Reader Post | By GK
“Do you remember the letter of rejection you received on Anna’s Ark?”
“Kind of.” I tried to remember.
“She said you cannot have farcical elements “and” dramatic elements in the same piece…?”
“Oh yeah…”
“Do you feel she is right?”
“Um… No… I don’t… I feel that life can be going along, mundane, typical, sad and boring maybe– and suddenly absurdity hits.”
“Do you know what that is?”
“No. What?”
“Parallel universes, other dimensions crashing into that particular level of reality… It happens all the time. They’re all in constant motion bouncing off of each other… every action has a reaction… Cause and effect… That reader not only missed your point but she’s missing “the” point all together. One person cannot tell another person what to think or write, or to say correctly…only the person who is creating can reflect his particular vision. It’s his experience. It’s his or her take on life…you must remember that. That piece of information is important. There’s so much that is absolutely vital… We’re running out of time. You need to familiarize yourself with the principles again. The moral… Also, remember this – The more absurd the better.
Satan is as clever as they come. You cannot be predictable or he’ll kill us. He’ll eat you up and shit you out…Excuse the language. That’s why we need you to look at the manuscript…”
“The manuscript?”
“How many rejection letters have you gotten through the years?”
“Hundreds.”
“How many had what you would consider good criticism…”
“Not many.”
“How many missed the point all together?”
“Most of them were form letters.”
“What is the point? Do you know…?”
“Actually, no.”
“That’s why we need you to study up, damn it! You are only one of the chosen one’s… So don’t go thinking you are all that special… You’re just one of many people out there who are supposed to push the boundaries… Keep the walls of creativity from collapsing in on themselves… It doesn’t matter how your work is perceived just as long as it doesn’t conform to someone else’s idea of what it should be… That’s where we become vulnerable… Satan wants to take away the vision… The imagination… That is why we’ve had you busy re-writing the Bible…”
“What?”
“Those stories you’ve written, their allegories or haven’t you noticed?”
“Many are, yes…”
“God is very disappointed in what they did to the Bible… God wanted it to be a real page-turner full of twists, turns, and laughs, especially humor. Oh sure it has some nice quotes and some great moral conflicts but… God’s favorite creation is laughter. He was hoping for as you say more irony…More…You know…Clever…Like Monty Python or Cheers…He gave his only son Jesus a wonderful sense of humor…But somehow when all those monks wrote the Bible they took it all too damn seriously.
God calls them “those monkey hacks…” Fire and brimstone only lasts for so long… Those tools are better suited for Lucifer… people need to be able to see the error of their ways and laugh at what jerks they are… It’s a way of exorcising the demons from their souls…
The way it stands… Mankind is collapsing in on themselves. They are not expanding. Technology is one of the few areas where they are pushing boundaries but unless other boundaries are pushed there’s no balance… The parallel dimensions are being pushed and bounced in all directions but no one’s absorbing the fruits of the interaction. You know what I mean?
“Yeah.” I lied.
“The point is… God got you started writing a funnier Bible long ago and you should’ve been done by now but it’s not your fault. The lack of balance in all walks of life has allowed Lucifer to dig in and secure his hold on mankind – which in turn, has contributed to your failure to get where we intended you to go…
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get ready for the test. Study… You need to refresh your memory… You need to look at where you’ve been again to choose your path in the future… God put those ideas in your pen and many of them spilled out onto the page without your full awareness… You need to go back and look more closely… Study! Cram for this exam… We’re in Hell for the first time in creation and we need you to be ready to play your part…”
“You want me to study True Witt?” I wrote that in High School… I was influenced by Mel Brooks and Rich Little…
What could that possibly do to help in the battle against Lucifer?”
It’s like a well… You dip into it when you’re thirsty for a laugh or when it sees or feels a drought it rains… It rains absurdity… In the absence of absurdity…
“Isn’t that why we have television?”
“Yes, but television is man-made… It’s another dimension and a powerful one…powerful in a bad way…that’s why we invented the internet…
“I thought Al Gore invented the internet.”
