I don't know why I'm so often hunting or being chased by something evil in my dreams. It just happens. Here's one from a few weeks back, where I dreamed about trying to keep my buddy safe from demons, and perhaps the Devil himself. Hope you enjoy as an opening to Halloween Season 2010!
It was late afternoon. The day was sunny and cool. I was walking through a nursing home in a suburban town. Well, more like I was sneaking through it. It was all a one-floor structure. There was an obscenely large number of people roaming the halls - nurses, visitors, etc. I was suspicious of each and every one of them. Did they know who I was, what I was doing there? Did they recognize me?
Eventually, I located a room that seemed familiar, and knew it would help me find what I was looking for. Inside, a nurse was putting sheets on an empty bed. The room looked vacant; I guess she was prepping it for a new guest of the facility. There was a quick conversation between me and her that I basically didn't hear, but here was the gist: I asked her something, and she seemed to recognize me for what or who I was (whatever or whoever that is). She warned me of something, like a threat. I asked her something else, much more fiercely. She answered. The whole thing at this point seemed that she was either evil or knew enough about the evil folks to tell me it was useless to resist or go through with my crazy plan. Then again, she asked, why was I here? Holy shit, was I there because something important was there? Freakoutfreakoutfreakout. She tried to run away, and I wasn't about to let her, but there was chaos down the hall. Damnit, they had found me. I had either been followed or someone had spotted me.
I raced back the way I had come - toward the main lobby and entrance. I could hear angry yelling, like newcomers arriving and demanding answers from the people there. People were scurrying down the hall past me, eager to get away. I realized then that the noise was coming toward me. I cast around, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't escape, and I hadn't found what I had been looking for. Up and down the hall, doors were open, and frightened face peered out. Except one room, on the left, near the lobby. In an inspired moment, I rushed toward the door, praying it was unlocked. Fortunately, it was, and I threw myself inside, slamming the door shut again just as the cacophony outside reached that part of the hall.
In the room, I found my John, standing next to a desk, looking as if he expected to be shot or stabbed on the spot. He didn't know me, whoever I was. We had a short conversation, where John essentially asked if I was there to kill him. I responded that I was actually there to save him. John wanted me to explain further, but at that moment, the noise outside rose to nothing short of how Hell itself must sound. Something had arrived. HE had arrived. From the hall, all was a roar of violence and anguished screams. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, I froze. I had not expected HIM to arrive.
"Out the window!" I hissed, regaining myself. John just looked at me as if I had asked him to cut off his own hand. "Now!" I bellowed. In a moment, John had thrown open the window and thrown himself outside. I was directly behind him and didn't look back.
I felt only slight relief as we crossed the manicured lawn of the nursing home and trekked into a maze of backyards. "We got away, right? What was that?" John asked over his shoulder, pressed forward by the fact that I kept moving at a brisk pace right behind him.
I chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't know how you drew HIS ire without knowing who HE is, man, but HE is pure evil. HE is like the king of all demons and evil men." Seeing Johnr disbelieving look over Johnr shoulder, I pressed on, telling the horrors that HE could commit and the powers HE possessed. I went on for some time, directing John through back yards, only crossing streets when absolutely necessary, as dusk began to approach. As I finished the litany, I mentioned, "...and HE can take and control regular people, as long as they're inclined enough in their hearts to become evil or commit horribly evil acts."
"How do you mean?" John asked. As if to answer, a dozen teenage kids on bikes and on foot, holding flashlights, guns, and anything sharp they seemed able to find, came rushing toward us between two houses, screaming both wordlessly and in simple shouts such as "Get them!" and "There they are!" Their eyes seemed glossy and dead. And it was very bad that they were so close we could see that much detail.
We ran. I can't even say how we eluded them. At one point, we pulled a half a block awy from them, and they lost track of us. We cut out from yards to cross a street, only to find a man there walking alongside his bike. The moment he saw us, his face went slack and all his energy seemed to flow from him. Then, he took in a huge breath and howled at us. In the distance, the growing mob seemed to answer in kind and approach. I ran up to the man, with his bike between us. He reached over the bike, as if to grab me like a zombie. But, I kicked out and connected with the bike, knocking the man to the ground. Kicking him again heavily in the head, I dashed back to John, grabbed his arm, and we began to run again.
About two blocks away, I noticed an empty house for sale. We ran around the back, lucky to discover that someone had left the back door open. We snuck inside, ducked behind the kitchen counter and waited for hours, hearing the neighborhood search for us. Among the searchers, we could tell there were...others. Probably those who had originally rushed into the nursing home. Large men, if that was what they were. Their voices boomed. We could feel their presence through the walls of the house.
A few hours more, and we finally relaxed. All had gone quiet. The search was over, or the people lay in wait. We weren't sure which, but I was confident that if we could stay hidden until dawn, everything would be ok. Something about dawn was powerful for us. We snuck through the dark of the house, making our way to the living room, where we planned to take turns sleeping for the night. The room had a skylight, and just as John fell asleep and I took the first watch, I noticed a shadow pass over the square of light on the floor, cast by the moon. Looking up, I saw something that looked like a man crossed with a bat. It thumped twice as it stepped around the skylight, but froze as it saw me.
"Up! Run!" I said. John jumped up and we scrambled out the back door. It was silent outside, which was terrifying - I couldn't tell where the enemy would be coming from. We made our way up a rise to the suburban street. Nothing stirred within the circle of a streetlight's glow. Then we heard a sound and dropped, pressing ourselves to the perfectly cut and now dew-covered lawn. I risked a quick glance over the rise and saw my friend Mark's Pontiac pull up, him in the driver's seat, and his wife in the passenger seat. The car stopped, her window rolled down, and Mark shouted, "Get in!"
John hesitated. "What if they're...his?" he asked. From looking at them, I was fairly confident they were not. They didn't seem half lifeless. On the contrary, they were emphatic that we get in the car as quickly as possible. So we got up and climbed into the back seats. Still, as the car sped us away, onto highways that would hopefully take us to safety, I couldn't help but wonder if HE had gained the ability of a new type of possession, where his minions seemed more normal than half-zombies. Saying nothing, and watching the night highway pass by, I began planning...just in case.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Friday, September 10, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Drunken Poetry
For an office happy hour this week, I challenged my coworkers to write poems that we'd then read after a bunch of drinks. Of course, I was the only who played my game.
So, since there was no audience for my great drunken poem there, I'm going to force it on you here. Hope you enjoy.
Why I Drink
by me.
I’ve recently been told that I
may need to get some help.
That maybe I have dwelled too long
in my own personal hell.
Some things you may not know ‘bout me
may help explain my plight.
Or perhaps just why I’m doing fine
on this auspicious night.
My mother always feared for me
when I was just a boy.
I stayed up nights all terrified
of ghosts amongst my toys.
But little did my mother know
the true scars I’d receive
were from my friends who made me play
a girl for make believe.
School was never easy for a
nerdy clumsy geek
like me who read and played no sports,
was shy and awfully weak.
My first girlfriend, and ugly thing
with pimples and bad teeth.
Her selling point, even she was
more popular than me.
A young adult, I tried my best
to shed my cursed past.
The cloud that I had lived under
could not be meant to last.
But college was a frightful tale.
I did some things, you see,
that never should be uttered to
such proper company.
“Now law school, that’s a plan,” I thought,
“That should pay off in spades!”
I fucked myself with that bold move
by getting shitty grades.
Thank God I found myself a job
and go to work each day.
The pay’s enough. My boss is nuts,
but stays out of my way.
And still, my life, it trudges on
in mediocrity.
I read sci-fi and walk my dog
and play games on the Wii.
I have no goals, no great big dreams
of ever going far.
I have no place to feel secure
except my local bar.
And so I turn to drink, my friends.
It changes things, you see.
With booze in me I’m ten feet tall,
the lord of all I see.
I’m handsome, charming, powerful
and life becomes so great.
The knocks I’ve taken seem less harsh.
I like my drunken state!
I say there’s nothing wrong with this,
the way I spend my nights.
I’m sure you all have got my back
in case of any fights.
Drinking does fulfill my life,
I’m sure that this is true,
‘cause though I’m getting drunk tonight,
I’m getting drunk with you.
So, since there was no audience for my great drunken poem there, I'm going to force it on you here. Hope you enjoy.
Why I Drink
by me.
I’ve recently been told that I
may need to get some help.
That maybe I have dwelled too long
in my own personal hell.
Some things you may not know ‘bout me
may help explain my plight.
Or perhaps just why I’m doing fine
on this auspicious night.
My mother always feared for me
when I was just a boy.
I stayed up nights all terrified
of ghosts amongst my toys.
But little did my mother know
the true scars I’d receive
were from my friends who made me play
a girl for make believe.
School was never easy for a
nerdy clumsy geek
like me who read and played no sports,
was shy and awfully weak.
My first girlfriend, and ugly thing
with pimples and bad teeth.
Her selling point, even she was
more popular than me.
A young adult, I tried my best
to shed my cursed past.
The cloud that I had lived under
could not be meant to last.
But college was a frightful tale.
I did some things, you see,
that never should be uttered to
such proper company.
“Now law school, that’s a plan,” I thought,
“That should pay off in spades!”
I fucked myself with that bold move
by getting shitty grades.
Thank God I found myself a job
and go to work each day.
The pay’s enough. My boss is nuts,
but stays out of my way.
