the worm consuming it's tail, eternity, so much so that with "human good and evil" out of the picture, it would not be impossible for them to meet, or for every equal or opposite place on the ladder wheel, to be light into darkness, or darkness into light.
And so, if my brain and my mind were independent of my soul, then I could sell a thousand souls to hell and still ascend to heaven. For why would heaven need a soul either, if it were separate from the self. I, myself want (or choose) which direction my mind-soul will go, up or down, light or dark, (but no, no good or evil, these things are constructs of human beings, they are more akin to the baser nature of the robotic human brain. Hunger, pain, sickness, health, full, fat, fight or flee; all these things are physical attributes of the brain, and therefore the body, which are necessary to keep us alive or, if ignored, drag us down to the death of the body and the brain.
But the soul does not hunger for food. The soul does not eat too much or drink to much, or depend on drugs or take sex to excess. The soul "seems to" have an opinion of fight or flight, but that's just chemicals in our body, specifically to adrenaline pushing the body in its best direction, towards or away. And so the same for a human's good or evil. They are pushed one way or the other based on what they feel is right, even in the face of alternate facts. Even if everyone else can see it's evil.
Evil is when one or more humans consciously inflicts bodily or mental harm upon another human or group of humans. Consciously, or sometimes by a lack of action where action is needed.
Was Hitler moved by supernatural evil, was he possessed by a devil, or pushed by The Devil? Those who fear the facts about human nature would prefer to think that no man could do the deeds he (and Stalin) did to their own people, their own race. Forget not that Hitler's father was a wealthy Jewish man who spurned his mistress and their bastard son. And Stalin was a Russian who was perhaps more power hungry than Hitler, who knows if he was part Jewish, or even Asian, who's to tell? The fact is he killed "more" humans than Hitler, but humans prefer to deal with Hitler because he's easier to wrap our "heads" around.
So, Hitler wished to bring back the glory and honor and riches that Germany had before the first World War. And he blamed the incompetent coward Kaisers and the rich conniving Jews for the loss of this. And so he was motivated, almost more than any man in history, to move forward with war, conquering, and killing all enemies from within and without.
But there was no devil that did this. No soul of his bound for hell. This was done by a man, a human, and at the very base of it was the desire for comforts, political and bodily as in rule and physical excess. And so we would like to believe Hitler burns in Hell. And if the self, the soul, had any part in this (which I must believe it did) then he is indeed in a place "removed from the light and the love of God) if not necessarily "burning" in "hell."
Incomplete: First Draft
Oldest: Sister (from left), Middle Son (second from left), Mother (white dress), Oldest Brother (upper right), And that's me (Philip Haggard Berry) (lower right) in the pinstriped jacket, brown shorts, and silly shoes.
Hunt Souls: “This gives us the situation of the disciples he called: for they were from Bethsaida. And this is appropriate to this mystery. For ‘Bethsaida’ means ‘house of hunters,’ to show the attitude of Philip, Peter and Andrew at that time, and because it was fitting to call, from the house of hunters, hunters who were to capture souls for life: ‘I will send my hunters’ (Jer 16:16).”
My father was a priest and was constantly searching for his own church and his own way so we moved around a lot. I started out 1st and 2nd level Primary, then 1st and 2nd grade at a Christian Episcopal prep school in Oklahoma City, OK.
The Right Reverend Dr. Max Bright Berry Jr. Lieutenant Commander USCG BA MA PHD
(Doctorate in Divinity [Theology])
I know you're really too young to make judgements like this, but I was very popular as a kid at that school. Endless friends, crushes on girls maybe a little too early for that (though I never did have a "girlfriend" back then.)
Moving from Oklahoma City---
----short but necessary interruption: people are so freaking dumb and ignorant, Oklahoma City has a population of roughly 750,000 in the "metropolitan area" and ranks 20th in the most populated cities in the U.S. Now think about this, there are approximately 19,405! cities in the U.S. and Oklahoma City is in the top 20. So pull your head out of your ass, we don't have teepees. . . I could go on...) ----
---so we pulled out of the big city and moved to the city of my birth, second largest in the state, Tulsa Oklahoma (population just over 400,000 [i.e. around half a million] not small)
It was culture shock going to a public school with hundreds of kids where you could quickly be swallowed up by anonymity. It was the opposite at that small prep school. Everyone knew everyone. I found out very quickly that you couldn't just walk in and become the popular kid. I didn't know how to adapt, I'd never had to do it before. People began to dismiss me as "weird," a description I would carry for the rest of my life.
