Hello, dear reader. I, the author, want to thank you for being interested in me and/or my writing, and invite you to participate in my mind further, if you wish. My email is JesseGod@live.com, and my blog, the seed of this work, is at http://jesseteshara.blogspot.com.
I like writing. I won a Journalism award in high school, where I was in honors/AP English and was editor-in-chief of the Yearbook. I enjoy reading well-written works, which makes all the difference, in my book. Just as a bad teacher can ruin a fascinating subject, a bad writer can make something fun into drudgery. Hopefully my love of writing will increase your love of reading :-)
My topic is God, Religion, and Spirituality. In other words, theology, philosophy, and psychology. Not everything I write is original. I stole some jokes off the internet: I’m writing a book about reverse psychology. Please don’t buy it. HA! Marxists only drink herbal tea. Because proper tea is theft! HA HA. My aunt is a nun. I called her Aunty-Christ, but that didn’t go over very well… What do you call a sleep-walking nun? A Roamin’ Catholic. I wanted to become a Gregorian monk, but I never got the chants! HAHAHA!
Anyway. What God is and isn’t. God is defined as the Creator. The Source (of all things good). So, like before the Big Bang. Creator of the Universe, and you-niverse. Your parents created you. God is sex! God is love. What is love? Lick my love pump, or something (thankyou, Spinal Tap). Love is really, really liking someone. Liking yourself around that person, too. There are a million types of Love. I’m not sure I’m kidding. From parental to romantic to puppy to God’s love to self-love to Bhakti yoga to Queer platonic to infatuation to what-have-you. God is good. Pleasure is good. Existence depends on God. Reality is all the god there ever is. Butt weight, God is a delusion. God isn’t anything. Reality doesn’t exist. I mean, once you die, there isn’t anything good happening to you. Nihility, nullibiety, oblivion, nonexistence, decay, dust to dust. You just turn to shit, and feed worms, like everything else. That’s not an afterlife to get all crazy about. Love never dies? Everything dies. God is dead. The French call orgasm, “petit mort,” little death. So God is a concept. A role. An identity. Or even a status. A higher power. A yellow submarine. CRISPY! Chuy, too.
Kindness is my religion. I don’t call lies kind. The truth is kind. Delusion leads to suffering. Be happy you are alive. Seize the day. There are thousands of reasons to be unhappy. But you can be happy, for no reason at all. Be happy you exist. I AM.
Spirituality is the same as a radio. It’s all physics, physical. Your body sends and receives vibes, is on wavelengths, and your mind is not private, despite what you may wish for, or defines sanity as. STEM stands for space time energy matter, science technology engineering math. Or femme stud. Whatever. Radio waves penetrate. Spearing it, like a fork, or penis. I don’t believe in ghosts, apparitions, spirits, phantoms, souls! Morpheus sends dreams, though. Don’t let the bed bugs bite!
I’m into Native American spirituality, especially. Mother Earth, Father Sky. Loki, the trickster. Iktomi, I mean. I find God in Nature. I’ve never done a sweat lodge, or anything. But that’s how I identify. Fun stories around a campfire, archery, horses, fishing, dancing, crafts. I’m a Dem, but really I identify Green. But I’m pro-life. So it goes.
God is a word. A weird word for an odd god. God is One.
Raptured raptor, who prayed for prey; the gay laugh of a good life; fatuous, flatulent, frat boys; what about a bout on a boat?; Jon Lovitz tells his dog, "leave it"; the cockatiel drank my cocktail! kook-uh-loca about cocaine-cola. GOD and Objects Gathering Dust. Delight in Getting Old. Gambling, Obscenity, Drugs. Gospel, Opera, Dance music. G-D, and Gibson, Debbie. Black, by popular demand. Writing in white. The Creator created a crater. Mirth on earth; cars in the stars, or at least, Mars. Gawking at Stephen Hawking, walking! Autonomy in my astronomy. Avery's discovery of slavery was very... cadaver ivory? CU later, alligator! in a wile, crocodile! Abyssinia! Do you take me for granite? Everybody must get stoned! Rawk on. Terra cotta warriors and the prince of peace, with the church's cornerstone. Upon this buROCKracy I will build my church. Acadia is not Akkadian is not Arcadia is not an arcade is not acedia. Don't ingest aconite on taco night. Civil war and criminal law shouldn't be Miss Interpreted. And penicillin is not for an illin' penis. Indians are from India. Americans are from North, Central, and South America. Amerigo Vespucci, the namesake. a merry-go-round. Native Americans are indigenous. We are trespassing on tribal lands. We are all illegal aliens. So like yeah whatever nevermind, right? It's bed time....dreamtime? Aboriginals take back the night. I'm reading my Whirled Book encyclopedia, and am using my Glow-b lamp as a night light. What future are we creating? PLAN IT. Not enough plants on this exoplanet, is my chief complaint. a pair of parents, a couple couples. chill, children, hot with hate. Hot dogs and cold cuts of cat. A kit-kat tastes better than a caught kitten! Snakes eat snacks. Jake eats snakes. For Jakes' sake, please stay awake! Maybe Jake should eat a steak. Mm, roast ghost! chewy Chuy and Teshara-flesh! Chiu on that!