And still, my life, it trudges on
in mediocrity.
I read sci-fi and walk my dog
and play games on the Wii.
I have no goals, no great big dreams
of ever going far.
I have no place to feel secure
except my local bar.
And so I turn to drink, my friends.
It changes things, you see.
With booze in me I’m ten feet tall,
the lord of all I see.
I’m handsome, charming, powerful
and life becomes so great.
The knocks I’ve taken seem less harsh.
I like my drunken state!
I say there’s nothing wrong with this,
the way I spend my nights.
I’m sure you all have got my back
in case of any fights.
Drinking does fulfill my life,
I’m sure that this is true,
‘cause though I’m getting drunk tonight,
I’m getting drunk with you.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Back Again
It's been a rough few months, with a lot going on. At first, I kind of said goodbye to the blog. A dead medium. A waste of time. A vanity for myself. Nonetheless, I'm drawn back to it.
I think it's because of the reason I started this in the first place - to exorcise demons, in a sense. Note my blog's title, and read Matthew 12:43 to 12:45, describing how the wrong methods of dealing with evil spirits just bring seven times as many, in the end. A point that has always meant a lot to me, irrespective of any religious view.
I never thought I'd want to write so much, but I actually love it. Even when it's little blurbs about music and booze. In between there's some stuff of substance, and I hope someone finds it entertaining. If not, I guess it's all the same to me; like I said, I just like to write.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Bump In The Night
So I went on vacation last week. A week in the Middle of Nowhere, New Brunswick (that’s Canada, northeast of Maine). We stayed in an old house on an island in the Bay of Fundy, which used to be a bed & breakfast.
It was a wildly uneventful weekend, which was great. I read a whole book and wrote almost a whole short story. We ate lobster every day and had more blueberries than I can even speak of.
The one thing that sticks out most in my mind about the week, though, was the one night I stayed up late, drank too much, and wrote the majority of that short story.
The only bathroom was on the second floor, by all the bedrooms, and as anyone who really knows me is aware, I have a really weak bladder when I’m drinking. So, for a couple hours that night I was tiptoeing up to that bathroom every 20 minutes.
Now, the house itself was a little creepy in the dead of night. I was waiting for a gang of folks with bags on their heads to come kill us all or ghosts to pour out of the rafters by the dozens.
So please understand my state of mind as I went into this bathroom. Drunk. Writing about creepy shit (I can’t write anything else). Alone. In a creepy house in the woods.
And I tiptoe to this bathroom to pee:
So, I’m standing there, doing my business, and I have this nagging feeling of someone standing behind me or looking over my shoulder. So, I turn my head to the left to look behind me. That’s when I realized what was creeping me out – this picture:
I’m serious. His name is Benton Hill. Just look at him a while. He’s scary. He was especially scary that night. Again and again I headed up to that bathroom and stood there, hoping this guy wouldn’t eat me alive. He JUST KEPT STARING at me.
Now, I try not to be the type to get scared in real life – I do enough of that in my sleep – but trust me, his gaze was enough to chill your bones, that night.
It was a wildly uneventful weekend, which was great. I read a whole book and wrote almost a whole short story. We ate lobster every day and had more blueberries than I can even speak of.
The one thing that sticks out most in my mind about the week, though, was the one night I stayed up late, drank too much, and wrote the majority of that short story.
The only bathroom was on the second floor, by all the bedrooms, and as anyone who really knows me is aware, I have a really weak bladder when I’m drinking. So, for a couple hours that night I was tiptoeing up to that bathroom every 20 minutes.
Now, the house itself was a little creepy in the dead of night. I was waiting for a gang of folks with bags on their heads to come kill us all or ghosts to pour out of the rafters by the dozens.
So please understand my state of mind as I went into this bathroom. Drunk. Writing about creepy shit (I can’t write anything else). Alone. In a creepy house in the woods.
And I tiptoe to this bathroom to pee:
So, I’m standing there, doing my business, and I have this nagging feeling of someone standing behind me or looking over my shoulder. So, I turn my head to the left to look behind me. That’s when I realized what was creeping me out – this picture:
I’m serious. His name is Benton Hill. Just look at him a while. He’s scary. He was especially scary that night. Again and again I headed up to that bathroom and stood there, hoping this guy wouldn’t eat me alive. He JUST KEPT STARING at me.
Now, I try not to be the type to get scared in real life – I do enough of that in my sleep – but trust me, his gaze was enough to chill your bones, that night.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Adding to the Lexicon
Friends, wherever you are right now, be it your living room, your office, or your DungeonMaster Lair (you know who you are), I'd like you to stand up and start clapping.
Why, you ask? To what do owe collectively applaud? Why, to ourselves, of course. I just saw on urbandictionary.com that the term douchebottle has made it into the lexicon!
It seems only yesterday (though it was August 2004) that I was sipping margaritas in L.A. with my good friend Eve and my lovely lady, where we had a discussion about the overuse of the term douchebag. To which, I pondered, "Does a douche even come with a bag?"
No, it does not, we discussed. It comes with a bottle. As such, I realized that I needed to change the world by updating this outdated term to douchebottle. Well, friends, with your support, it has caught on, and you can see the Urban Dictionary page that proves it (created on June 9, 2005).
[NOTE - yes, there's an earlier definition of it on there, but that references crackheads. I think only a crackhead could have written the entry and I refuse to acknowledge it, as it makes no sense.]
This is a great accomplisment, my friends, and soon the term douchebag will be forever retired. Keep up the good work!
In the spirit of this momentous occasion, I'd like to introduce a couple more terms we should begin using. These are original from me, regardless of whether they can already be found on the internet. (I mean, seriously, you can probably find pictures of Buddha taking a dump on the internet, so it doesn't much count - unless I say it does.)
Starbucksian, adjective: a manner in which one is mocked for supposedly incorrect participation in a process, immediately prior to suffering the mistakes of the mocking party, such as when a Starbucks employee rolls his/her eyes at you for slightly mispronouncing "venti mochacaffefrappAmerispresso," only to then serve you a grande hot tea. Suggested use: "Man, my boss bitched me out about my report, but then couldn't even explain our project to the customer. He's so Starbucksian."
feck, intransitive verb, noun; (akin to fuck): to engage in coitus with—sometimes used interjectionally with an object (as a personal or reflexive pronoun) to express anger, contempt, or disgust. This word is somewhat interchangeable with "fuck," except that it to be used solely in the inquisitve, as in, "What the feck?" The purpose of this word is, essentially, to refresh the phrase, "What the fuck?", which is vastly overused, but still so damned useful.
Go, my friends, and spread the word(s). Together, we can modernize cynical commentary on the world, one tortured vulgarity at a time.
Why, you ask? To what do owe collectively applaud? Why, to ourselves, of course. I just saw on urbandictionary.com that the term douchebottle has made it into the lexicon!
It seems only yesterday (though it was August 2004) that I was sipping margaritas in L.A. with my good friend Eve and my lovely lady, where we had a discussion about the overuse of the term douchebag. To which, I pondered, "Does a douche even come with a bag?"
No, it does not, we discussed. It comes with a bottle. As such, I realized that I needed to change the world by updating this outdated term to douchebottle. Well, friends, with your support, it has caught on, and you can see the Urban Dictionary page that proves it (created on June 9, 2005).
[NOTE - yes, there's an earlier definition of it on there, but that references crackheads. I think only a crackhead could have written the entry and I refuse to acknowledge it, as it makes no sense.]
This is a great accomplisment, my friends, and soon the term douchebag will be forever retired. Keep up the good work!
In the spirit of this momentous occasion, I'd like to introduce a couple more terms we should begin using. These are original from me, regardless of whether they can already be found on the internet. (I mean, seriously, you can probably find pictures of Buddha taking a dump on the internet, so it doesn't much count - unless I say it does.)
Starbucksian, adjective: a manner in which one is mocked for supposedly incorrect participation in a process, immediately prior to suffering the mistakes of the mocking party, such as when a Starbucks employee rolls his/her eyes at you for slightly mispronouncing "venti mochacaffefrappAmerispresso," only to then serve you a grande hot tea.
feck, intransitive verb, noun; (akin to fuck): to engage in coitus with—sometimes used interjectionally with an object (as a personal or reflexive pronoun) to express anger, contempt, or disgust. This word is somewhat interchangeable with "fuck," except that it to be used solely in the inquisitve, as in, "What the feck?" The purpose of this word is, essentially, to refresh the phrase, "What the fuck?", which is vastly overused, but still so damned useful.
Go, my friends, and spread the word(s). Together, we can modernize cynical commentary on the world, one tortured vulgarity at a time.
Monday, March 24, 2008
It Has a History
It was one thing when I recently admitted all my lifelong nightmares to my mother. Even now, I'm afraid she'll have me committed. All the same, when I did, all I got was, "Yeah, you always had a lot of nightmares."
Huh!? OK, I guess it stands to reason that she'd have noticed, but it just seemed weird that I would not know, late into my 20s, that my own mother knew I had some strange shit cooking up in the old brain pan.
Well, now I've even managed to creep myself out. I just found my third-grade composition notebooks, in which I had to write stuff a couple of times a week. They'd usually give a topic, but we weren't required to follow it. I'd often write about getting my own helicopter or getting out of school early.
