ANYWAYS, I wanted to give all you wonderful guys and girls a small little brief chapter of my book, so that if any of you decide to buy it you can. Hopefully my writing is good enough to make you want to know more :) Regardless of whether or not you buy it, PLEASE give me feedback on the chapter itself, as that would be greatly appreciated. Thank you all of you. :)
The brief excerpt is below, but here are the links to where you can buy my book:
Just copy the above, paste in your browser, and you're good to go! Sorry it's twenty bucks! I really honestly wish I could make it just three dollars lol if I could, but unfortunately it's a little lengthy. :) ANYWAYS, here it is!
'A Walk In The Park'
Later that night after work, before he went to bed, Autumn decided to take
a quick walk through the park.
Autumn loved taking walks through the park that was just a few blocks
away from his crooked apartment. He would usually bring a
bottle of wine with him or many cigarettes, or his red umbrella, or all of these
He brought just his cigarettes and his umbrella this time. He was out
of alcohol, and made a mental note to buy some the next day. It was a bright red
umbrella, because red was his favorite color. He walked outside and carried
it around propped up on his shoulder as he sight saw. Everybody thought he
was very strange, carrying a bright red umbrella when it was not raining, but
Autumn wasn’t aware of these thoughts, however. Nobody is aware of any
other person’s thoughts, of course, unless they can mind read.
Which is impossible.
He walked besides an orange wall on an orange sidewalk under a grey sky.
He kept stepping on piles of worms or insects, squishing their guts out, the
‘Autumn Massacre’, causing havoc, once again. Autumn thought to himself
as he walked. He felt very yellow. He could not explain what this meant, and
if a person were to ask him what that meant, he would shrug his shoulders
and ask that person, “Haven’t you ever felt yellow before?”
Autumn continued to walk, he was very flashy and stood out from all
the orange with his bright red umbrella. People looked at him with strange eyes, questioning eyes. The sound of his boots hitting the
metal sidewalk were not heard by Autumn. He did not run out into the
street and jump in front of a car; he did not bash his head against the glass
windows and cut his neck wide open, spilling blood all over, which were the
types of things he normally imagined himself doing. The exciting event of
the recent car crash had temporarily caused him to become bi-polar in his suicidal
tendencies, occasionally forgetting about his downwards spiral to depression,
it had caused him to enjoy life, if just for a little while. It is only when we are
very close to death and escape it do we realize we do not actually want to die,
He stepped over dead bodies here and there; all suicides that had fallen from the giant, never-ending, looming buildings above, dead bodies were everywhere, and they were all very colorful
as well. The bodies were grey and blue and ghost white, or what was left of
them, anyways, and the insides that spilled out and around them were green
and red and black and blue and brown, and it all would have resembled a
rainbow to Autumn, except that he had never seen one, because, of course, there was no sun in the year 2099.
And there were birds, several birds, thousands of birds, as always, birds
just sitting on buildings and street lamps, on the sidewalks, on the rim of
all the carcass’s open stomachs, pecking away at this one’s small intestines
or that one’s ascending colon, or this one’s descending colon or liver or
gallbladder or rectus abdominus muscle or appendix or terminal ileum or
spleen or omentum or sigmoid colon, or whatever. The birds did not move
when Autumn walked by them. They were dumb birds, or very smart birds
to know that they would not be bothered, to know that humans didn’t really
go out of their way to cause them harm.
Humans only went out of their way, the birds knew, to harm each other. Not birds.
Autumn thought while he continued to get closer to the park. He knew that if he wanted to, he could easily kick one of these
carcass-eating birds, knocking its brains out into oblivion or unconsciousness.
Autumn wondered what birds dreamed of suddenly, or if they dreamed at all.
