True Dat

Ruth, hurt, and in a rut

What is true?  I exist.  While I write this, anyway.   By the time you read this, maybe I don’t.   Unless you consider these words to be me, and not my living, breathing body.  In any case, will I exist after I die?  My body will decay, and feed the plants.  Disintegrate and disseminate.  But my words will be on a piece of paper, lasting as long as the paper does.  That’s a kind of afterlife, in my book.  But will I be reborn?  Or in heaven or hell?  Or, purgatory?  Or living on in the mind of a deity, as much alive there as I am, here?  Do I need to have children to have a (real) afterlife?  I mean, if I’m just my dna, then leaving some percentage of myself in my children is really the only way of living on, right?  But, in the long term, does it even matter?  Will humanity need my dna in a million years? Will humanity even last that long?  What will we evolve into?  And will we be an interplanetary, spacefaring species? When will earth bite the dust?  When the sun engulfs us?  Or will a rock knock us out, like what happened to the dinosaurs?  Or will humanity have idiots that start wars, commit crimes against humanity, and do things like spread poisons, viruses, pollutants, or killer robots?  Do I need to make babies to save humanity (lol)?  Or maybe the earth will become uninhabitable.  Too hot.   Too cold.  Not enough fresh water.  Alien invasion.  Volcanic eruptions.  Something.

What is false?  Any statement contrary to fact.  Or something like a false eyelash.  Anything that is not true.   What is true?  A statement that describes reality accurately.   Or something like true love.  True grit.   True to my dying day, she said.  Truth social.  True blood.   Well, anyway-  Truth is not Ruth on a cross.  Truth has rut in it.   T hurt (being nailed to a cross?  Yes, that would definitely hurt).  Jesus is the way, the truth, and the light.  Or so they say.  Jess, U.   Me?   I am the truth.  I AM.  

The mind doesn’t know the difference between imagination and reality, dreams and waking life, truth or fiction.   So all virtual realilties are, in a way, actual.  Religion makes things really real (through repetition).  Kind of like how Donald Trump is ALWAYS WRONG.   Go figure.   Authors are Gods - they create worlds.  Just like fathers and mothers.   Authors have books for babies.  

Tut is a part of truth.   King Tut.   King Tutankhamen.   Now, just a mummy.  But once, a Pharaoh, an Egyptian God!  Whatever I write, it always seems to come around to God.   Like alpha and omega, the beginning and end, immortality vs. impermanence.  It sure would be fun if we could live a hundred thousand years, or something, and turn off pain, and be alive!  (not just sleeping and dreaming for eons).   I mean, if we didn’t age and decay and get senile and go blind and need canes, and all the rest.  I have a prayer, and my prayer is for a non-aging immortality that we can choose to end, on an earth that never goes bad, or as a part of humanity that colonizes the stars!  

So, what is God?  Dog, backwards.  Jesus.  The Creator.  The author (and not just of the Bible).  A person worshipped as a deity.  The receiver of prayer.  Morpheus, the god of dreams.  Lucifer, and light.  Allah and Hanuman and Zeus.  Everybody.   Reality itself.   We’re all part of one giant dream.  Maybe even a computer simulation, overlayed on top of some other dream.  We are what we eat.  Ambrosia and Nectar are the food and drink of the Gods.  The world is a vampire, says Bullet With Butterfly Wings, by the Smashing Pumpkins.  Well, maybe it is.  God is good, says the good book.  So whatever is good is God.   That’s about all that can be said, no?  It’s all good?  God is everywhere!  That’s what omnipresence means.   No hell.  Unless hell is good, too.  You trippin’.   Teshara, he’s a rat.   Still just a rat in a cage.  Imprisoned in the cage of my own mind.  I think that’s right, actually.  Can I write myself into freedom?  Can I think myself out of this?  Can I escape by reading?  I think so.

