Church = Satan, Get OUT OF MY FACE

You walk around, worshiping Jesus Christ with your crucifix around your neck and an edited Bible under your arm, going to church on Easter not realizing how big of a joke the devil has pulled on you.

“Jesus Christ” is Latin, the language of the Romans, the people who killed Joshua of Nazareth 2000 years ago. Easter is a pagan goddess of fertility, hence the rabbits and eggs. Christmas was chosen to overlap and coincide with the pagan solstice festivals. Christ means anointed one, not messiah. Solomon and David were also anointed ones. It means you are to be or are a king, nothing more. Joshua was not killed by the Jews. He was killed by Judas (actually, Judah or Yehuda) and the Romans. Hence, he was killed by one of the first 12 Christians, and the people who run the Church.

Your religion is the equivalent of the Ku Klux Klan deciding which of Martin Luther King’s teachings you should pay attention to, and making you wear a pendant around your neck of his half-blown off head.

Rome’s way was to steal things from the nations and cultures it conquered, so that people still felt a part of the new society. The new post-Messianic Judaism was a threat to Roman power, so it abandoned its stolen Greek idols in favor of the symbols of Joshua’s followers. They then whittled down the gospels to a manageable 4 that agreed with their new agenda, and edited those down to avoid different interpretations.

The practice of adapting and stealing traits to the societies it devours was passed along to its missionaries as Rome slowly stopped being a literal empire and evolved into an empire of the mind, as it continues to enslave most of the modern world in the form of the Roman Catholic Church, and its Unholy Roman Emperor, the Pope, the newest being a former member of the Hitler Youth program.

If you’re going to worship the Invisible Sky Bully in any of Its forms, and you intend on being a follower of Joshua, go be a Messianic Jew, and while you’re at it, read the Gnostic gospels like the Gospel of Mary the Magdalene or, hell, Joshua’s first hand account. Anything else is the worst kind of blasphemy–the kind that pretends it’s the true worship, and relies on your laziness to keep up its charade. Like “patriotism” that takes away freedoms while screaming of liberty.

Suffering by Design, part 2

In college, at the cusp of me dealing with a growing social anxiety, an inability to connect to the opposite sex, and a desperate need to be important before I died, I met a group of people that would change my life, just as the second group of people I had called friends had let me down, continuously putting themselves before each other and me, and not really being that interested in true friendship (at least with me). They were the friend equivalent of a relationship of convenience or necessity, rather than true emotion. That was as much my fault as theirs. When you don’t know who you are, you don’t know who or what you want, because who is this “you” asshole?

Anyway, because I had started smoking by now (a byproduct of being a Beta in high school to an extremely charismatic personality who has since fallen out of the gods’ favor), I ended up hanging out with an entirely new group of people at college. Not only was college a wake-up call in terms of personal freedom scholastically, but I was suddenly able to choose friends. Eventually, I met Darren, and I’d never clicked like that with a person outside of my family. He introduced me to Jamie and Laura, and suddenly, I had a real family of people with whom I felt true kinship. This is probably why I am alive today. Though I’ve gone through much bullshit since knowing them, I feel like most of it was the remnant of my prior experiences, and not something being done to me. Except for the whole Greg thing.
I’m a dramatic person, and I have a tendency towards hyperbole in certain situations. I also feel more than most. I inherited a certain empathic ability from my father, and I can tell what other people are feeling. Sometimes this works to my detriment. I pick up on emotions not directed at me, and I want, nee need them to be directed at me so badly I cannot tell there is something else going on. This helped lead to me being in situation after situation where someone ended up with a friend of mine instead of me. I was positioning myself between two people. I can exaggerate motivations; I have been known to misinterpret signs and miss them altogether by the opposite mistake (I assume feelings are not directed at me, now). All this being said, Greg tried to destroy me. 