He wondered if they could think. He wondered what it meant when people
say ‘to think’, and what would classify as ‘thinking,’ and if he was thinking
right now, and if there was a point to that in the first place, or any place, for
Autumn continued to walk, stepping over somebody’s leg here, a popped
head over here, a flaccid, disease infested penis or arm over there. Body parts. Splattered humans. Suicides. Guts. Blood. Brains. He soon
turned a corner on so and so street, and then he took a right at this or that
lane. Only Autumn knew how to get to the park, neither you, the reader, nor
even I, the author, know how, for I failed to offer exact names of the streets.
He reached his spot, finally, at the park. There were no trees or grass.
There was only a large, open neon orange metal circle in the middle of several
apartment buildings with street lamps. Metal was everywhere. Death was everywhere. Birds were everywhere. Worms were everywhere. All of the buildings were crooked and
black in the night, reaching up to the sky for help. And there were benches.
The benches were colored bright orange as well. Everything was fucking
orange, Autumn thought.
Autumn noticed at one of these benches a man was sitting down and
looking at a magazine. The man had his pants unbuckled and to his knees,
and he was rapidly jerking the foreskin on his hairy penis up and down, up
Autumn walked to this bench with the masturbating man and curiously
stood a few feet away from him, stroking his chin, eyeing him questioningly.
Then Autumn took a few more steps and sat down a foot away from the
man. Autumn pulled out a pack of cigarettes and grabbed one, and held the
cigarette in his fingers towards the man.
“Would you like one?” Autumn said. The man looked up from the
magazine which was placed in the middle of the both of them, lying on the
bench, all the while continuing to masturbate. His hand was red and swollen
and hairy as well, and, to Autumn, the masturbating man’s hand seemed to
be choking the purple-blooded-headed penis to death.
Killing it, essentially.
The masturbating man shook his head, looking shrewdly at Autumn, incredously.
Everybody thought Autumn was strange, and felt strange around him.
Especially because of his red eyes. Especially because Autumn was crazy.
“Very well.” Autumn said, and put the cigarette in his mouth. He lit the
cigarette and inhaled a great big taste of tobacco. It tasted brown. Autumn
could not explain what the color brown tasted like. If someone were to ask
him what brown tasted like, he would ask the person, “Haven’t you ever
tasted something brown before?”
The masturbating man continued to choke his purple-headed penis as
Autumn smoked, but it was different now, the masturbating man felt, it was
as if he was being watched by this strange man with the red eyes and red
umbrella, even though, in reality, or in this false reality, Autumn was not even
The masturbating man grunted in disgust at the smoking man with the umbrella and stood up and pulled his
pants and pee-stained boxers up. He took the porn magazine which was open to a page of a very old man molesting a twelve-year old girl, and dog-eared it, and didn’t say goodbye to Autumn. He walked
to another bench on the other side of the park, stepping over a few dead
bodies, kicking birds out of his way ruthlessly, pulled his pants down, and
then resumed masturbating, grunting at Autumn's rudeness.
Autumn continued to breathe in his cigarette. He looked at the bodies
that the masturbating man had stepped over. A group of birds were eating the
dead bodies, as always. One of the bodies did not have a head. Another no
arms. Most of them were naked, because people would steal their clothes.
Autumn sighed and continued to smoke. He smoked with his left hand,
because his right was in the cast, and this felt very strange to Autumn. He
would pick at his cast with his left hand every so often.
Autumn started to think as he sat there, there on that metal bench, seeing
orange metal all around him, seeing death and selfishness everywhere, seeing
the sky that was always gray, and he wished more than anything to know
that something was there, above everything. Autumn could not describe it,
but it was as if he felt he needed, more than the stale air he sucked through
the life-less cigarette, more than the bottle of alcohol that made his stomach
temporarily warm on many occasions, more than the food he ate every day,
he felt as if he needed an assurance that something was watching him.
A sudden thought passed through his mind, the dream, or hallucination,
of the giant eyeballs that he saw on the ambulance.