In flipping through my literary genius, though, I found a very short entry (they were all short - it was third grade), and rereading it now, I wonder that I wasn't walked straight down to the school therapist. It essentially said the following:
"Everyone's going to die someday, but not me! I'm not going to die, because I'm already dead! Haha!"
What the jumping shit!? I wrote that? At the tender age of 8?
I have no response to my own deranged thought processes.
Huh!? OK, I guess it stands to reason that she'd have noticed, but it just seemed weird that I would not know, late into my 20s, that my own mother knew I had some strange shit cooking up in the old brain pan.
Well, now I've even managed to creep myself out. I just found my third-grade composition notebooks, in which I had to write stuff a couple of times a week. They'd usually give a topic, but we weren't required to follow it. I'd often write about getting my own helicopter or getting out of school early.
In flipping through my literary genius, though, I found a very short entry (they were all short - it was third grade), and rereading it now, I wonder that I wasn't walked straight down to the school therapist. It essentially said the following:
"Everyone's going to die someday, but not me! I'm not going to die, because I'm already dead! Haha!"
What the jumping shit!? I wrote that? At the tender age of 8?
I have no response to my own deranged thought processes.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Demon's Crow
In case you didn’t know this about me, I’m prone to twisted evil dreams. Believe me, you don’t want to see what I see when I close my eyes at night. So, I had a dream last night that is a perfect example. In all seriousness, this was fairly average for me.
Stepping out of the car, I looked at the scene. A couple of miles back, on the main road, the sun would soon be up, but there in the thick of the woods, the grey before dawn was just barely perceptible through the canopy of the trees.
The small home was flanked by nearly a half a dozen police cars, their lights still flashing. Uniformed officers milled around, their hands in their pockets and their breath visible in the air. They had arrived less than a half hour before. There had been a frantic 911 call. There had been screams and sounds of violence.
The house, as best as I could see it by a few sets of headlights, had originally been a trailer, but had since been expanded upon. It was an old, dirty place. As I approached, a detective in a trenchcoat walked up to me.
“Glad you’re here. There was some sort of fight. When uniformed officers arrived, the parents were gone,” said the detective.
“Yeah, they were attacked by vampires!” shouted a uniformed cop, evoking a round of laughter. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first round, by any stretch.
“I’d tell it,” said the detective, “but I may as well let the kids. They saw the whole thing. They’re inside.”
Saying nothing and ignoring the further comments that we had better bring crucifixes and garlic along, I followed the detective inside. Once there, we entered the sole bedroom, which was clearly where the entire family of seven slept. There were blankets and pillows throughout the room.
Officers were talking to most of the children. As the detective began to offer more information, I knelt down and spoke to a little blond girl, about five or six years old.
“Hello,” I said. “Is this where you sleep?”
“Yes.” The girl glanced around furtively. She avoided looking me in the eye.
“Were you sleeping here tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see where your parents went?
“Yes.”
“Where did they go?”
“The dark men took them. They came in through that window,” she gestured to a small window near the ceiling, about two feet by three feet. “They got in a fight with my mommy and daddy, and then they took my mommy and daddy with them.”
Just then, the detective tapped me on the shoulder. “You should come see this.”
I followed the detective into the living room, where a crow sat perched on the back of the couch. It remained still, and seemed to be watching us. I knew the crow immediately for what it was. A calling card, of sorts.
I also now knew what I was dealing with. It was no vampire that had visited the house that evening, but a demon. Or two, if little Emily had gotten it right. It had left the crow behind, in part, to send the message that it had been there, but also, like a killer returning to the scene of the crime, to watch the resulting mayhem. It could see through the crow.
I reached out gently. The crow took a step back, flapped its wings once, and cawed loudly. I lunged and snatched it. It immediately panicked and began cawing more, and louder, while still flapping its wings wildly.
“What the hell are you doing?” cried the detective. “Let go of that thing!”
“No.” I said loudly, over the crow’s cries. “It can tell me something.” And then, more softly, to the crow, I said, “I know what you are. Tell me what you will tell me.”
At that moment, the crow stopped cawing and moving. It seemed to look directly at me again, and slowly, fully spread its wings. Then, almost inaudibly, I heard a whisper that seemed to come from the crow. Its voice was an evil, malicious hiss. “Yes, I see you. You won’t get them back!”
At that moment, the crow began to thrash even more wildly, and snapped at my hands and arms with its beak. I tried to squeeze it or ring its neck to kill it, but it was useless. The thing seemed indestructible. Its fit was becoming more intense, though.
I ran out the front door with the crow, hoping to find a stick or rock to hit it even harder. As I got just past the police cars, I tried one more time to break its neck, and as I did, its whole body suddenly crushed under my grip.
Blood began to spew out of the crow. More blood than it could have ever held in its body, even if it had contained nothing else. The blood gushed from it over my hands and down my arms, and though I tried to, I couldn’t let go.
I heard a scream. I knew immediately it belonged to the little girl. I turned toward the house and saw her in the window. Somehow, I knew it was just a vision, and that I was not truly seeing her. She was pale, like death. Her eyes were bleeding down her cheeks. She screamed again, “Wash my eyes with blood! Wash them with blood, and then I’ll see!”
She vanished and I looked at my blood soaked hands, which had dropped the lifeless crow. I laughed. Somehow, I knew - I had to go back into the house, to the girl, and rub the blood over her closed eyes. That would give her the power to track the demon, using the same connection that the crow had had with it.
I knew she would be able to help me find her parents.
Effed up, right? Sleep tight, kiddies. I know I will, after that one.
Stepping out of the car, I looked at the scene. A couple of miles back, on the main road, the sun would soon be up, but there in the thick of the woods, the grey before dawn was just barely perceptible through the canopy of the trees.
The small home was flanked by nearly a half a dozen police cars, their lights still flashing. Uniformed officers milled around, their hands in their pockets and their breath visible in the air. They had arrived less than a half hour before. There had been a frantic 911 call. There had been screams and sounds of violence.
The house, as best as I could see it by a few sets of headlights, had originally been a trailer, but had since been expanded upon. It was an old, dirty place. As I approached, a detective in a trenchcoat walked up to me.
“Glad you’re here. There was some sort of fight. When uniformed officers arrived, the parents were gone,” said the detective.
“Yeah, they were attacked by vampires!” shouted a uniformed cop, evoking a round of laughter. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first round, by any stretch.
“I’d tell it,” said the detective, “but I may as well let the kids. They saw the whole thing. They’re inside.”
Saying nothing and ignoring the further comments that we had better bring crucifixes and garlic along, I followed the detective inside. Once there, we entered the sole bedroom, which was clearly where the entire family of seven slept. There were blankets and pillows throughout the room.
Officers were talking to most of the children. As the detective began to offer more information, I knelt down and spoke to a little blond girl, about five or six years old.
“Hello,” I said. “Is this where you sleep?”
“Yes.” The girl glanced around furtively. She avoided looking me in the eye.
“Were you sleeping here tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see where your parents went?
“Yes.”
“Where did they go?”
“The dark men took them. They came in through that window,” she gestured to a small window near the ceiling, about two feet by three feet. “They got in a fight with my mommy and daddy, and then they took my mommy and daddy with them.”
Just then, the detective tapped me on the shoulder. “You should come see this.”
I followed the detective into the living room, where a crow sat perched on the back of the couch. It remained still, and seemed to be watching us. I knew the crow immediately for what it was. A calling card, of sorts.
I also now knew what I was dealing with. It was no vampire that had visited the house that evening, but a demon. Or two, if little Emily had gotten it right. It had left the crow behind, in part, to send the message that it had been there, but also, like a killer returning to the scene of the crime, to watch the resulting mayhem. It could see through the crow.
I reached out gently. The crow took a step back, flapped its wings once, and cawed loudly. I lunged and snatched it. It immediately panicked and began cawing more, and louder, while still flapping its wings wildly.
“What the hell are you doing?” cried the detective. “Let go of that thing!”
“No.” I said loudly, over the crow’s cries. “It can tell me something.” And then, more softly, to the crow, I said, “I know what you are. Tell me what you will tell me.”
At that moment, the crow stopped cawing and moving. It seemed to look directly at me again, and slowly, fully spread its wings. Then, almost inaudibly, I heard a whisper that seemed to come from the crow. Its voice was an evil, malicious hiss. “Yes, I see you. You won’t get them back!”
At that moment, the crow began to thrash even more wildly, and snapped at my hands and arms with its beak. I tried to squeeze it or ring its neck to kill it, but it was useless. The thing seemed indestructible. Its fit was becoming more intense, though.
I ran out the front door with the crow, hoping to find a stick or rock to hit it even harder. As I got just past the police cars, I tried one more time to break its neck, and as I did, its whole body suddenly crushed under my grip.
Blood began to spew out of the crow. More blood than it could have ever held in its body, even if it had contained nothing else. The blood gushed from it over my hands and down my arms, and though I tried to, I couldn’t let go.
I heard a scream. I knew immediately it belonged to the little girl. I turned toward the house and saw her in the window. Somehow, I knew it was just a vision, and that I was not truly seeing her. She was pale, like death. Her eyes were bleeding down her cheeks. She screamed again, “Wash my eyes with blood! Wash them with blood, and then I’ll see!”
She vanished and I looked at my blood soaked hands, which had dropped the lifeless crow. I laughed. Somehow, I knew - I had to go back into the house, to the girl, and rub the blood over her closed eyes. That would give her the power to track the demon, using the same connection that the crow had had with it.