On that first move I was very rapidly tossed down the rungs of the social ladder until I was at the very bottom, in the dirt, and had almost no friends except a few very cool ones who lived in my neighborhood.
(as an aside: my school was directly, like a few steps, across the street from my house. It was exceedingly strange. But one benefit I had was that I just had to cross the dead end road to have access to the playground, the cent of which was one of those big wooden forts with sand at the base called a "Big Toy." I had the coolest time playing Star Wars figures there with the entire place to myself. A had recently been gifted a action figure sized Millennium Falcon which made it all the more cool [and a little prescient considering the "final" film of the actual factual "trilogy" began on Luke's home world, the dessert Tatooine (reminder, the big toy was on a big sand box.)]
Anyway, back to my shit show life (great name for a tv show) I learned pretty quickly, through changing schools about every few years, that people hated the class brain, and the teachers pet. So, I became the class clown, the comedian, embraced the "weirdo" way. In doing impersonations and acting out movie (or cartoon for the best laughs) scenes.
This got me a free pass from the bullies. They could yell at one kid down the hall, "meet me after school on the playground, I'm gonna kick your ass." And then turn around to me, "oh, Philip, do that British accent."
So, my advanced IQ and my natural ability to do well in all subjects became buried. I did poorly at schoolwork on purpose. A feat easily done by just not studying for tests, and not doing homework. And who would ever think the class clown was a genius? And this became so ingrained in my personality I couldn't shake it, even at college. I skated through classes (with the great exception for Literature and Art), faking my way along.
I was shocked and really really pissed off that we had to take "electives" (I didn't elect these wastes of time!) which were basically reruns of high school. I went there to learn how to be a writer, not be a "Renaissance" man who could master Biology and Physics and Sociology along the way. Fuck all that!
It wasn't until my four semesters at the Masters level in the Creative Studies Department of the Liberal Arts college that I finally was doing what I wanted to be doing in every single class after 5 years of fucking about as an undergrad (oh, failed to mention, I ended up with a B.A. in English Literature and Criticism, and a stupidly "undeclared" minor in Art and Design (the head of the Graphic Design "wing" asked me to switch from English Lit to Graphic Design. He told me I had the right kind of mind for it, as well as the artistic chops. But I was set on becoming a writer. I wished I could be both.
So, back to Masters school: this was what I had imagined college was. It was unfortunate, and quite expensive, to fart around as an undergrad drowning in classes I despised. Here I was right were I belonged, class after class of perfecting my writing skills.
(They'll tell you, and should tell you, in both Liberal Arts and in the Art Program, that you can't have "talent" taught to you, no matter how many classes you attend or how hard you try. Talent for a subject (or subjects) is something you're born with. You go to school to "perfect" your talent, to "sharpen" it. But by no means can anyone "teach you a talent."
Apparently the Art School had waded out into some deep waters by allowing people who didn't have any of these talents they so wanted to have, graduate with a degree. Graduates were coming back to the school to complain that they were unable to find any work based on their submissions and portfolio. They were being told, quite frankly by many prospects, that they just didn't have the raw talent necessary for the job. Not even an Art teacher at an Elementary school! You actually do have to be an artist to land that job... at most schools (sometimes they randomly shuffle someone like one of the sports coaches to fall in and teach out of a text book. Thankfully I always had wonderful art teachers who were actual artists and encouraged me on my own artistic path.)
So, starting fairly early into my weird journey through the Art School I was running in to classmates who had been counseled to leave the Art School ("you're just not working out as an Artist, and we can't give you a degree just because you attend all the classes. We believe its in your best interests to feel around and find something else that you have a talent for.")
(shh... so we don't get sued by people we handed a degree but without the ability to land a job or otherwise use said degree.)
I counted myself lucky in both "schools" that Liberal Arts wanted me to remain in Liberal Arts, and that Art and Design wanted me to leave Liberal Arts for Art and Design (specifically Graphic Design.) It was a nice ego boost, but also, for a time, very very confusing.
Flash forward to Grad School: things, everything, went into the shitter by the end of the 90's and I never recovered.