Autumn felt as if he needed to know that something was there, that
something that was larger than himself, more important than himself,
something that was still aware of Autumn, however, and everybody else, and
that even through horrible times, or good times, for that matter, for who can
say what the difference is? — that, that thing, that entity for which he wished
for so valiantly, was not protecting, or destroying Autumn or everybody else,
but witnessing, witnessing and knowing. Autumn felt as if he needed to be
watched, as if every human being needed to be watched. That if there was no
entity above humanity, then, well, then what was there to stop ourselves from
the most horrible creatures out there, ourselves?
Autumn smoked his cigarette, and he sighed.
As always, the clock continued to tick.
- Current Mood:accomplished
THE STORY OF ELIZABETH NOOSE
A SHORT STORY
D.W. Arsement and Zachariah Tate
About three weeks ago I decided that this was the day that was going to be my last.
I went downstairs and opened the door to my garage. Inside it was dusty and grey and smelled like cockroaches and mothballs, that sort of rubber metallic smell. I walked around my father's boat, a giant 30,000 dollar pontoon boat. The boat that he loves more than me.
I crawled around it and found the old boxes that we still haven't opened since we moved. It's funny how that happens, isn't it? How you pack up boxes when you move, and you really never end up opening them anyways.
I found the one that said, in large, permanent marker, 'Boat Supplies', and brought it down. Inside it were many things, but the thing I needed the most was a rope.
The rope was blue and made out of nylon, and that was good, because it had to be strong enough to support my own weight. It was beautiful. It was intricately carven, it was fantastic, I picked it up and touched it with my soft hands, and I trembled, finally, here was the key to my freedom, finally, the key to the door out of the dark room that plagued my soul like a dark fog, like a black hole.
I took it to school, surprisingly. I already had it all planned out. There was no real reason to do it at home. I had already planned that out, and how boring would that be? My mother and father would not have cared, I could already see them walking into the closet and sighing, smoking their cigarettes and saying to each other, "Well, she finally did it, we knew this was coming, didn't we, honey?" And then my mom would smile and reach out and close my lifeless eyes and probably even fucking burn her cigarette on my dead body, and reply "Yes, thank God. Now we can use her room for the new baby."
No. That would be pointless, and that would give them satisfaction.
Instead I would do it at school. Kids would find me and shout and cry and be scarred for life. Teachers would too. The principal will call my parents and they would be sent to jail or at least tried for child negligence. I don't know. I don't care, but that would be more likely.
No. I would do it right during lunch. After English class is my lunch, and after that there are about six million kids that stop by the bathrooms. That would be perfect.
I brought the rope to school in the bottom of my very large purse, and waited throughout the day. And, a strange thing happened--life suddenly became very interesting.
It's interesting, life is, anyways, when you know your going to die. You see people in a different way. You make sure you tell them you love them. I told Charles, my ex boyfriend that.
I saw him during second period, the asshole, and I walked straight up to him and he looked at me kind of funny. He was holding hands with his slutty girlfriend who probably deep throats him every fucking night, and I hugged him and smiled and whispered in his ear "I forgive you for everything." And then I walked away. He looked confused. But I'm sure he'll understand.
I waited and waited and when I entered fourth period, English, right before lunch, was when I realized the implications of what I was going to do. Of course, I had every right to do this, but, well, I don't know. It was different. I suddenly did not care for revenge on anyone, but at the same time I felt so entirely alone. I wanted to tell everyone, but I couldn't, but I wanted people to know--if just to see if they would try to stop me. Who, would try to stop me.
That was the slowest hour of my life, right there. I was sitting in the back row and Mr. Stanton was talking on and on and on and on and on and on, about Hamlet. Hamlet supposedly was some guy that basically gets screwed over by everyone he loves, and he dies in the end. I thought it was the saddest and dumbest story I ever heard. There's a part in the story where Hamlet has the chance to kill his enemy, but he doesn't because he is praying, and he doesn't want his enemy to go to heaven, he specifically waits so that he can make sure he goes to Hell. I think this makes Hamlet more evil than the King.