I knew she would be able to help me find her parents.
Effed up, right? Sleep tight, kiddies. I know I will, after that one.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Sad Sunday Night Mini-Fiction
It's Sunday, it's getting late, and I've got quiet, sad music on. I've had a little too much to drink, and my demons are whispering to me tonight. This scene came to mind. It's not part of anything larger (for now), nor does it have any grand significance to me. I will say, though, that I feel so bad for this guy. Hope you can connect with him, too, on some level.
The rest of the island was practically empty. Just about everyone had evacuated that morning. Glen understood. To stay was suicide.
Glen had had to commit a little breaking & entering to get into his old suite at the Palm. Twenty-eight hundred square feet of luxury. It had taken roughly two hours to remove all of the boards and other exterior protection over the windows and doors.
Now, the grand French doors were open to the veranda, facing out onto the mighty Pacific Ocean. Glen, however, did not–would not–look in that direction. Not just yet.
He poured himself another glass of Jameson. The suite had such beautiful glassware. He had always had a bizarre urge to throw one of those finely crafted tumblers onto the volcanic rock below the veranda, so he picked one up and did so. It exploded into a thousand sparkling pieces that mixed in with the sparkle of sea spray. He wouldn’t need any more than the one from which he drank, anyway.
Speaking of which, he tossed its contents down his throat and crossed back to the suite’s bar to pour himself another.
It was about time to make the call he’d been planning for a week. Glen pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. Good thing he’d spent so much on the satellite phone. He heard the cells had gone dead around mid-morning.
He took a huge breath and an only slightly smaller sip of the whiskey in his hand. He closed his eyes, unconsciously opened the phone, and hit the auto-dial. Stored phone number 1. Lily had always been number one.
Glen held the phone to his ear. After a moment, he spoke. “Yeah, Honey, it’s me...no, no, I didn’t make the plane...No, it’s going to be fine...Honey, listen, I’m fine...Everything is fine.”
She didn’t believe him any more than he was telling the truth. She told him so in enough many words that he began to feel dizzy.
“Lily, listen. Listen, damnit! There is nothing to be worried about. But, I have to tell you something, just in case...Christ, no that doesn’t mean I’m lying, just let me tell you this! In the office, there’s a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. It’s on the shelf just to the left of the door into the foyer. In there, I’ve tucked a key to a box at First National.”
He listened as she collapsed into nearly wordless grief. He listened as long as he could. He told himself so for the rest of his life.
“Lily, I have to go. I love you.” Silence. Her terrified response. And he hung up.
Glen had managed to drain the glass once more during the call. He refilled it again.
Turning from the bar, Glen walked back out to the veranda. Finally, he looked out on the ocean. The sun had just now finally been blocked out by the clouds, as the winds began to pick up. The water had grown to a green-grey sort of hue. It seemed like something evil. Like something the devil would make you drink.
The thought compelled Glen to have another sip of Jameson.
The churning ocean water held nothing, however, to the monstrosity that was the sky above it. The clouds approaching stretched from the tops of the waves to the pillars of heaven themselves. They seemed to pulse with life, shifting between various colors; purple, grey, green, black. Forks of lightning danced within them, like the tongue of a dragon. A dragon that would annihilate everything in its path.
That beast was swimming through the Pacific, straight at Glen.
He sat on one of the veranda chairs he and Lily had shared many times. He had promised to always share everything with her. He hadn’t kept that promise lately. Directing her to the box at First National was hopefully the beginning of making up for that.
It would certainly share everything he had kept from her until today. She would know what had been going on. She would know how to undo the parts that had gone wrong. Most of all, she would know she would be provided for, no matter the outcome. With a month of preparations, Glen had made sure of that.
The only part that Glen couldn’t have planned, couldn’t guarantee, was whether Lily would forgive him. Whether Lily would still love him. Well, some things had to be left to fate, didn’t they?
So, Glen accepted then and there that Lily would have to make up her own mind about him and what he’d done. No use looking at it any other way. He had left her everything she needed in order to understand, not least of which was his return here. She had always loved this place.
He finished the glass of whiskey, but this time didn’t get up to refill it. Instead, he lobbed the glass over the railing and, though he couldn’t see it, heard it crash on the rocks below, like the one before.
He stared out to sea, into the heart of the largest and deadliest typhoon in recorded history. It had already stripped dozens of islands bare, leaving little more than the soil that peeked out of the waters of the Pacific.
All Glen needed to do was wait. It wouldn’t be long, now.
The rest of the island was practically empty. Just about everyone had evacuated that morning. Glen understood. To stay was suicide.
Glen had had to commit a little breaking & entering to get into his old suite at the Palm. Twenty-eight hundred square feet of luxury. It had taken roughly two hours to remove all of the boards and other exterior protection over the windows and doors.
Now, the grand French doors were open to the veranda, facing out onto the mighty Pacific Ocean. Glen, however, did not–would not–look in that direction. Not just yet.
He poured himself another glass of Jameson. The suite had such beautiful glassware. He had always had a bizarre urge to throw one of those finely crafted tumblers onto the volcanic rock below the veranda, so he picked one up and did so. It exploded into a thousand sparkling pieces that mixed in with the sparkle of sea spray. He wouldn’t need any more than the one from which he drank, anyway.
Speaking of which, he tossed its contents down his throat and crossed back to the suite’s bar to pour himself another.
It was about time to make the call he’d been planning for a week. Glen pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. Good thing he’d spent so much on the satellite phone. He heard the cells had gone dead around mid-morning.
He took a huge breath and an only slightly smaller sip of the whiskey in his hand. He closed his eyes, unconsciously opened the phone, and hit the auto-dial. Stored phone number 1. Lily had always been number one.
Glen held the phone to his ear. After a moment, he spoke. “Yeah, Honey, it’s me...no, no, I didn’t make the plane...No, it’s going to be fine...Honey, listen, I’m fine...Everything is fine.”
She didn’t believe him any more than he was telling the truth. She told him so in enough many words that he began to feel dizzy.
“Lily, listen. Listen, damnit! There is nothing to be worried about. But, I have to tell you something, just in case...Christ, no that doesn’t mean I’m lying, just let me tell you this! In the office, there’s a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. It’s on the shelf just to the left of the door into the foyer. In there, I’ve tucked a key to a box at First National.”
He listened as she collapsed into nearly wordless grief. He listened as long as he could. He told himself so for the rest of his life.
“Lily, I have to go. I love you.” Silence. Her terrified response. And he hung up.
Glen had managed to drain the glass once more during the call. He refilled it again.
Turning from the bar, Glen walked back out to the veranda. Finally, he looked out on the ocean. The sun had just now finally been blocked out by the clouds, as the winds began to pick up. The water had grown to a green-grey sort of hue. It seemed like something evil. Like something the devil would make you drink.
The thought compelled Glen to have another sip of Jameson.
The churning ocean water held nothing, however, to the monstrosity that was the sky above it. The clouds approaching stretched from the tops of the waves to the pillars of heaven themselves. They seemed to pulse with life, shifting between various colors; purple, grey, green, black. Forks of lightning danced within them, like the tongue of a dragon. A dragon that would annihilate everything in its path.
That beast was swimming through the Pacific, straight at Glen.
He sat on one of the veranda chairs he and Lily had shared many times. He had promised to always share everything with her. He hadn’t kept that promise lately. Directing her to the box at First National was hopefully the beginning of making up for that.
It would certainly share everything he had kept from her until today. She would know what had been going on. She would know how to undo the parts that had gone wrong. Most of all, she would know she would be provided for, no matter the outcome. With a month of preparations, Glen had made sure of that.
The only part that Glen couldn’t have planned, couldn’t guarantee, was whether Lily would forgive him. Whether Lily would still love him. Well, some things had to be left to fate, didn’t they?
So, Glen accepted then and there that Lily would have to make up her own mind about him and what he’d done. No use looking at it any other way. He had left her everything she needed in order to understand, not least of which was his return here. She had always loved this place.
He finished the glass of whiskey, but this time didn’t get up to refill it. Instead, he lobbed the glass over the railing and, though he couldn’t see it, heard it crash on the rocks below, like the one before.
He stared out to sea, into the heart of the largest and deadliest typhoon in recorded history. It had already stripped dozens of islands bare, leaving little more than the soil that peeked out of the waters of the Pacific.
All Glen needed to do was wait. It wouldn’t be long, now.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Wildest Story Ever Told, Part 5
Here it is; my conclusion to the completely wild story of the Bible. Here are the previous chapters:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
With Jesus, God had created a human that was fully trained, the way he wanted the rest to be. God liked humans’ ability to choose to respect him. No one wants to be surrounded by mindlessly devoted bootlicks. So, he’d worked long and hard to train a set of humans to respect him and acknowledge him the way he deserved.
With Jesus, God had left the final blueprint for appropriate human behavior. He’d certainly put plenty out there, so far. So, from there, God left the humans to develop and exist on their own. As they died, he kept their souls in storage, marked for sorting day as being good enough to being into the house or bad enough to simply destroy.
The one extra thing God allowed was for Jesus to teach one final lesson to his last surviving disciple, John. In a dream one night, he showed John what was going to happen. John wrote of this revelation (in heavily symbolic language) in the last book of the Bible.
From there, humans then existed for some indeterminate period of time – let’s say at least a few thousand years. Did you hear it? That whooshing sound was this story shooting through the present day.