When I returned to Oklahoma City from living with my parents in little (but cool as hell) Muskogee Oklahoma (birthplace of my father, and location of his last and favorite church, over which he was the Priest, Grace Episcopal Church. Muskogee population roughly only just 50,000, relatively small compared to the other cities listed, but not small compared to ALL the cities in the country. . . I've lost my self again, oh, I went back to Oklahoma City to finish out my Masters... and fuck all, they refused to give me anymore student loans. I only needed ONE more semester for my Masters in Creative Studies. But even after an appeal with notes from teachers I was told no. There was no way for me to pay for it myself. After going straight from Highschool in to College as an Undergrad and then into Grad school I had never actually had a "real" job, i.e. one that you could live on. Much less make enough money to also pay for Grad school!
After moving to Muskogee, Oklahoma, then back to Oklahoma City, then back to Muskogee again, I finally moved down to Austin, Texas (population [this is becoming a fixation] 1 million! number 11 in the top twenty most populated cities in the U.S. ...P.S. in this list Oklahoma City was not included in the top 20... ah well.
I was on my way to L.A. (to be a professional writer, of course.) But my brother convinced me to first move down to Austin with him to get a feel for what a major move is like, and then move on to L.A.
Well... I never made it to LA, but the unofficial town slogan of Austin is "Keep It Weird" so I figured it was a sign from the gods that this would be my knew home (and perhaps final home, at the rate I'm going).
I finally found out why I was so eccentric, weird, and sometimes had brief, and not so brief, psychotic episodes growing up, when I was eventually diagnosed with "Bipolar 1" AND "Extreme Panic Attacks" (which often had a crippling "Agoraphobia" just to add some spice to the panic) and all the medication I take (six kinds) sucked all my creative energy dry: several unfinished screenplays, a novel only just over half finished, art work abandoned, and the biggest casualty for me, my music has remained untouched for about 15 years now.
Oh, growing up, I did have great parent's who truly loved me, showed it, and told me so. Typical older siblings who only mildly, as per usual "bullied" the baby of the household, but always came together as, not too too close, but descent friends. I developed my own group of friends in middle and high school when we'd settled back in OKC even though I changed schools "four" friggin times by the time I graduated high school in 1990. We were all the outcasts at school which brought us closer together than the constant power struggle among the popular kids.
But flash forward to 53 years old and I've become imprisoned by my own mind and the meds it requires to keep me sane (you know, that thing necessary to hold a job, pay rent and bills and food and clothes and housewares) I've worked at a "big box" store for nearly 25 years, stoned out of my gourd every day on 6 different medications. No friends, no girlfriends, it's all just blech! One big Shit Show. And now really really stuck in a hole in terms of finances.
Father died of Alzheimer's and now my mother is batshit crazy from Dementia (she's 81). Oldest brother (who "tricked" me into movie down here) died of alcohol poisoning after a life of severe drug and alcohol abuse.
I have my older sister and brother (the middle son but about 4 years older than me) they are still around, but they're about a 9 hour drive north of here, straight up I-35 into Oklahoma City with complicate lives of their own (my sister basically takes care of my mother. I don't know how she does it but she's a freaking SAINT!)
I have Bipolar 1 a.k.a. "Manic Depression" (a great Jimi Hendrix song, by the way) with both Mania and Depression, and sometimes both at once called a "mixed episode" which can make you feel like your personality has splintered and you are viewing something or thinking about something from two or more points of view at the same time!
I also have "Extreme" Panic Disorder which comes along with a little friend called "agoraphobia" where I become convinced that if I leave my apartment I'm going to be murdered.
I used to have very mild psychotic episodes as a teen, WAY before I was diagnosed. And have, luckily thus far, only had one major psychotic episode as an adult which I can currently remember (a few others one would consider "minor" like believing the video game "Silent Hill II" was designed exactly for me to take me to a higher level of existence. And I began to see parts of the visuals all over the place. From a foggy/misty day where the swimming pool area of my apartment complex was covered in a white cloud (similar scene in the game) to the look of one of the trucks we were unloading which had a roof which let in light through what looked like animal skin.
But back to that "major break," one morning, after being off my opioids for 5 days, I became convinced that my brother, in Oklahoma City, had called a mental institution, down here in Austin, to send an ambulance out to get me and put me away. It finally resolved after my mother talked me down and we did some yoga breathing, and particularly when I got the 5 day delayed medication I was missing.
So, anyway, all that aside, I have, since at least teen-hood, had minor and far apart physical tics and twitches but they are NOT Tourette's but rather fall under "Tardive Dyskinesia" (which is now known to many people due to a heavy scattering of commercials for a drug which supposedly treats it) which can be a side effect of a mental disorder.