Before I knew it the clock was ringing and my heart suddenly started beating and I felt this presence inside of me, and it was there, this feeling that something wanted to make sure I was going to go through with this. And I felt two ways about this presence.
1, is that I wanted to reject it. I wanted to shout at it that it was wrong and that I would not be a chicken if I didn't go through with it. I didn't know if I preferred this or not, and
2, is that I wanted to listen to it. Somehow, I knew that if I listened to this presence, it would benefit me, and I would be surrendering to my own... my own... evil? I don't know, but I wanted to end it, to end it all, and that was the only thing that voice promised me.
As I walked through the halls I couldn't help myself. I started to cry. Seeing all these kids, all these pointless kids leading pointless lives, dating people they weren't going to marry, worried more about tests that didn't matter, they didn't realize that life was more important than all of that stupid crap, more important than so and so breaking up with so and so, or that the principal does this, or that so and so had sex with whoever, none of that is really important. But the voice. The voice kept talking, and I kept walking.
I cried as I walked closer and closer to the bathroom, and people looked at me strangely. It wasn't a sobbing sort of crying, just the sort where I was indifferent to everything, my face paralyzed in it's blankness, tears, like water just falling.
I walked inside and there was a few girls talking in the corner. One was texting on her phone and another was putting on mascara. They looked at me strangely. I could picture them thinking in their little perfectly prettied up, expensive Toni and Guy haircutted heads, "Oh, it's the freak. The girl that has scars. The girl with the bruised eyes. The cigarette burns. The fuck up, the messed up girl." They turn their heads in a wave of perfumed disgust, and walk out.
I go inside and get ready. There are pipes sticking above me, and I put my feet on the edges of the toilet seat, and stand up. I tie the rope into a noose. It's actually quite easy, I learned how to on the internet. You can learn anything on the internet these days, from how to make a dog orgasm to how to make an atom bomb.
So there I am, right? I'm crying my eyes out, I'm listening to that voice that is controlling me, I'm putting the noose around my fragile neck, and suddenly, I hear a girl farting. And I don't mean farting, I mean like a 'plop'ing sound, like a log of shit landing in a bowl of water. And suddenly I realize that as I am trying to commit suicide, there is a girl in the stall beside me taking a crap.
I don't know what to do. It's very odd, and I don't want to do this while so and so is pooping up logs with undigested corn kernels in them.
And I wait.
And I wait some more.
She leaves, she flushes.
Finally I tighten the rope around my neck. I waited for something to happen, I tried to think of one last thought, one, important thing to say or whatever, but... there was nothing. It was so horribly sad. And the voice, the whole time, the voice.
I scream as loud as I can. I don't care anymore about anything, I scream as loud as I can, my voice is unfamiliar and sounds like I am being tortured or in hell, it is a piercing shriek that echoes off of the tiled walls, and I drop like a log.
And I find that I actually drop.
In a split second before I went to that place where there is no return from, I hear a snapping sound of metal, and a quick thought goes through my head, --the pipe!, and I fall and my head crashes into the porcelain toilet, my skull reverbrates and echoes and I hear something like the entire world splitting in two, and right before I fall to the ground, right before I am bleeding out of my new orifice from my skull, I realize one single thought, I think to myself, "Wait a minute, was that worth--"
I just finished reading Kurt Vonnegut's 'Mother Night' and there is a part where the main character converses with a fellow nazi. The nazi is in jail and was notorious for killing as many jews almost as much as Hitler, and there is a part where he says "This is the secret to life, Camphell, there are different stages to life, and you must discover what is expected of you during each stage, and do that."
Let me figure out what my stage is right now. My ultimate goal is to become a famous author.
STAGE OF 19-Early Twenties?
Read a lot.
Continue to write a lot. Write second book, and promote first.
Work a LOT. Stay with my job, by a better car, by an education, and eventually get my own place.