One day, long after God had first set Jesus on the humans, he sent Jesus back to finish the experiment. They gave the humans no warning.
Out of nowhere, God pulled out a bullhorn and, with Jesus charging out into the human world, he pronounced that this was the end of the exercise. God had spent enough time outside with the animals. It was time to sort out the quality humans from the bad.
Jesus was now a vicious attack dog, and it was a good thing. Many humans were all-out hostile to him and God. Many had been corrupted by evil forces out in the distance, off of God’ property. God hadn’t messed with these forces previously, but Jesus came and tore them to shreds.
Amongst the remaining humans, one human rose up with what appeared to be a lot of power, given to him by evil forces out in the wild of the universe. This was all a sham, though, and Jesus ripped him apart, too.
In the process, all of the souls that had been in storage were woken up and thrown in to the mix. Those God liked get called into the house almost immediately. Of those not yet dead, God gives one last chance to by torturing them. In this quick test way, he could see who would really behave, and who would not.
In the end, the good humans were brought into God’s house, and the bad ones were destroyed entirely, while the evil forces of the universe were left to suffer for the rest of time.
The moral of the story, of course, is that God is ultimately badass. Humans were given the power to acknowledge this, but also the power to ignore it. In making humans this way, God made something better than the rest of creation.
Those who paid the right respect were taken to a place they could have never conceived.
The fate of the rest was not punishment. It was the simple judgment that they were useless to the universe. As with all useless junk, they were disposed of. Their feeling of self worth, without paying respect to their creator, wasn’t enough to save them.
And in the end, God kept on being God, in his totally badassed glory. He was badass before humans, and he was badass after humans. End of story.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
With Jesus, God had created a human that was fully trained, the way he wanted the rest to be. God liked humans’ ability to choose to respect him. No one wants to be surrounded by mindlessly devoted bootlicks. So, he’d worked long and hard to train a set of humans to respect him and acknowledge him the way he deserved.
With Jesus, God had left the final blueprint for appropriate human behavior. He’d certainly put plenty out there, so far. So, from there, God left the humans to develop and exist on their own. As they died, he kept their souls in storage, marked for sorting day as being good enough to being into the house or bad enough to simply destroy.
The one extra thing God allowed was for Jesus to teach one final lesson to his last surviving disciple, John. In a dream one night, he showed John what was going to happen. John wrote of this revelation (in heavily symbolic language) in the last book of the Bible.
From there, humans then existed for some indeterminate period of time – let’s say at least a few thousand years. Did you hear it? That whooshing sound was this story shooting through the present day.
One day, long after God had first set Jesus on the humans, he sent Jesus back to finish the experiment. They gave the humans no warning.
Out of nowhere, God pulled out a bullhorn and, with Jesus charging out into the human world, he pronounced that this was the end of the exercise. God had spent enough time outside with the animals. It was time to sort out the quality humans from the bad.
Jesus was now a vicious attack dog, and it was a good thing. Many humans were all-out hostile to him and God. Many had been corrupted by evil forces out in the distance, off of God’ property. God hadn’t messed with these forces previously, but Jesus came and tore them to shreds.
Amongst the remaining humans, one human rose up with what appeared to be a lot of power, given to him by evil forces out in the wild of the universe. This was all a sham, though, and Jesus ripped him apart, too.
In the process, all of the souls that had been in storage were woken up and thrown in to the mix. Those God liked get called into the house almost immediately. Of those not yet dead, God gives one last chance to by torturing them. In this quick test way, he could see who would really behave, and who would not.
In the end, the good humans were brought into God’s house, and the bad ones were destroyed entirely, while the evil forces of the universe were left to suffer for the rest of time.
The moral of the story, of course, is that God is ultimately badass. Humans were given the power to acknowledge this, but also the power to ignore it. In making humans this way, God made something better than the rest of creation.
Those who paid the right respect were taken to a place they could have never conceived.
The fate of the rest was not punishment. It was the simple judgment that they were useless to the universe. As with all useless junk, they were disposed of. Their feeling of self worth, without paying respect to their creator, wasn’t enough to save them.
And in the end, God kept on being God, in his totally badassed glory. He was badass before humans, and he was badass after humans. End of story.
The Wildest Story Ever Told, Part 4
I feel it important for this chapter to again remind you – I’m telling you the story of the Bible, as a story. What you believe is irrelevant, here. This is just the story that I got out of reading it.
When we left off, the Jews had gotten back to the Land of Milk and Honey and rebuilt the Temple. They weren’t free, though – they were occupied by one invading ruler after another, ending with the Romans.
During this time, God started working on his end game.
While it had previously appeared that segregating out the one group would work, he now knew that his special gift to humans – the higher ability to understand and respect his bad-assed-ness – was producing random results. Some in the special groups were ill-behaved, while others outside the group behaved just as he wanted them to.
All along, as humans died, God had been keeping them (their souls) in storage, marked according to how loyal and good they were. Eventually, at the end of the experiment, he’d take them all out, trash the ones he didn’t like, and take the rest into the house.
So, God gave some warnings to his prophets during the exile and rough years of the Jewish people – he’d be sending someone to lead them and fix everything.
And with that, God stormed into his house and didn’t come out until he had constructed a super-human human. This human, he named personally – Jesus.
At this point, I have to jump ahead – throughout the rest of the story, humans (that unfortunately includes you and me) have no idea exactly what Jesus is. This controversy will come up again. I like to think of it as part of humans’ inability to understand how God operates.
Also, suffice it to say, God didn’t have a wife and have a kid, who he named Jesus. The whole “son” business is a term of art, meaning that he’s LIKE God in many ways.
So, I’ll gloss a bit, here, though just the Jesus alone desrves explanation of what is in there, as opposed to how some people retell it. God artificially inseminated a human, Mary, with his new creation. She gave birth to him, and he grew up able to look over the heads of all human existence and see God, standing on the front porch, looking out over all of them. He could even hear anything God happened to shout to him.
Jesus bided his time, and at about the age of 30, started going around teaching humans how to be type that God would choose to bring into the house eventually. These lessons had been told to Jesus directly by God. Most of his message was simple: human rules of how to worship God meant nothing compared to just behaving the way God wanted you to and giving him the respect he deserved.
Part of the message included the whole “be decent to other humans” thing. Another part included giving up on all the human-constructed parts of life, given that they lasted only a moment in the grand scheme, and getting God to pick you out as one to be brought into the house was far more important.
The Jewish Temple leaders had some bad seeds amongst them, who tried to stir up the Romans against Jesus. He was going around disobeying rules that were hard and fast in the human perception of reality – healing people instantaneously, changing matter from one form to another at whim, healing bodies through sheer willpower, and even reinstating souls to their formerly broken bodies.
Jesus’ behavior simply didn’t fit in the scheme of those who’d given up on God and sought the only power they could see – power among humans. So, this group of powerful, ill-spirited folks conspired to have Jesus arrested and executed.
Jesus went along with the whole charade. He was told to by God. When he finished his teachings, he allowed himself to be executed. Then he rose from the dead, all on his own, showed himself to those he’d chosen to continue the lessons, and walked right out of human existence, back to God’s house.
For the rest of the humans’ existence, they debated what the point of this was. To keep it simple, I try to avoid the greatest theological debate in history, if I can help it. I’ll focus on Jesus’ teachings, which seem to be the most important part of his legacy.
Let’s also suffice it to say that, by rising from the dead and stepping out from the crappy human existence back to God’s house, Jesus legitimized that he was fairly badass, himself (though not to the full extend that God was). God was going to use him in his final plan for humans. Jesus had proven himself a very effective proxy.
Form there, a group of exceptionally well-behaved, understanding humans, Jesus’ disciples, spread his lessons, as instructed. Emboldened by witnessing Jesus’ ability to ignore being killed (not exactly something any regular human could do), they spread the word of the basic ways to be good humans who God would choose to bring to his house at the end of the grand human experiment.
From here, I have one last short post, which I’m just going to write right now – this has been heavy stuff, and I’m anxious to get back to posting stupid crap like cartoons and music reviews on my blog. I dare say that those of you who still read this will agree.
When we left off, the Jews had gotten back to the Land of Milk and Honey and rebuilt the Temple. They weren’t free, though – they were occupied by one invading ruler after another, ending with the Romans.
During this time, God started working on his end game.
While it had previously appeared that segregating out the one group would work, he now knew that his special gift to humans – the higher ability to understand and respect his bad-assed-ness – was producing random results. Some in the special groups were ill-behaved, while others outside the group behaved just as he wanted them to.
All along, as humans died, God had been keeping them (their souls) in storage, marked according to how loyal and good they were. Eventually, at the end of the experiment, he’d take them all out, trash the ones he didn’t like, and take the rest into the house.
So, God gave some warnings to his prophets during the exile and rough years of the Jewish people – he’d be sending someone to lead them and fix everything.
And with that, God stormed into his house and didn’t come out until he had constructed a super-human human. This human, he named personally – Jesus.
At this point, I have to jump ahead – throughout the rest of the story, humans (that unfortunately includes you and me) have no idea exactly what Jesus is. This controversy will come up again. I like to think of it as part of humans’ inability to understand how God operates.
Also, suffice it to say, God didn’t have a wife and have a kid, who he named Jesus. The whole “son” business is a term of art, meaning that he’s LIKE God in many ways.