It also happens when I'm very upset and very depressed, and it can be very embarrassing when people see it. But man, oh man, it's nothing like the constant torment of Tourette's syndrome, sheesh.
And, last but not least, it's not uncommon for people without any disorders to have a nervous tic when they feel very stressed. I.E. if you twitch, or have occasional tics, this is probably not Tourette's, but you might get a checkup by a Psychologist or Psychiatrist just to be on the safe side.
(The difference between: a Psychologist: is usually a person with a degree or degrees in psychology, "talk therapy", and general counseling whom you go to to "discuss" your mental health and or any disorders.
Whereas a Psychiatrist is most often a "Doctor of Psychiatric Medicine" and is mainly geared towards "medication management" in the treatment of a "chemical imbalance" which is most likely causing your disorder. And you will seldom, if ever, discusses any behavioral problems you're having in any great detail (with the exception of something brief like, "I feel depressed" or, "I feel anxious") which the Dr. (with your input) will help decide what chemical paths [medications] one should take [and be prepared to be patient with it, it takes some experimentation to find the right balance for whatever "chemical imbalance" you have.]
I also used to have a verbal twitch going on back into my mid teens. (Once again, NOT Tourette's syndrome.)
If I thought of something I didn't want to be think of, or if the thought just popped up independently, then I would often whisper (loudly? can you whisper "loudly"?) the word "Death" which usually dismissed the thought, although sometimes it took a repetition of three, "death death death" to banish the thought.
On a few occasions I was not careful and said this when someone I had not noticed was there, or they came around the corner just as I said it. But it was very easy just to pick up a tune saying "Tick Tock Tick. Doot doot doo doo." (from "Fly Like An Eagle") and only occasionally got a quizzical look. And one time at work a coworker said, "what was that?"
"What do you mean, I'm humming a song," and gave him some examples. But he still looked at me funny.
I was shocked? amazed? relieved in a way? when I stumbled upon a film on cable (and later, the complete uncut version on a "Criterion Edition" DVD remaster) of one of my all time favorite films, "The Ruling Class" starring Peter O'Toole as a paranoid schizophrenic who believes he's Jesus, but is brought to his family estate after his father dies to take his position in society and the House of Lords. About 75% in, the film takes a sudden dark turn, as he no longer believes he's Jesus (according to everyone; "he's cured!"), but now thinks he's an evil serial killer whose first name is known as "Jack" i.e. "Jack the Ripper" "Spring Heeled Jack" (Jack is his character's real name in the film.)
Anyway, when he was confronted by an idea when he thought he was Jesus and he rejected it he would say, "I put that into my galvanized pressure cooker. Whoop, Zang, and it's gone."
I knew exactly what that was like.
My father was a priest and was constantly searching for his own church and his own way so we moved around a lot. I started out 1st and 2nd level Primary, then 1st and 2nd grade at a Christian Episcopal prep school in Oklahoma City, OK.
I know you're really too young to make judgements like this, but I was very popular as a kid at that school. Endless friends, crushes on girls maybe a little too early for that (though I never did have a "girlfriend" back then.)
Moving from Oklahoma City---
----short but necessary interruption: people are so freaking dumb and ignorant, OKc has one of the highest populations in the country, it's in the top twenty... now think about this, there are approximately 19,405 cities in the U.S. and OKc is in the top 20. So pull your head out of your ass, we don't have teepees. . . I could go on...) ----
---so we pulled out of the big city and moved to the city of my birth, second largest in the state, Tulsa Oklahoma. It was culture shock going to a public school with hundreds of kids where you could quickly be swallowed up by anonymity. It was the opposite at that small prep school. Everyone knew everyone. I found out very quickly that you couldn't just walk in and become the popular kid. I didn't know how to adapt, I'd never had to do it before. People began to dismiss me as "weird," a description I would carry for the rest of my life.
On that first move I was very rapidly tossed down the rungs of the social ladder until I was at the very bottom, in the dirt, and had almost no friends except a few very cool ones who lived in my neighborhood.
(as an aside: my school was directly, like a few steps, across the street from my house. It was exceedingly strange. But one benefit I had was that I just had to cross the dead end road to have access to the playground, the cent of which was one of those big wooden forts with sand at the base called a "Big Toy." I had the coolest time playing Star Wars figures there with the entire place to myself. A had recently been gifted a action figure sized Millennium Falcon which made it all the more cool [and a little prescient considering the "final" film of the actual factual "trilogy" began on Luke's home world, the dessert Tatooine (reminder, the big toy was on a big sand box.)]