Poopy Snoopy, Shaggy Shelby, and Princess (incest?). Kaleb eats kale, drinks ale, like a land-lubber. This is Rover, over. Do you copy, Poppy? Who's Papi. Strait of Hormuz- prostitute bovine! heterosexual cow-whore moo's? The entitled Titans of Hittite titanium! Loose Lucy. Hot lava, cool guava, fava beans, and a cup of Java. And kachava. Superstition on the superstation. Antelope that eat cantaloupe can't elope. And ants can't dance fancy, either, Vance. One. You half two. Know choice. Winter pepper and Summer salt! Frequently delinquent and rarely there. Who did I just hear chanting? Greg? or Ian? Misery is a mystery, with a large stash of cash. What if BURN in hell forever meant your body is going to burn calories (like it always has), somewhere heavenly (like Earth?), where you can expect to expend calories fighting evil, pain, discomfort, misery, war, dissatisfaction, crime, and other assorted hellishness? Can you get older without necessarily aging? Sickness Aging Death, don't need to be SAD. It is what it is. G-D is a golden dragon. God omnipotence delusion. Glory daze. Gender dysphoria. gosh darn. The aging angel plays "forever young" (Alphaville, 1984) on his/her/its harp. Haunted by the threat of hantavirus. The wailing wall is amazingly amusing. I like my steak rare and my sense common. I bought a new used tv, for tv ac-T-V-ty. Hopefully my Sony isn't phony. Bony Joanie likes Tony more than ponies. Teeny tiny Tony. Old Spice (old spy?) and the New Deal (nude eel? with salad dressing!). My other bike is a bike. Zombies from Gombe national park. Demons named Damon, and vampires hunting umpires, and beasts from the east, eating feet of the de-feated. Creatures from future features, and ugly bugs doing sin sex like insects, (and rapist papists???), and kangaroos in underoos, and the resident presidents of houses of many colors. Mexican hex on a Canadian named Adrian. Sick puppies and well Mel and healthy wealthy wise guys. From dawn to dusk, Quran and Musk. Call the crime, all the time. Evel Knievel squashed a weevil, but Holy moly, did he ever create Kate. Wait, who's Kate? You know - the Kate that courted fate, by datin the late Satan, who died frying guys like Mike. Evil? You mean, the piece of shits who kidnap rape torture beat kill cook and eat innocent human flesh? Just for eating meat? Beaten and eaten, like everyone else, with thyme. Bible babble about chewing Hubba-Bubba in Abu Dhabi. Yada yada dadaism and sodomy. Cynically smoking Senecas in Senegal, more sinfully than cinnamon or raisins. Absinthe makes the heart grow fondue. Must all speech really be edifying, truthful, and sincere? Absurdly honking like birds, we humans who are good with cumin. Only serpents like Slurpees! warfare and bored there, excitement about indictments. Lawyers who are into Allah. Law-law land. Anna from Annapolis eats bananas in the savannah! Yabba dabba doo! Obi Kenobi! crabby Abbie and joyful Roy. Pornography and rich-nography and prawns. Broken widows. a nice guy, in the night sky. scuse me while I kiss this guy. amoeba and a-you-ba! Wells Fargo or Sicks close-come? Robert the robber, stealing home base, taking a shower, and pilfering pills. Caballeros, vaqueros, y gauchos! BLIMBY - I had a Dead Milkmen dream :-) (Big Lizard in my Back Yard). Listen, Satan roots for tens of points for the Nets! An engaged mage: Aged, caged, and enraged. Gr. pageantry and pleasantry and party purity. Wanda from Rwanda. M23 and Michael (Jordan, number 23, Bulls). Crocodiles, crocs (shoes), chocodiles, and Democratic Republic of Congo (DROC!). Nieue has a new way. No way! Way! Yahweh? Aweemaway, the lion sleeps tonight! Knee ooh eh? Tutsi rolls. You too can be Hutu. The threat of debt. Playing bongos in Congo, guitar in Qatar. Persuading cats like Félix to wear blue suede shoes. Coffee in my coffin, and sanctions on Sanka, and mediation while drinking mead. Freud, Frodo, and fraud. 'Hunkpapa' is a real word: look it up. Memories of the outdoors, and Indonesia. Noah's archipelago. Is Israel for real? Fake fakirs, and artificial fish, and a false pulse? Jed's dead. This is an EX-parrot! Moroni morons on moons. Coltrane and coal trains. Good morning, and God mourning. Tears and the tyranny of satyrs and their bacteria. Not a peep! If you keep weeping in your sleep, you creep, I'll leap into the Jeep (beep beep) and throw your cheap heap in the deep! Said the veep. Ninjas cringe at annoying noise, and prefer their violence in silence, such as taking a knife to life. Pro-lifers however, have an execration of execution, preferring the bliss of a kiss, or the joy of toys. I'd rather spit a quote than slit a throat. But maybe Seth and Beth prefer death to meth, or inflicting pain to convicting insane Jane. Whatever floats your boat. I think thinking stinks. But sitting and knitting at the stitch and bitch is a bit of shit I can't quit! (carni-)VORE, the Varieties of Religious Experience. Making the ideal shouldn't be an ordeal. Cart vs. basket, door vs. gate, crack vs. groove, carpet vs. rug. Specificity! Listen has ten in it. Thousand has sand in it. Dread of your honey, hundred. The bird trills, as Bill mills about. Ill-ionaires and well-ionaires, :-). Drive my Rav4 to the rave, and Sonata to the concert hall.