The primary argument against this was always that Greg wasn’t capable of such machinations; I, of course, being perceived smarter than I perceive myself, was capable. This made it impossible to fight back when Greg tried to destroy me. See the thing is, liars like that kid don’t need machinations. They need a stupid face and the cowardice to tell you they did something that they didn’t, and the cowardice and lack of moral fiber to point at someone else when caught in a previous lie. I was right. Period. Greg could not be trusted; he hated me from high school ’cause I made fun of his fucking juice box. I didn’t even disapprove. I just thought it was funny that he brought ecto-coolers to school when we were sixteen fucking years old. And he hated me for it. What a douchebag.
Let’s get this straight: You can’t take a joke, you can’t be trusted. To quote Christopher Titus, every dude has the douchebag test. New guy walks up wearing a stupid shirt. You say, “What’s up with that shirt?” There are two types of responses. If new guy says something like, “I’ll keep wearing this shirt as long as you keep wearing those shoes,” he is now your new best friend. If he says something like, “This is my favorite shirt,” with an emo face, he is a douchebag. When you interpret good natured ribbing as personal attacks, then everyone is out to get you in your little warped world, which means you are justified in doing whatever you need to to any of them to save yourself. They all hate you anyway, right? So fuck them, worry about you. The only problem is, most people, particularly guys, mock each other as a sign of affection. When that sign is rejected, it denotes a prior disposition toward not liking the person doing the mocking. Yes, I am guilty of thinking like this in freshman year of high school. Then I realized people were just trying to be my friend, and guys can’t go, “Nice shoes,” they have to say, “that’s the dumbest hat ever.” 
Anyway, Greg was a douchebag, I liked Mikey way better, so at the very least he served a purpose by introducing me to him. I decided to betray Greg after Greg betrayed Mikey, because fuck Greg, Mike was better in every conceivable way. I’d never even seen Mike mad before the night Greg started all this shit. Not only was he betraying Mike, he also was fucking over two girls who I liked more than his ass, too, even if one was only marginally. Fuck that dude. So I told the girls. I do not feel bad about it. I hate a motherfucker who has more than one chick without deserving the first one. He did it twice, and both times I felt like Cassandra talking to a fucking wall. Yeah, I wanted to fuck Kathleen. She was fucking hot. What of it, every guy wanted to  and any of them who denied it were lying. I didn’t, and it took away my credibility. I love that shit. But there’s no accounting for people’s need to believe in someone’s bullshit because of how said bullshit reinforces a positive view of themselves. Just look at any religious figure or politician.
Either way, I learned my lesson. A comfortable lie is more acceptable than the obvious but inconvenient truth. I don’t really care, and I’m not changing how I go about things. I’ll just wait for everyone else to catch up.
The point is, that despite all the crap I went through for three or four summers, I was stronger through all of it because of the people I had in my life. True love hurts, and I truly love the people whom I consider my true friends. Although now I have this weird mental checklist. Some people are on it, they know who they are, and others aren’t. Not because they aren’t good friends or because I don’t like them. They just aren’t family.
Speaking of true love, I’m in it. It is an inconvenient love, it has hurt me more than anything in recent memory. I went through a period of mourning that I cannot begin to describe other than to say that it was extremely self-destructive and lonely, and once again I am only probably alive because of the people I went home to every evening. I will never be able to repay them even a tenth of what they’ve done for me.
Anyway, Alison’s in New York. I think we’re both finally meeting in the middle, so to speak. I tend to start off too intense, panicking at the prospect of loss. It took me way longer than usual, but I figured out how I felt about Ali waaaay too late, when we were already in two different states. Then, I was ready to move to New York to make it possible to be with her. Anything I had to do. This is a little much devotion and willingness for a normal person, especially someone with more experience (which can be as much a disadvantage as an advantage; I cling to my idealism about love despite it having done nothing but stand me up since the beginning). Either way, as I’ve cooled off Ali’s warmed up. It’s not that the emotions have changed; we’ve felt the same since the beginning. The being I am, if I’m willing to outright say that then it’s 99% likely to be true. If there’s any doubt about someone liking me remotely, I will find it and enlarge it. I have no doubts about this. No, the emotions haven’t changed, they’ve just slowly been tested, confirmed as real, and come to grips with. I’ve calmed as I’ve gained confidence in my feelings and realized that I don’t need her right now, before she’s taken away. She’s realized her feelings for me and vice versa aren’t overnight sensations, and is more and more okay with endulging them.
We still avoid relationship-like talk. That’s like a death kiss when you’re nowhere near each other. There must be the illusion of escape. But we work “I love you,” into every conversation like the words will stop existing if we don’t say them every five minutes. And last time we did that annoyingly cute thing where neither of us would hang up. I’m in so much trouble, and I love it. Anyway, we’re both working on ways to see each other.
It seems sad or weird, but the whole reason I did this movie was to be successful enough at something I’m good at so that I could move up there or at least travel there regularly. A normal job won’t cut it. I need to earn this by being me. Does any of this make any sense?

new cheese

So, Westerworld is an alternate world in an independently published children’s series, and out of respect for the author (not fear of legal ramification), I’m changing the name to Underland, an Underworld/Wonderland pun.

It’s coming along nicely, if slowly. Two Rabbits and Allison are great foils for one another, and I’ve come up with some Gaimanish ideas already. Law of Ironies is an immeasurable source of material.

“I Was a Teen-age Prom Queen!” RealmsCon rough cut is online on on my Channel 23. It got a very good reaction at the Con, according to Matt and Des.