Any way, back to my shit show life (great name for a tv show) I learned pretty quickly, through changing schools about every few years, that people hated the class brain, and the teachers pet. So, I became the class clown, the comedian, embraced the "weirdo" way. In doing impersonations and acting out movie (or cartoon for the best laughs) scenes.
This got me a free pass from the bullies. They could yell at one kid down the hall, "meet me after school on the playground, I'm gonna kick your ass." And then turn around to me, "oh, Philip, do that British accent."
So, my advanced IQ and my natural ability to do well in all subjects became buried. I did poorly at schoolwork on purpose. A feat easily done by just not studying for tests, and not doing homework. And who would ever think the class clown was a genius? And this became so ingrained in my personality I couldn't shake it, even at college. I skated through classes (with the great exception for Literature and Art), faking my way along.
I was shocked and really really pissed off that we had to take "electives" (I didn't elect these wastes of time!) which were basically reruns of high school. I went there to learn how to be a writer, not be a "Renaissance" man who could master Biology and Physics and Sociology along the way. Fuck all that!
It wasn't until my four semesters at the Masters level in the Creative Studies Department of the Liberal Arts college that I finally was doing what I wanted to be doing in every single class after 5 years of fucking about as an undergrad (oh, failed to mention, I ended up with a B.A. in English Literature and Criticism, and a stupidly "undeclared" minor in Art and Design (the head of the Graphic Design "wing" asked me to switch from English Lit to Graphic Design. He told me I had the right kind of mind for it, as well as the artistic chops. But I was set on becoming a writer. I wished I could be both.
So, back to Masters school: this was what I had imagined college was. It was unfortunate, and quite expensive, to fart around as an undergrad drowning in classes I despised. Here I was right were I belonged, class after class of perfecting my writing skills.
(They'll tell you, and should tell you, in both Liberal Arts and in the Art Program, that you can't have "talent" taught to you, no matter how many classes you attend or how hard you try. Talent for a subject (or subjects) is something you're born with. You go to school to "perfect" your talent, to "sharpen" it. But by no means can anyone "teach you a talent."
Apparently the Art School had waded out into some deep waters by allowing people who didn't have any of these talents they so wanted to have, graduate with a degree. Graduates were coming back to the school to complain that they were unable to find any work based on their submissions and portfolio. They were being told, quite frankly by many prospects, that they just didn't have the raw talent necessary for the job. Not even an Art teacher at an Elementary school! You actually do have to be an artist to land that job... at most schools (sometimes they randomly shuffle someone like one of the sports coaches to fall in and teach out of a text book. Thankfully I always had wonderful art teachers who were actual artists and encouraged me on my own artistic path.)
So, starting fairly early into my weird journey through the Art School I was running in to classmates who had been counseled to leave the Art School ("you're just not working out as an Artist, and we can't give you a degree just because you attend all the classes. We believe its in your best interests to feel around and find something else that you have a talent for.")
(shh... so we don't get sued by people we handed a degree but without the ability to land a job or otherwise use said degree.)
I counted myself lucky in both "schools" that Liberal Arts wanted me to remain in Liberal Arts, and that Art and Design wanted me to leave Liberal Arts for Art and Design (specifically Graphic Design.) It was a nice ego boost, but also, for a time, very very confusing.
Flash forward to Grad School: things, everything, went into the shitter by the end of the 90's and I never recovered.
When I returned to Oklahoma City from living with my parents in little (but cool as hell) Muskogee Oklahaoma (birthplace of my father, and location of his last and favorite church, overwhich he was the Priest, Grace Episcopal Church. I've lost my self again, oh, I went back to Oklahoma City to finish out my Masters... ... and fuck all, they refused to give me anymore student loans. I only needed ONE more semester for my Masters in Creative Studies. But even after an appeal with notes from teachers I was told no. There was no way for me to pay for it myself. After going straight from Highschool in to College as an Undergrad and then into Grad school I had never actually had a "real" job, i.e. one that you could live on. Much less make enough money to also pay for Grad school!
After moving to Muskogee, Oklahoma, then back to Oklahoma City, then back to Muskogee again, I finally moved down to Austin, Texas on my way to L.A. (to be a professional writer, of course.)