fuels, fool- gas/gasoline, oil, diesel, petrol/petroleum, propane, natural gas, LPG, kerosene, jet fuel, biogas... elbow grease and grit. Food, like grits. Or... ptarmigan parmesan partisans? cheesy chi.
Happy Mother's Day, mom, madre, mother no other, mater, mum, mommy, birthmother, adoptive mother, Mother Earth, the motherland, the mother of all battles, and of course Sierra Madre. Mother Superior, mother's cookies, mother Mary, Momma Mia. Helicopter moms and soccer moms and mother jones and mother goddess and mother Teresa and mother-in-law! (mother outlaw?). ahh, memories of mammaries, and mummery :-)
Latin! in nomine patri et filii et spiritus santo, novus ordo seclorum, id est, exempli gratia, sanctus dominus, et Tu Brute? fiat lux. alma mater, carpe diem, et cetera, ad nauseum, ad lib, alter ego, rigor mortis.
blessed and possessed. jest! and Jess T. zesty jess t. I'll be Jess T if you'll be my bestie. dusty destiny. Jess is, you guessed, not a pest, in a nest, but on a quest to be the best in the west, too blessed to be stressed, dressed in a vest, to rest, pass the test, and -of course- always jest, at your request and behest.
burp! the serpent perpetrated slurping sloppily from my purple slurpee! Will this turpitude with my slurpee give me herpes?
I was recommended 'Tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom.. one takeaway: "whenever people ask me about having children or not having children, I never tell them what to do. I simply say, there is no experience like having children. That's all. There is no substitute for it. You cannot do it with a friend. You cannot do it with a lover. If you want the experience of having complete responsibility for another human being, and to learn how to love and bond in the deepest way, then you should have children."
Bowling for Bolivia, agains ebola, with Manute Bol
My name is Chuy, I am a little screwy, I like Huey Louie and Dewey, so go getta Clui.
Teaches of Peaches, at the Kelly school, peachy keen, impeachment, and the preacher, eat the peach!
go for a spin with a weird whirl through word-world
higher fire of desire, GOD gust of dust, must lust (blow me!)
HR, home run, Human Resources, heal every hurt, right every (w)rong!
gazing at a homeowner, smoking a fag
smoking queenagers
What should I write? The evil of war? The beauty of life? Absurdity and frustration. No need to write anything, I guess. Just read my bible, I suppose. But I’d rather read google questions. Or just about any other book in the library, really. Most authors are full of shit. That includes the 50-odd authors of the Good Book.
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Debbie Gibson does good D-G (dog)
Gray Davis goes down on G-D (god)
General disorder and doggone good
war no more, peace without cease
devil lived, god dog, ok to ko
orl korrect, you knockout
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Hello again. Hell low uh-gehn?
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Hi. High. Hello. Low. Heaven goes without saying. Hell evokes he will. Hell is inevitable. Like death. Heaven-hi. I’ve been searching hi and hello for you! When you’re up you’re up, and when you’re down you’re down, and when you’re only halfway-up, you’re neither up nor down!
Here I sit like a bird in the wilderness. Childhood sing-song endures, pushes it’s way through to current consciousness. The watermelon clap: sssssssssllurp, and ptptptptptptp! Ha.
The candle burns, the music plays, the flowers suck up water, blossom, and die. My girl silently slumbers on. The roommates prattle on about kitchen whatever. I read the unread bits of the current Economist. I look at pictures. Yes.
Pi day. Star Wars day. Goth day. Just another day. Tomorrow is, another day. Hasta mañana. Ciao, CIA. Tick tock. Tiktok. Tic-tacs. Scat of a cat. CIT, Caltech. Bernoulli the Beaver! Busy as a bee. Bouncy baby boys. Injun ears. Injun earrings. Engine near? Lake Erie. Ya, whatever, nevermind. I lost my mind, I have no mind. My mind is mined. Explosions, watch your step. Brainless. Airhead. Ideas bouncing around my brain cranium. Boing! Boeing? You catch my drift? You grok my thinker I use to think with? Raining blood, from a lacerated sky, bleeding it’s horror, now I shall, reign in blood! Slayer and The Haters and Love and Cream, and The Noise. Music is compressed emotion. E-motion. Move ease. The E street band. That’s all I got. I’m out.