Algorithm? You see what we did there? Anyway, to try and offset some of its power…But as the devil wrestles away control and turns every piece of information into disinformation, we are once again losing ground…The lies are piling up like landfills…
Satan likes that. He’s shrinking the options and man is letting him… When man can accept that there are thousands of doors, invisible doors all around him, then he’ll be able to escape any problem. Thus, fixing problems by not allowing them to exist in the first place, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure…”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Remember if the thought hits you then it came from somewhere, therefore, that somewhere must exist!”
“You’re saying everything, I’ve already said…”
“Exactly… But you’ve missed some of the things we had you say…”
“What?”
“Just go back and read… We need you to be ready…”
“But, so much of it is so depressing, so self-indulgent, I did most of my writing when I was at my lowest points…”
“That’s why the highs are so high… because the lows are so low… You are an extremist… We needed someone who could bounce from one polar to the other… When we send you into Hell we need to know you’ll be able to relate… If you can’t relate then you’ll fail… We need you to win your battle… At the very least, we’ll need you to fight a draw… A loss could kill us… It’s that tenuous right now… We’ve never gone into Hell before… We’re not on neutral turf anymore…
“I’m sorry, I drank a lot of coffee today…”
“Go ahead.”
I awoke from that strange dream and went straight to the bathroom. I leaned over and looked in the mirror as I urinated. I was a 33-year-old man, alone, never married, without many friends and living with a gnawing sense of purpose. I stared deep into my own eyes. I watched the slight dilation of the pupil. I watched the blue wash into black. I whispered, “Why are you so messed up?”
I want to be a good person and a good father. I want to make amends for my past. I want to rebuild some of those bridges that have fallen in my wake. I guess in a way this is step four of a twelve-step program. I’m making a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself.
“What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
“You can’t have him. You and The Opposition have been officially ousted.”
“We’ll see.”
“Go away. Go destroy someone else and the people around them. Sean Kayne is under The One In Control.”
“Sean is far from under control.”
“He’s put his faith in The One In Control and that’s a force The Opposition fears.”
“The Opposition doesn’t have to fear anything. We are fear. It’s the reason for our success. Sean now has two guardian angels and I’m here to make sure he falls. I’m here to make sure that he continues to notch up bridges.”
“Sean is with us, you’re wasting your time. He’s got the will this time. Go, go away.”
“If you have so much faith in him then let’s see how he does. I promise you that if he’s really come full heart and mind to your side of the fence, I’ll try even harder. I have to admit, I let down my guard for a minute and he experiences some big revelation. But since the Opposition is doing so well our time is being split. How about you? Do you have a lot of free time these days?”
“Go away.”
“What’s that garbage he’s writing? How To Burn Bridges by Sean Kayne. Great. That should work in my favor. The more he recalls about what a pathetic piece of crap he has been, the easier it will be to fall again.”
“Sean is chosen. You can manipulate the sheep, but Sean’s been chosen.”
“Chosen my ass. He’s just another dumb animal.”
“He’s been chosen.”
“For what?”
“Time will tell.”
“Sean Kayne chosen? You’re crazy.”
“You suddenly don’t seem too sure of yourself.”
Well, it’s harder to cajole the chosen.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible.”
“Sean’s been blessed from very young. He is just now putting it together.”
“Get out of here…Sean isn’t chosen.”
I’ve always had this feeling that I was chosen for some reason to do great things. But the older I get and the deeper the hole I look out of, my doubt has begun to eat my desire away. I used to have such drive and ambition but now I’m just full of pain, fear and regret. In this world of psychobabble I am told that the answers are with my inner child. That it was my childhood that shaped me.
But I don’t see how my childhood could have sabotaged me so successfully. Looking back I see a lot of neglect that appears to have contributed to me never learning the principles of responsibility, like getting up and going to school, listening to instruction and bringing homework home. I was the seventh of eight children and I think my mom was just plain tired. I remember being taken care of by six neighbor women at different times when I was around four and five. I remember one of them lived down the street from a Great Dane that pinned me to the ground one day and I do believe he would have eaten me if Mrs. Baker hadn’t come running.