I never made it to LA, but the unofficial town slogan of Austin is "Keep It Weird" so I figured it was a sign from the gods that this would be my knew home (and perhaps final home, at the rate I'm going).
I finally found out why I was so eccentric, weird, and sometimes had brief, and not so brief, psychotic episodes growing up, when I was eventually diagnosed with "Bipolar 1" AND "Extreme Panic Attacks" (which often had a crippling "Agoraphobia" just to add some spice to the panic) and all the medication I take (six kinds) sucked all my creative energy dry: several unfinished screenplays, a novel only just over half finished, art work abandoned, and the biggest casualty for me, my music has remained untouched for about 15 years now.
Oh, growing up, I did have great parent's who truly loved me, showed it, and told me so. Typical older siblings who only mildly, as per usual "bullied" the baby of the household, but always came together as, not too too close, but descent friends. I developed my own group of friends in middle and high school when we'd settled back in OKC even though I changed schools "four" friggin times by the time I graduated high school in 1990. We were all the outcasts at school which brought us closer together than the constant power struggle among the popular kids.
But flash forward to 53 years old and I've become imprisoned by my own mind and the meds it requires to keep me sane (you know, that thing necessary to hold a job, pay rent and bills and food and clothes and housewares) I've worked at a "big box" store for nearly 25 years, stoned out of my gourd every day on 6 different medications. No friends, no girlfriends, it's all just blech! One big Shit Show. And now really really stuck in a hole in terms of finances.
Father died of Alzheimer's and now my mother is batshit crazy from Dementia (she's 81). Oldest brother died of alcohol poisoning after a life of severe drug and alcohol abuse.
I have my older sister and brother still around, but they're 9 hours north in Oklahoma City with complicate lives of their own (my sister basically takes care of my mother. I don't know how she does it but she's a freaking SAINT!)
I am woe. Woe is me?
"I feel-ah so break up, I wanna go home." --Dr. Emilio Lizardo from "Buckaroo Banzai" (a movie full of weirdos like me! hehe.)
After the end credits bonus scene:
I've always been an abnormally fixated movie buff. One thing I tried to do for a long time was find a character in a movie who was the most like myself in real life. It was to be a kind of Intro To Me and my Behavior class for a weirdo class clown geniuses who have a talent for Art AND Literature.
Oh there were scores of characters I wished were me. Some of whom came pretty close (Luke Skywalker. I know thousands of people "want desperately" to be like Luke Skywalker, but study his personality, his weaknesses, his talents, that's pretty close to me. And when all is said and done, actually not someone you'd really actually want to be. He was an inexperienced farm boy who suddenly had to become this Messiah who would destroy the Empire and set the galaxy back on the "good side of the force." [and restore the great Temple? Oh, no, that's the Jewish Messiah.] See also: Paul Atreides for an almost "specific" allegory to the Jewish Messiah.)
Much later on, in a galaxy far far fucking far away, Harry Potter and I shared some very similar circumstances. I was the school Chaplain's son, aka Father Berry's son. And I constantly heard, "oh, you're Father Berry's son. We expect great things from you." And (this is when I came back to the prep school after 5 years away) I was also bullied like Potter was. If you've seen the first Harry Potter then you know exactly what I mean.
But I finally found my doppelganger in the title character Martin in the somewhat obscure George A. Romero "unconventional" Vampire pic, "Martin." I was like, holy shit, that's me on the screen. Fat lot of good it did me though. I mean, watch the end of the movie to get some idea of how his quiet isolated self ended up.
(And, as with "Bladerunner," there's a kind of argument as to whether Martin really actually was a vampire, or was he just mentally ill. Romero thinks mentally ill. --I say "fuck that shit. Pabst Blue Ribbon." Okay, that was from "Blue Velvet"-- I believe Martin really was a vampire. I think the black an white flashback scenes of Martin, looking exactly as young now at 84 as he did then at 16, and the fact that his cousin, Tata Cuda, appears as an equally young man in the flashbacks, but, unlike Martin, he's now a very old grey haired man.
Fuck Romero (ha! not really,) the man has had, not as much as, but and on a smaller scale, a similar amount of an influence on the genre of horror cinema (and it's subtle allegory, lost on most casual viewers) where was I? Oh, Romero has had as much influence on the smaller scale horror genre as George Lucas with large scale space operas and how to make a good movie overall. (don't hang me over that statement. Its true to a reasonable degree.)
I'll end today's sermon with a quote from Jeffery Goines, played by Brad Pitt, in the criminally underrated "12 Monkeys:"
"Fuck the bozos!"