Will I ever be sane?  Will my voice shut the hell up? Should I embrace the hearing voices movement, and see it as an asset, a blessing, or even a superpower?  Or should I medicate it to death, and knock it back every time it pops up?  Is my voice God? or the Devil?  Or maybe, just some wizard, who is sometimes tolerable, and other times, not?  A price to pay for freedom?  Or an enemy to be crushed?  Well, it certainly is interesting, in any case.  I’m a mutant.  An X-men character.  A hero of my own comic book.  Or maybe just mental.   A loonie.  A fucking psycho.  A madman.  Insane in the membrane.  Nutty as a fruitcake.  Right?  Argh!! 

Basics

0123456789

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz 

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

Everything is made of that

Nothing is made of this:

Basic baseball basehead

Al Qaeda (the base) 

Bass is an instrument, and a fish

Follow your bliss

Following Cathy Blish

Twisted abominations

or

GOD

GOD DOG OGD DGO GDO ODG

GOD GDO OGD ODG DOG DGO

6 combinations

YHWH (how does that become Jehovah?)

Blah blah blah

I’m bored

I’m boring

OGD, original gangsger devil 

Dawg, Gawd

old dirty gangsta

do-good organization

Basics and Asics shoes

Basic programming language

Be as sick

B as six (as sex)

Base sick

Anyway, N.E. weigh

Ne (Neon) has an atomic weight

New Edition, 

   no way! way!

BOOK

Body odor is okay

BOOK (try again)

Hello, world.  My name is Christopher Snodgrass, and I am a wizard lizard.   How does a lizard have a name, and talk, you ask?   Well, I once was a person.   But now my human brain is inside an alligator lizard, in the redwood forest of California.   I was in a wizard war, and I lost.   So now I’m a lizard.  You can call me Liz.   I was a male human.   But maybe I’m a female lizard, I’m not sure.  The wizard who transformed me, well, let’s just say he’s proficient in the dark arts.  Why am I writing about wizardry?  Because I’m suggestible.  Because 

(okay, try again)

The Dark Arts, by Jesse Lawrence Teshara

So you want to be a wizard.  Not just a wizard, but a dark wizard.   You want to make people suffer and die.   You want people to go to hell.  You want to be feared, and rise in power to become an overlord, who rules with an iron fist.  Well, this book was written for you.

The art of levity and light

lal, lol

What to do when you’re all alone, to feel human

Write.  Surf the internet.  Listen to music.  Masturbate.  Read trivial pursuit cards.  Do pushups.  

Eating well

Jesus, I need to eat you.  I’ll go to church in 3 days, I guess.  And I’ll devour your flesh.  I’ll make you a part of me.  I’ll shit anything I don’t need.  You’ll fuel me.  You’ll be my energy.  My animating force.  Will you be anything other than calories?  Will I obtain virtue in the bargain, too?   Will I become a deity?   Is eucharist ambrosia?  Food of the gods?  Is your blood nectar?  Will I get drunk on your blood?  Will I be thirsty for more?  thirst for christ!   Or will I get sick and vomit you?   Reject you from my system?   Will I barf in church and make a spectacle? We shall see.

SLR camera

Sex love and romance, a dinner with wine, fine dining, with candles and music.  A rich sensory experience.  Satisfaction, and being spent.  Maybe a fireplace chat.  Hm.

‘right. That’s how you are - you think in little nuggets’

Enough.  Let’s get out of my head, and into some music with trivia.  Good times.  Go to bed in an hour or two.   Read some Gaiman, maybe.

G’nite.

World, whirling around, spinning on its axis, and revolving around the sun, whizzing through the galaxy in gorgeous spirals, waiting to die, like all of us, what shall I say?  That you were heaven, and it’s too bad that nothing lasts forever?   Or, thank you for being so wet and wild.  Or, that fog, drizzle, rain, snow, sleet, hail, and the rest were all absolutely perfect - never change! (or all least allow us to co-evolve with your transitions).   It looks like humans will be in charge of everything.   Whether the weather is wet or hot, or what human genes will survive and reproduce.   It’s only natural!  I know we’re in an extinction event…hopefully that will end, and not us, too, in the bargain.  If there is a (real) God, we need you.  Help us out, dude.  Amen.

A dog named Godot