WRITE WRITE WRITE, PROMOTE PROMOTE PROMOTE.
And finally, try not to get married or make any girl pregnant, or die.
I am an artist. Well, an artist of words. I'm publishing my first book in a few weeks, actually, but I consider photographers, writers, artists and musicians all artists.
I download music illegally from limewire, and I feel odd. I never thought of it from a musician's point of view, but as an artist, I would not want people to go and steal my work through programs like limewire and bearshare, things like that. As an artist I would want to be paid for my works, if my art was free I would be very upset about that.
I am also a christian, and of course, stealing is wrong.
I never really had an issue with piracy, I guess, I never called it that. I just called it free music.
What do you think? If you were an artist, a musician, would it offend you if people stole your music? Then again, you'd have to be popular enough, so does popularity matter? If you were famous would it make a difference to you? And do you yourself download music like this?
Any advice or answers would be much appreciated. :)
- Current Mood: confused
I remember I used to firmly against it, saying that people always had a chance in the end, and that even people that go out and rape little girls and kill people or whatever, that they should stay in prison forever and that maybe they could become saved one day. Hey I guess if it happened to Jeffrey Dahmer it could happen to anybody, right? But now I'm not so sure.
Anyways so I had this odd dream, and please don't judge me by it's radical content. It was a dream and has no reflection of my life, it was just a dream, remember that.
So I was in this big house, and I had become friends with this little boy and this little girl, the boy was about 8 or so, and the girl was around twelve or thirteen. We hung out throughout the dream, and eventually, I guess towards the morning, I'm thinking, I saw them, and we were suddenly running from their parents. Dreams don't really make sense, if you know by now, but somehow I knew that we were running from them in this massive house, even though we could not see them. We kept running away from them and I felt as I were the girl in the dream for some reason, yet I still had my own body. Anyways we kept running and we were incredibly afraid, I mean very afraid, and I had found a baseball bat and I felt that if I had this bat with me that I could hurt the parents, or the adults or whoever they were, and protect the two kids.
So we kept running away from them the whole night, and towards the end we ran into this large, empty room, and we were in the corner and I sort of turned invisible I guess, I don't know, but the mom had black hair and was very scary looking and she grabbed the twelve year old girl and when she did, she just stopped running, knowing that whatever happened next was inevitable. The fat man grabbed the boy as well, the man took the boy to a bed in the room and the woman took the girl to another bed in the same room, and told them to take their clothes off.
What was going on was so horrible and evil, and she just laid there, and the worst part was that it felt slightly good, because it was sex, and she was going through puberty, and she just laid there and kept taking it while the woman kept saying nasty things like that, and she just laid there, looking up at the ceiling, dead inside and confused because it felt a little good, and while that was happening the man in the other bed was raping the little boy. The man was fat and old and hairy and had his giant augmented penis inside the boy's asshole, and it was ripping and there was blood everywhere and the little boy was screaming, and I could feel it all as if it was me. This kept going on and on, and in the dream it was so real. Right now your reading this and you have no idea how it felt like, to be there and see this little girl and boy getting raped by adults, and it was so sick and twisted and evil, truely evil, and I was frozen, completely dead inside, just as the girl was.
Anyways in the dream I was terrified and I hated the both of them, so incredibly much, I hated them more than I have ever hated anybody or anything in my life. I looked for the bat that I had had but somehow their unimaginably dark minds made it dissapear. I can't even begin to describe how real it felt, how much hate I had for them. I don't know. I always thought "Everybody gets a chance to be saved", but in that dream I wanted them to burn in hell forever. And I felt like God would agree, that he wouldn't mind if I killed them right there and then.