So, I’ll gloss a bit, here, though just the Jesus alone desrves explanation of what is in there, as opposed to how some people retell it. God artificially inseminated a human, Mary, with his new creation. She gave birth to him, and he grew up able to look over the heads of all human existence and see God, standing on the front porch, looking out over all of them. He could even hear anything God happened to shout to him.
Jesus bided his time, and at about the age of 30, started going around teaching humans how to be type that God would choose to bring into the house eventually. These lessons had been told to Jesus directly by God. Most of his message was simple: human rules of how to worship God meant nothing compared to just behaving the way God wanted you to and giving him the respect he deserved.
Part of the message included the whole “be decent to other humans” thing. Another part included giving up on all the human-constructed parts of life, given that they lasted only a moment in the grand scheme, and getting God to pick you out as one to be brought into the house was far more important.
The Jewish Temple leaders had some bad seeds amongst them, who tried to stir up the Romans against Jesus. He was going around disobeying rules that were hard and fast in the human perception of reality – healing people instantaneously, changing matter from one form to another at whim, healing bodies through sheer willpower, and even reinstating souls to their formerly broken bodies.
Jesus’ behavior simply didn’t fit in the scheme of those who’d given up on God and sought the only power they could see – power among humans. So, this group of powerful, ill-spirited folks conspired to have Jesus arrested and executed.
Jesus went along with the whole charade. He was told to by God. When he finished his teachings, he allowed himself to be executed. Then he rose from the dead, all on his own, showed himself to those he’d chosen to continue the lessons, and walked right out of human existence, back to God’s house.
For the rest of the humans’ existence, they debated what the point of this was. To keep it simple, I try to avoid the greatest theological debate in history, if I can help it. I’ll focus on Jesus’ teachings, which seem to be the most important part of his legacy.
Let’s also suffice it to say that, by rising from the dead and stepping out from the crappy human existence back to God’s house, Jesus legitimized that he was fairly badass, himself (though not to the full extend that God was). God was going to use him in his final plan for humans. Jesus had proven himself a very effective proxy.
Form there, a group of exceptionally well-behaved, understanding humans, Jesus’ disciples, spread his lessons, as instructed. Emboldened by witnessing Jesus’ ability to ignore being killed (not exactly something any regular human could do), they spread the word of the basic ways to be good humans who God would choose to bring to his house at the end of the grand human experiment.
From here, I have one last short post, which I’m just going to write right now – this has been heavy stuff, and I’m anxious to get back to posting stupid crap like cartoons and music reviews on my blog. I dare say that those of you who still read this will agree.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
The Wildest Story Ever Told, Part 3
On to Part 3 of the story of the Bible. If you haven’t read up to here, check out the first two chapters, below. I’m still on track to finish in 5 posts. Really.
Part 1
Part 2
When we left off, the Israelites had invaded the Land of Milk and Honey and set up shop with no leader but God. They had figured that the rules he’d given them would keep them in line, and the Judges appointed by God took care of any little problems that arose.
After about 350 years, the Israelites started looking for a leader. God wasn’t spending much face time with his chosen flock, and with conflict raging with their neighboring countries, the Israelites began to want a leader amongst themselves.
God heard this and understood, even though it pissed him off. After all, the flock didn’t seem to have much “faith” in him as leader – disconcerting, given his goal of training these humans to be the special ones who really got him.
So, God asked one of his prophets (Samuel) to officiate a sort of vote for king, and the Israelites chose Saul. Saul was popular, but not quite ready for the responsibility of a heading a religious government. He wasn’t even very partial to God, and was kind of a dick, when it came down to it.
Although he did a fairly decent job leading his people in defending their borders, it wasn’t long before Saul figured he was all the leader the Israelites needed, and he decided to ditch the whole paying respect to God thing. So, God got personally involved and chose an obedient and smart guy, David, to be the next king.
What followed was an operatic-in-scope epic civil war between David and Saul, consisting of war, deception, drama, and love worth any other three books. Seriously, someone should make a movie of this stuff – there’s great material there. It’s the Sopranos of the Bible.
Suffice it to say, David came out on top and became the shining example of a king who led his people both on their own level, and as an example of an obedient subject of God. He did screw up a few times, but took his punishments like a man.
Amongst David’s greatest achievements, he had a son, Solomon. Solomon was really, really smart. His intelligence made him massively popular. God was pretty happy at that point, so he had Solomon build a temple – a place to put the Ark and be focal point for his humans to remember to keep following God’s rules for paying proper respect. It seemed God’s plan was coming together.
Unfortunately, Solomon eventually deteriorated into loving his own power, too. He was quite satisfied with himself and forgot about paying respects to God. God basically stood at a distance, arms folded, shaking his head.
After Solomon, a series of other kings followed over about 200 years. Civil war broke out amongst the Israelites, and the country broke into two (Israel in the north, Judah in the south, including Jerusalem, the former capital of both). Generally, they all got worse and worse at behaving properly. Concerned with their own issues, they forgot the major point – pay respect to God, who is, after all, totally badass and the reason they were all there.
God continued to stand by and watch. He covered his face with his hand. All that work, down the shitter again.
But then, God came up with a plan. All the other humans, who God had let do as they pleased without him, had become fairly aggressive. Why not let them attack his special flock? Then, he’d take back the ones who managed to make it through the experience and still come back to him (that temple seemed like a good beacon to watch!).
Start musical montage (covering about 700 years)…
The Assyrian Empire (covered Iraq, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel, and Egypt) attacked the northern kingdom, Israel, carting off most of the Israelites (let’s switch to “Jews” now – I’m sick of mistyping Israel as Isreal), who ended up in slavery.
Then the Babylonian Empire got powerful and conquered the Assyrian Empire (same territory, further down into Saudi Arabia). The Babylonians, led by Nebuchadnezzar, pummeled Judah until it, too, fell. They burned Jerusalem to the ground, including the Temple, and they carted off those Jews into slavery, too.
In the meantime, God whispered to prophets, like Elijah, saying that those who made it through this were in for a treat – some level of redemption from all their troubles.
Next, Cyrus the Great led the Persian Empire to take over the Babylonian Empire. (They came out of Iran, but took the rest, including into Greece – I’ll get to that in a second). Cyrus allowed the Jews under his control to go back to Israel/Judah (the “Holy Land”). Those that returned built a new Temple and continued to pay their respects to eternally-badass God.
Here’s where the movie 300 comes in. When the Persians tried to conquer Greece, they weren’t as successful as they had hoped. At the Battle of Thermopylae, Leonidas and his boys held off the Persians long enough for the Greek culture to evacuate Athens before the Persians invaded there, too.
As a result, the Greeks became a united nation and eventually, led by Alexander the Great, conquered the known world (every territory discussed so far and more), including the lands inhabited by the Jews.
Quickly after Alexander’s death, his empire started to weaken, and it eventually fell to the Roman Empire, which controlled the Holy Land up through the time of Jesus.
And oh, what a turn the story takes from there. Next time, I’ll start with commentary on the years of foreign occupation of the Holy Land, including the treatment of the Jews and God’s thoughts about the whole thing. Then, I’ll spend a disproportionately large time on J-Dawg, because the Bible does, and that’s the story I’m telling.
Part 1
Part 2
When we left off, the Israelites had invaded the Land of Milk and Honey and set up shop with no leader but God. They had figured that the rules he’d given them would keep them in line, and the Judges appointed by God took care of any little problems that arose.
After about 350 years, the Israelites started looking for a leader. God wasn’t spending much face time with his chosen flock, and with conflict raging with their neighboring countries, the Israelites began to want a leader amongst themselves.
God heard this and understood, even though it pissed him off. After all, the flock didn’t seem to have much “faith” in him as leader – disconcerting, given his goal of training these humans to be the special ones who really got him.
So, God asked one of his prophets (Samuel) to officiate a sort of vote for king, and the Israelites chose Saul. Saul was popular, but not quite ready for the responsibility of a heading a religious government. He wasn’t even very partial to God, and was kind of a dick, when it came down to it.
Although he did a fairly decent job leading his people in defending their borders, it wasn’t long before Saul figured he was all the leader the Israelites needed, and he decided to ditch the whole paying respect to God thing. So, God got personally involved and chose an obedient and smart guy, David, to be the next king.
What followed was an operatic-in-scope epic civil war between David and Saul, consisting of war, deception, drama, and love worth any other three books. Seriously, someone should make a movie of this stuff – there’s great material there. It’s the Sopranos of the Bible.
Suffice it to say, David came out on top and became the shining example of a king who led his people both on their own level, and as an example of an obedient subject of God. He did screw up a few times, but took his punishments like a man.
Amongst David’s greatest achievements, he had a son, Solomon. Solomon was really, really smart. His intelligence made him massively popular. God was pretty happy at that point, so he had Solomon build a temple – a place to put the Ark and be focal point for his humans to remember to keep following God’s rules for paying proper respect. It seemed God’s plan was coming together.
Unfortunately, Solomon eventually deteriorated into loving his own power, too. He was quite satisfied with himself and forgot about paying respects to God. God basically stood at a distance, arms folded, shaking his head.
After Solomon, a series of other kings followed over about 200 years. Civil war broke out amongst the Israelites, and the country broke into two (Israel in the north, Judah in the south, including Jerusalem, the former capital of both). Generally, they all got worse and worse at behaving properly. Concerned with their own issues, they forgot the major point – pay respect to God, who is, after all, totally badass and the reason they were all there.