I remember another time going to sleep in Mrs. Holvenstots bedroom and waking up on the couch. She told me I was sleepwalking. I did a lot of sleepwalking in those early years. I used to get fevers and both hallucinate and sleep walk. One time I came to with the words, “Bob Hope? On Merv Griffin?” My mother who had me dressed and was lacing up my shoes looked freaked. Apparently, she had not been able to snap me out of my trance, but for some reason, I was shocked out of my never never land by the fact that Bob Hope would appear on Merv Griffin. Go figure. My Mom took me to the Doctor and he said,
“Bob Hope? On Merv Griffin?”
Maybe those fevers did something to me. Or maybe the vaccines. As far as imagination goes, mine was fertile as the Midwest soil. I used to lie in bed fantasizing for hours about all sorts of scenarios that featured me as some kind of cowboy or circus trapeze artist or war hero and I was always saving my best friend Chris and the two cutest girls from the first grade class. It was destined that I would grow up to pursue writing as a career. Any movie I saw, I plugged myself in to the story and rewrote it in my head. I did this every single night in bed.
I remember a couple movies I used often was High Winds In Jamaica with Haley Mills and Anthony Quayle. The movies that had a little girl I pasted myself into.
This was years before I discovered– well, never mind– so my fantasies were full of G- rated action adventure. When Oliver the musical came out, I became The Artful Dodger. I was the youngest romantic I know of.
“I’ll do anything fo yo luv anything fo you”
Any story that featured a little girl and boy became my favorite. Bedtime wasn’t the only time I fantasized. When I played, my imagination was very fruitful. I had an imaginary friend called Deden.
I often wonder what happened to Deden. He just disappeared one day without a trace. There he was backing me up in a pretty fierce bedroom brawl, we were getting it and giving it good to some pretty tough imaginary trappers in a log cabin outpost somewhere near Canada in the early 1800’s. When I knocked mine out with a combination of bare-knuckle fists to their air jaws. I went to get a drink of nini, that’s what I called water in those days, and when I returned, he was gone. No note, no forwarding address. Years later I could have used him in a real bar room brawl.
“Excuse me but I couldn’t help but notice your person seems very introspective.”
“Yes. Yes he is. Too much if you ask me.”
“Look at my guy. He doesn’t care about anything. He’s dead on his feet. I’m bored silly. Want to trade?”
“Some days yes I would love to swap out…”
“Oh, he’s hungry…again…Gotta go…Say what’s your name?
“Deden and yours?”
“Gabe…Nice to meet you maybe we will cross paths again one day…”
“You better hurry he looks like he could step in front of a bus.”
“You got that right.”
I was in the delivery room when my son was born. The climate was a cold frigid contempt for me, but luckily her sister was handling all the breathing crap. When after hours of pushing and panting and dilating, our son came forth into this world. I remember it vividly. Two things came to mind, first was the silence and lack of breathing. Make him breathe, I was thinking. They of course did. Secondly, I couldn’t help but notice he looked like something from a science fiction movie. He looked like a reptile. Of everything I have speculated about his mother and I, this is certainly one of the larger clues that something very strange is afoot.
And by the way folks, science already knows embryos have a tail up until 4 months when it disappears. I don’t know if things can be any clearer as to a preponderance of evidence. Humanity is spliced with reptiles. At least some of us are.
And of course, the lying demons have their deceptive claws in the Bible pages too. The truth is way beyond our wildest imagination. Truths that Reptile Hollywood doesn’t even choose to allude to for fear it will trigger a true awakening. But for those who have no clue as to what I am talking about there are DUMBS, deep underground military bases, miles deep where scientists who just love to cross species have half children, half spider creatures living their lives in cages. The horrors are even worse than that. Can you imagine the madness of these men and women living like this in this abysmal dungeon.
People like me who know of these things have found our interpersonal relationships strained to the breaking point because our family and friends guard their minds like cement encases nuclear reactors. Just a fact we in the know deal with and will likely die with. So far the truth has not set me free.
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