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https://youtube.com/shorts/8aAseU9b8HI?feature=share
An attempt at creating a theme song for my unfinished novel "The Sound of Silence" the song is titled "Matt's Theme."
Enjoy (or not)
The cult of the right hand, en masse.
They must have cast iron stomachs, because all the cool aid was drunk during the last version of this shit show, and there's no more left. They may have moved on to other means of dispatch to prove their devotion to their cult leader, and yet they seem to be immune to that as well.
I'm beginning to think they didn't actually drink the cool aide at all but rather dumped it out when no one was looking. And whatever new suicidal means of proof of loyalty is being used (perhaps a hidden capsule in the mouth) they have found a way to spit that out when no one's looking as well.
So, the old king has no clothes on, and they cheer him still.
How anyone could be so "accidentally " stupid as to not understand what a tariff is and how it "always" works and then proceed, after warnings, to destroy the U.S. and the World economies . . . that takes a very special kind of stupid, maybe the most special in the history of presidents, to go forward into heavy weather while ignoring all the weather reporters and meteorologists. Then getting sucked up into a tornado, spit back down in a different state, and then everyone who has plainly seen this superhero level stupidity just ignores it, and, like the followers of Tommy in the titular rock opera;
"Welcome to the campBut there's never a moment where the cult of the orange man comes to their senses and yells [or sings]
"We're not gonna take it, never did and never will."Are we, are we, are we ourselves." -- The Fixx
Human beings have been on Earth for roughly 550,000 to 750,000.
If you are non-pulsed by this, count to ten and time it. Hmm... not so bad. Count to 100, time it. That's a lot harder. Now, increase that time to 1,000.000, its an overshot, but still shows the drama. Suddenly you discover it takes about 11 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds. Think about how you're at work for 9 hours, 8 hours working with an hour for lunch. Then think of time off after work, 8 hours of sleep, getting up getting ready and going back to work, 24 hours in a day, 48 hours in 2 days... 11 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds. It'd be like a marathon after a marathon, and so on.
Now imagine how many days week years decades centuries, millennia that we've been here. Though there is no proof, and it still hovers in the realm of "conspiracy theory" there could EASILY have been SEVERAL very complex civilizations that are so old any trace of them was wiped away by sun heat rain rust. If we can find a Pharaoh's tomb over 2000 years after it was put there, we think, "damn, that's a long time." But within the realm of 550,000 to 750,000 years, that's a mere blink of an eye.
I don't think it's likely that "extra-terrestrial" aliens have ever been to earth, but I do find it possible that ancient but far advanced civilizations of humans rose and fell, perhaps many times over. And perhaps some are still around.
Therefore, it is my opinion, that if they did find structures, buildings, cities, and UFO's checking them out; well, that's explained in my private pseudo-scientific philosophy (or mythology) by an advanced human race living under the oceans, or up on the moon.
I don't believe in aliens, I mean to say, I'm certain that there are advanced forms of life in this giant universe, I just think its pretty much impossible for them to have developed the way we did and then built interstellar ships, and then found earth.. I don't believe in time travel (you'd mess up the current timestream so bad just by taking up airspace and breathing in it.) no Big Foot, Loch Ness Monster, Mothman, giant spiders, Chupacabra, vampires (wouldn't that be cool), zombies (I hate the whole zombie thing, never got it. Watched tons of movies with lots of Italian films, just bored the crap out of me.)
Ghosts? Maybe. We have tons of data on ghosts, sound, video, etc.
Ah well, I've run out of steam.
End of line.....
CLIVE BARKER'S
NIGHTBREED
MOVIE TRAILER
(THIS LINK BRINGS YOU TO YOUTUBE)
https://youtu.be/gKXnT8FVleY?si=940ERsfZCxAuNPaH
The resurrection of the dead. In the legendary city of the dead, Midian.
(soon to be an online streaming series by Clive Barker Himself!)
"My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you make it a den of robbers."
Jesus of Nasrath, Jesus the Galilean, Yeshua
(Matthew 21:13, ESV)
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From a Bing Search:
The world's a hell what does it matter what happens in it?
The world's a hell what does it matter what happens in it?
The world's a hell what does it matter what happens in it?
"Anál nathrach, orth’ bháis’s bethad, do chél dénmha."
[Serpent's breath, charm of death and life, thy omen of making.]