God continued to stand by and watch. He covered his face with his hand. All that work, down the shitter again.
But then, God came up with a plan. All the other humans, who God had let do as they pleased without him, had become fairly aggressive. Why not let them attack his special flock? Then, he’d take back the ones who managed to make it through the experience and still come back to him (that temple seemed like a good beacon to watch!).
Start musical montage (covering about 700 years)…
The Assyrian Empire (covered Iraq, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel, and Egypt) attacked the northern kingdom, Israel, carting off most of the Israelites (let’s switch to “Jews” now – I’m sick of mistyping Israel as Isreal), who ended up in slavery.
Then the Babylonian Empire got powerful and conquered the Assyrian Empire (same territory, further down into Saudi Arabia). The Babylonians, led by Nebuchadnezzar, pummeled Judah until it, too, fell. They burned Jerusalem to the ground, including the Temple, and they carted off those Jews into slavery, too.
In the meantime, God whispered to prophets, like Elijah, saying that those who made it through this were in for a treat – some level of redemption from all their troubles.
Next, Cyrus the Great led the Persian Empire to take over the Babylonian Empire. (They came out of Iran, but took the rest, including into Greece – I’ll get to that in a second). Cyrus allowed the Jews under his control to go back to Israel/Judah (the “Holy Land”). Those that returned built a new Temple and continued to pay their respects to eternally-badass God.
Here’s where the movie 300 comes in. When the Persians tried to conquer Greece, they weren’t as successful as they had hoped. At the Battle of Thermopylae, Leonidas and his boys held off the Persians long enough for the Greek culture to evacuate Athens before the Persians invaded there, too.
As a result, the Greeks became a united nation and eventually, led by Alexander the Great, conquered the known world (every territory discussed so far and more), including the lands inhabited by the Jews.
Quickly after Alexander’s death, his empire started to weaken, and it eventually fell to the Roman Empire, which controlled the Holy Land up through the time of Jesus.
And oh, what a turn the story takes from there. Next time, I’ll start with commentary on the years of foreign occupation of the Holy Land, including the treatment of the Jews and God’s thoughts about the whole thing. Then, I’ll spend a disproportionately large time on J-Dawg, because the Bible does, and that’s the story I’m telling.
Friday, May 18, 2007
The Wildest Story Ever Told, Part 2
On to the next installment of the wild story of the Bible. Remember, suspend your perceptions of it as a basis for religion. I’m just telling the story, as a story.
So, we left off with God and his great little pets, humans. He was getting annoyed with their behavior. For example, they were starting to work together at a place called Babel, deciding that by doing so they could rule the universe. Too bad for them that’s God’s job. So, he did what anyone does when confronted with a threat to their job – he sabotaged it (by making the humans unable to speak to each other).
Here’s where things start to focus on mankind itself, like the camera sweeping from behind the zookeeper into the cage to zoom in on the playing tiger cubs.
A guy named Abraham lived in Iraq. God asked to him to move to what is today Israel, so he did. Abraham was pretty good at respecting his keeper. They spoke sometimes. Abraham even almost convinced God to spare some folks, hanging out in Sodom and Gomorrah, from total destruction. But, God decided that whole cities of bloodletting rapists probably could be cleaned up before getting to evaluating the rest. Abraham was that cool, though, so God started to think this could be his next Patient Zero, so he gave Abraham a son at the age of 90.
Just to check Abraham’s loyalty, God asked him to kill his son with no explanation as to why. Realizing that he couldn't think on God's badass level enough to get his plan, Abraham was willing to do so, though it obviously sucked. So, God let him off the hook. He decided to use Abraham’s family line to breed a special line of humans, which he’d keep when he eventually got rid of all the crappy, untrainable, ill-behaved others.
Later, Abraham’s grandson, Jacob (a/k/a Israel) had some little shits for kids – 12 of them, who’d become the 12 tribes of Israel. They sold the only cool one, Joseph, into slavery. Too bad for them, Joseph became Vice President of Egypt, the richest land around, by psychoanalyzing the Pharaoh (obviously not a Scientologist). When Abraham’s family got poor, they went to Egypt for help. Joseph was nice enough to take them in. A better man than I.
400 years passed, and things didn’t go well for Abraham’s family. Now numbering in the hundreds of thousands, they were slaves, or something close to it (much like Mexican day laborers today – living in a great society, but unable to enjoy it).
God didn’t like his favorites getting beaten down by the Egyptians, who ignored him entirely. So, he picked one out and hooked him up. This guy, Moses, was lucky enough to be raised among the Egyptians and get all their secret knowledge. He learned magic, politics, and war, among all sorts of other things.
One day, though, it occurred to Moses that his own people were getting crapped on by the Egyptians he hung out with, so he took off. He and God chatted, and he went back to get his peeps. We all know how this went. He asked God to kick the crap out of the Egyptians, which God did, ending with killing the firstborn son of every family in the country, and the Isrealites picked up and left, via the parted Sea of Reeds (nope, not the Red Sea).
Moses and company fled into the desert of Saudi Arabia, where God decided to do a little training. He threw them food (manna) and brought them to a mountain, where he gave Moses rules to teach to the others (not just the Ten Commandments, but a couple hundred pages of the Bible’s worth of rules and regulations on how to acknowledge the simple fact that God is badass, by which the Jewish faith has lived for thousands of years).
God also told them how to build a radio transmitter to God; the Ark of the Covenant. As long as they followed the rules and kept in touch with him through it, he promised them a great little spot he’d picked out – the land of milk and honey (roughly modern day Israel; it's a great climate - prime real estate - part of the reason it's always been fought over).
This training was slow, hard work – 40 years’ worth. These “chosen people” – the Israelites (Jacob’s family), on repeated occasions, forgot about God and went to the same shitty habits of the rest of mankind (like acting retarded enough to worship their own jewelry).
In a really dramatic scene, Moses then brought the Israelites to some mountains overlooking the Promised Land. It was gorgeous, just the kind of place you’d want o raise a family, and a nation. And there, as his goal came into view before him, Moses died, as punishment for not training his folks better (and, admittedly, he was like 150 years old, and had just climbed that mountain).
Then, the Israelites entered the Promised Land. Sounds so serene, right? Yeah, too bad people were living there. This was prime real estate, remember. So, they proceeded to do the only logical thing – slaughter everyone there, town by town. God didn’t have a beef with this. His focus was on getting this group of his pets to behave. He’d just wipe out the rest on his own, anyway.
After this long, bloody invasion (that’s the only way it can accurately be described), which included great feats like the fall of Jericho, the 12 tribes of Israel got settled in. Their home stretched through what is today Israel, Lebanon, and much of Syria and Jordan.
From there, Israel hung out for about another 400 years, living without a human ruler. Their ruler, after all, was God, so they tried to just live by God’s rules. To deal with human failings, God would tap on the shoulder of especially cool people from time to time. These people – Judges – settled disputes and inspired the people when they needed to be led into battle defend their lands from invaders, etc. (let’s not forget – prime real estate).
That's it for this post. Next time, I’ll get into Israel asking for a king and then get into some more familiar history. I’ll even relate the movie 300 to Jesus. Frighteningly, it’s not a metaphor – they’re connected.
So, we left off with God and his great little pets, humans. He was getting annoyed with their behavior. For example, they were starting to work together at a place called Babel, deciding that by doing so they could rule the universe. Too bad for them that’s God’s job. So, he did what anyone does when confronted with a threat to their job – he sabotaged it (by making the humans unable to speak to each other).
Here’s where things start to focus on mankind itself, like the camera sweeping from behind the zookeeper into the cage to zoom in on the playing tiger cubs.
A guy named Abraham lived in Iraq. God asked to him to move to what is today Israel, so he did. Abraham was pretty good at respecting his keeper. They spoke sometimes. Abraham even almost convinced God to spare some folks, hanging out in Sodom and Gomorrah, from total destruction. But, God decided that whole cities of bloodletting rapists probably could be cleaned up before getting to evaluating the rest. Abraham was that cool, though, so God started to think this could be his next Patient Zero, so he gave Abraham a son at the age of 90.
Just to check Abraham’s loyalty, God asked him to kill his son with no explanation as to why. Realizing that he couldn't think on God's badass level enough to get his plan, Abraham was willing to do so, though it obviously sucked. So, God let him off the hook. He decided to use Abraham’s family line to breed a special line of humans, which he’d keep when he eventually got rid of all the crappy, untrainable, ill-behaved others.
Later, Abraham’s grandson, Jacob (a/k/a Israel) had some little shits for kids – 12 of them, who’d become the 12 tribes of Israel. They sold the only cool one, Joseph, into slavery. Too bad for them, Joseph became Vice President of Egypt, the richest land around, by psychoanalyzing the Pharaoh (obviously not a Scientologist). When Abraham’s family got poor, they went to Egypt for help. Joseph was nice enough to take them in. A better man than I.
400 years passed, and things didn’t go well for Abraham’s family. Now numbering in the hundreds of thousands, they were slaves, or something close to it (much like Mexican day laborers today – living in a great society, but unable to enjoy it).
God didn’t like his favorites getting beaten down by the Egyptians, who ignored him entirely. So, he picked one out and hooked him up. This guy, Moses, was lucky enough to be raised among the Egyptians and get all their secret knowledge. He learned magic, politics, and war, among all sorts of other things.