--Merlin
Some people say this sounds like a big bummer, but I believe in life there are so many good & bad things that the best way is to find how you can be "content" with yourself and your life. To do otherwise is like gambling, that next card could put you at 20, or it might 'f' up your day, or year, or longer, losing your life's savings.
On the flipside you could just sit on your couch and play video games, the ones where you don't have a live team of people to talk to, just yourself and the games. And never try to do anything above just "existing."
That's been me for a while now, due to a double whammy of Bipolar 1 and Extreme Panic Disorder. And the shame of it is that it's really the medicine that put the brakes on my creativity: the art & writing I studied in college, the music I taught myself to compose, all that's in storage somewhere in my head.
The drugs keep me employed, housed, fed . . . If it weren't for the drugs, I'd probably be homeless by now cause in my manic swings, where how long they lasted was a completely unknown period of time (hours? days? weeks? months?) I had some delusions in my teens that went on for a good year and involved some very complex alternate realities. People dismissed my resulting behavior as:
"oh, he's just weird" or
"oh, he's just excentric" or
"oh, he's just making that up for a reason to act strange.)
The thing is, at work, before medication therapy, my mania came with a bloodlust for arguing with upper management. Including shouting arguments with a former Store Manager (I survived that because he actually respected me for standing up for myself! Welcome to the politics of manhood, hehe.)
So, I'm in a 24-year rut and I want the fuck out! I've even considered going off meds.
I've heard that a large number of actors and musicians (and artists of all types) have bipolar disorder.
Having an inability to exceed at "normal" things, like the "average normal" person, tends to push one towards places where they can fit in. "The Land of the Misfit Toys" from that stop motion Rudolph movie by Rankin Bass, who turned the cartoon version of "Return of the King" into a freaking musical!
And since this creativity is fueled by the disorder, the last thing they want to do is control it with meds. Often describes as a "chemical straight jacket" it turns out, by personal experience, exactly that.
As Jeffery Goines says in the Terry Gilliam film "12 Monkeys" . . .
"Fuck the Bozos!"
The history of the ancestors of the Haggard family begins among the Pictish clans ancient Scotland. The name Haggard comes from the Gaelic form Mac-an-t-sagairt, which means son of the priest. Patronymic names often substituted the name of a saint or other revered religious figure in place of a devout bearer's actual father. However, the patronym Haggard often denotes actual paternity in this case, since the marriage of clerics in minor orders was permissible, although the marriage of priests was declared illegal and invalid during the 12th century.
The etymology of the name is much in debate. One source notes the "family are supposed to be derived from the Ogards of co. Hertfordshire." or the name "Haggard is a corruption of "hay-garth," a rick yard, and is so employed in Hall and Holinshed, as well as in several provincial dialects, but most probably, an ancient baptismal name which occurs in Domesday as Acard and Acardus." 1
(I've been throwing these ideas around since I was a kid [always an introvert partially handicapped by a wasted IQ] and most people look at me like I'm crazy. I don't think this falls into "conspiracy theories." It's much more like speculative history, archeology, written and spoken mythology, and just sitting around thinking about random things.)
John 8:48-59
48 Then the Jews answered and said to Him, “Do we not say rightly that You are a Samaritan and have a demon?”
49 Jesus answered, “I do not have a demon; but I honor My Father, and you dishonor Me. 50 And I do not seek My own glory; there is One who seeks and judges. 51 Most assuredly, I say to you, if anyone keeps My word he shall never see death.”
52 Then the Jews said to Him, “Now we know that You have a demon! Abraham is dead, and the prophets; and You say, ‘If anyone keeps My word he shall never taste death.’ 53 Are You greater than our father Abraham, who is dead? And the prophets are dead. Who do You make Yourself out to be?”
54 Jesus answered, “If I honor Myself, My honor is nothing. It is My Father who honors Me, of whom you say that He is [a]your God. 55 Yet you have not known Him, but I know Him. And if I say, ‘I do not know Him,’ I shall be a liar like you; but I do know Him and keep His word. 56 Your father Abraham rejoiced to see My day, and he saw it and was glad.”
57 Then the Jews said to Him, “You are not yet fifty years old, and have You seen Abraham?”
58 Jesus said to them, “Most assuredly, I say to you, before Abraham was, I AM.”
59 Then they took up stones to throw at Him; but Jesus hid Himself and went out of the temple, going[b] through the midst of them, and so passed by.
Time is NOT a direction, NOT back and forth, it's a "state."