One day, though, it occurred to Moses that his own people were getting crapped on by the Egyptians he hung out with, so he took off. He and God chatted, and he went back to get his peeps. We all know how this went. He asked God to kick the crap out of the Egyptians, which God did, ending with killing the firstborn son of every family in the country, and the Isrealites picked up and left, via the parted Sea of Reeds (nope, not the Red Sea).
Moses and company fled into the desert of Saudi Arabia, where God decided to do a little training. He threw them food (manna) and brought them to a mountain, where he gave Moses rules to teach to the others (not just the Ten Commandments, but a couple hundred pages of the Bible’s worth of rules and regulations on how to acknowledge the simple fact that God is badass, by which the Jewish faith has lived for thousands of years).
God also told them how to build a radio transmitter to God; the Ark of the Covenant. As long as they followed the rules and kept in touch with him through it, he promised them a great little spot he’d picked out – the land of milk and honey (roughly modern day Israel; it's a great climate - prime real estate - part of the reason it's always been fought over).
This training was slow, hard work – 40 years’ worth. These “chosen people” – the Israelites (Jacob’s family), on repeated occasions, forgot about God and went to the same shitty habits of the rest of mankind (like acting retarded enough to worship their own jewelry).
In a really dramatic scene, Moses then brought the Israelites to some mountains overlooking the Promised Land. It was gorgeous, just the kind of place you’d want o raise a family, and a nation. And there, as his goal came into view before him, Moses died, as punishment for not training his folks better (and, admittedly, he was like 150 years old, and had just climbed that mountain).
Then, the Israelites entered the Promised Land. Sounds so serene, right? Yeah, too bad people were living there. This was prime real estate, remember. So, they proceeded to do the only logical thing – slaughter everyone there, town by town. God didn’t have a beef with this. His focus was on getting this group of his pets to behave. He’d just wipe out the rest on his own, anyway.
After this long, bloody invasion (that’s the only way it can accurately be described), which included great feats like the fall of Jericho, the 12 tribes of Israel got settled in. Their home stretched through what is today Israel, Lebanon, and much of Syria and Jordan.
From there, Israel hung out for about another 400 years, living without a human ruler. Their ruler, after all, was God, so they tried to just live by God’s rules. To deal with human failings, God would tap on the shoulder of especially cool people from time to time. These people – Judges – settled disputes and inspired the people when they needed to be led into battle defend their lands from invaders, etc. (let’s not forget – prime real estate).
That's it for this post. Next time, I’ll get into Israel asking for a king and then get into some more familiar history. I’ll even relate the movie 300 to Jesus. Frighteningly, it’s not a metaphor – they’re connected.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The Wildest Story Ever Told
I spent the last year reading the Bible, front-to-back. I wanted to read a classic, well known, influential book. Idiotic me went for the most classic and influential book I could find.
It was agonizing at times (And unto Eber were born two sons: the name of one was Peleg; for in his days was the earth divided; and his brother's name was Joktan., Genesis 10:25), but I’m glad I did, because it’s an absolutely bizarre and amazing story. And I want to tell it to you. Because, for more than any other reason, I read it just for the story. I was not disappointed.
So, forget what you already know and believe about the Bible, and let me tell you the story, just as a story:
In the beginning (familiar, right?), there was God. Think on that for a second. He was a deity, the one and only. He was God, in the most fundamental meaning of the word – the all-powerful Supreme Being. He operated on a level beyond human understanding in the way that hacking a Tivo is beyond a goldfish’s understanding, but on an even larger scale. God was, under all circumstances, totally badass.
Being industrious, God created everything. Isn’t that what you’d do if you were all powerful? He finished his project off with humans. Adam and Eve. He set up a lush pad for them. Eden. They were basically living on the front lawn of Heaven; God’s personal domain, but not quite inside the house.
God had some of his things lying about; the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He told them, “Go ahead and eat from any tree here, except the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.” Don’t touch my stuff.
A serpent rolled by one day and convinced Eve to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, anyway. She did, and so did Adam. Oops.
Apparently, this freaked God out, so he kicked them off the lawn and out into the world. C-ya.
Either through this event or because of how he designed humans, God did something he had never done with anything he had created. He gave mankind a little piece of himself; an ability to see existence in a way nothing else had.
You see, everything in the universe instinctively got the concept of how hugely badass God is, except mankind, who now needed to actually think about it. This was a product of mankind’s extra little ability - humans were God's first creation capable of consciously acknowledging him for what he was, instead of assuming it as part of their design.
Of course, since he was God, such an acknowledgment needed to come with a certain level of respect (most faiths call it worship). In this story, that’s not God being egotistical. Remember, God was badass, in the most ultimate sense.
Having a real sweet spot for his pet humans, Adam and Eve, God didn’t obliterate them for their misbehavior. He just kicked them out into the not-so-pleasant part of creation that God wasn’t squatting on.
Now Adam and Eve had to live the hard life and go to work. I doubt I’ll ever forgive them for leaving me that legacy. They had some kids, and there was a whole murder plot thing. It’s a bit of a side note, except to show that humans tended to do things their own way.
In letting mankind wander around like this, God had started an experiment, to see if he could train mankind to do what only it could – acknowledge him on their own.
The problem was, mankind wasn’t acknowledging him very well at all. They were running amok, convincing themselves they were as powerful as God, and trying to rework everything of his. They were clearly going to totally eff up creation by ignoring God and trying to do better on their own (which they most assuredly could not).
So, in another mentionable side note, God got upset with the way humankind was turning out. This wouldn’t be the last time. His favorite pets were killing each other and threatening to wreck the place. So, he restarted the experiment, using nice-guy Noah as his new Patient Zero, trying to engineer humans he could train and get along with.
A few more generations, and God reevaluated mankind once again. Unfortunately, they still weren’t quite going to plan. These pets of his were awfully unruly. God needed a new tactic to properly train his favorite pet.
I’ll pause here until my next post to continue. The whole story won’t be too long (I’m aiming for 5 posts total).
Next time, I’ll tell you about how, since God thought his new pets were super cool, he made a hard choice – train a few to behave, eventually sort them out, and dispose of the rest.
It was agonizing at times (And unto Eber were born two sons: the name of one was Peleg; for in his days was the earth divided; and his brother's name was Joktan., Genesis 10:25), but I’m glad I did, because it’s an absolutely bizarre and amazing story. And I want to tell it to you. Because, for more than any other reason, I read it just for the story. I was not disappointed.
So, forget what you already know and believe about the Bible, and let me tell you the story, just as a story:
In the beginning (familiar, right?), there was God. Think on that for a second. He was a deity, the one and only. He was God, in the most fundamental meaning of the word – the all-powerful Supreme Being. He operated on a level beyond human understanding in the way that hacking a Tivo is beyond a goldfish’s understanding, but on an even larger scale. God was, under all circumstances, totally badass.
Being industrious, God created everything. Isn’t that what you’d do if you were all powerful? He finished his project off with humans. Adam and Eve. He set up a lush pad for them. Eden. They were basically living on the front lawn of Heaven; God’s personal domain, but not quite inside the house.
God had some of his things lying about; the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He told them, “Go ahead and eat from any tree here, except the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.” Don’t touch my stuff.
A serpent rolled by one day and convinced Eve to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, anyway. She did, and so did Adam. Oops.
Apparently, this freaked God out, so he kicked them off the lawn and out into the world. C-ya.
Either through this event or because of how he designed humans, God did something he had never done with anything he had created. He gave mankind a little piece of himself; an ability to see existence in a way nothing else had.
You see, everything in the universe instinctively got the concept of how hugely badass God is, except mankind, who now needed to actually think about it. This was a product of mankind’s extra little ability - humans were God's first creation capable of consciously acknowledging him for what he was, instead of assuming it as part of their design.
Of course, since he was God, such an acknowledgment needed to come with a certain level of respect (most faiths call it worship). In this story, that’s not God being egotistical. Remember, God was badass, in the most ultimate sense.
Having a real sweet spot for his pet humans, Adam and Eve, God didn’t obliterate them for their misbehavior. He just kicked them out into the not-so-pleasant part of creation that God wasn’t squatting on.
Now Adam and Eve had to live the hard life and go to work. I doubt I’ll ever forgive them for leaving me that legacy. They had some kids, and there was a whole murder plot thing. It’s a bit of a side note, except to show that humans tended to do things their own way.
In letting mankind wander around like this, God had started an experiment, to see if he could train mankind to do what only it could – acknowledge him on their own.
The problem was, mankind wasn’t acknowledging him very well at all. They were running amok, convincing themselves they were as powerful as God, and trying to rework everything of his. They were clearly going to totally eff up creation by ignoring God and trying to do better on their own (which they most assuredly could not).
So, in another mentionable side note, God got upset with the way humankind was turning out. This wouldn’t be the last time. His favorite pets were killing each other and threatening to wreck the place. So, he restarted the experiment, using nice-guy Noah as his new Patient Zero, trying to engineer humans he could train and get along with.
A few more generations, and God reevaluated mankind once again. Unfortunately, they still weren’t quite going to plan. These pets of his were awfully unruly. God needed a new tactic to properly train his favorite pet.
I’ll pause here until my next post to continue. The whole story won’t be too long (I’m aiming for 5 posts total).
Next time, I’ll tell you about how, since God thought his new pets were super cool, he made a hard choice – train a few to behave, eventually sort them out, and dispose of the rest.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)