I picked up the gun and shot the woman in the head, and her brain exploded into a thousand pieces and blood went everywhere, and some splattered on the bed and floor and the girl, and I felt so incredibly good, and then the man looked over and looked so terrified, more terrified then even the children, like the shot had brought his sick awareness to reality, like he had realized what he was, and as he looked at me it almost seemed as if a small part of him felt deserving, like he almost wanted to die. So I lifted the gun again, completely full of hate, and I shot that man in the head again and his head exploded all over the little boy and I felt like my body was on fire and having an orgasm because it felt so damn good to kill this fucking monster..., but somehow I knew that that wasn't nearly going to effect them as them raping them would.
Then the girl and boy ran to me and were crying and hugged me, and I told them everything was going to be okay, to put their clothes back on and we were going to go to a hospital or a psych ward or something, I don't know.
It just made me think about how people get raped and you hear about it in the news, or how there are gang fights and drug addicts and people molesting people, and whatever, and I realized that before it had always seemed so fake to me, like all this news that I hear all the time has really numbed me, like it all didnt' seem real, and that dream really woke me up, and I just thought about it a lot. I think that all these things we hear about sounds fake to us, somehow. I don't know.
It has been bothering me ever since, I really don't know how I feel about the death penalty anymore, I was so sure before, but when you see something like that or if your the victim, even though it was a dream, because it was real, at least temporary, I felt they deserved it.
It's like I don't know anymore, because what you do in dream I believe is what you would do in real life, and I would have shot those sick perverts, I really would have, in real life, I would kill them and hurt them and make sure they died.
I'm sorry for the language and description. What do you think? Do you think people should have the death penalty if they commit a great enough offence? Or does everybody truly have the chance to be saved? And is that feeling I felt, that compulsion to kill those perverts, is that just human? Or is it justice? Is there a difference, and what is the line?
:) Have a good day.
What about those churches that allow it?
(PLEASE JUST READ THIS SENTENCE... I know this looks like a lot but it's really not. I have re-read it a couple times, and it takes only 8 minutes. So if you have 8 minutes to spare, and to read some stuff that is very interesting (as well as entertaining...), then please take the time to at least glance through some of this. However, do not, under ANY circumstances, comment if you do not read the whole thing please...) :)
Okay. So recently I did the usual, same as you all did. I woke up, and the first thing I did was check my myspace. Lol. But when I looked at it I noticed something. I had a message from an interesting lovely friend that I haven't seen in years. Her name is Longtimefriend. (I don't want people judging her, whether good or bad...) And this is what she told me.
Longtimefriend told me that she needed advice about God and stuff, so I did the best I could. I am no saint, and I am no pastor or anything. But I am a soldier of Christ, (even though I don't look it... ;) ), and I gave her my opinion of the things she was going through. But when she was talking about stuff, specifically the church that she goes too, she mentioned something interesting. She said that her church is okay with homosexuality.
Now to be honest I wasn't too shocked. I have heard of these types of churchs before, so it was nothing new. But I had never actually KNOWN someone that went to one. So I asked her questions about it, and did some research, and here is what I came up with.
Now first of all I want to point out a few things, before you read what I have to say.
1. I am not, in any way, judging homosexuals. If you are a homosexual, please just read what I have to say, and take it or leave it. The same if you are NOT a homosexual but think it is okay, and the same for people who think that all gays are "gunna go da hell!". I don't want to offend anybody. I am just saying what I think. I don't ask that you agree with me or disagree, simply, to just see what I came up with. And if you do feel strongly about this, then PLEASE leave a comment, I would love to see what you have to say. Even if it's disagreement.
2. I want everybody to know something that I probably haven't told any of you. This is VERY personal. I want you to know that I used to be bi. For a while I thought I might be gay, and I had intimate relations with men. Guys. I did gay stuff. I won't say how much or how little, but it was enough to raise eyebrows. So don't feel I am being one sided about this. I am not one of those people that are like "ewwww yucky... gays.." I am NOT being one-sided about this. I am simply trying to point out a couple FACTS, and logically make a conclusion.
Okay, so here we go.
Now when we ask the question about whether or not being gay is wrong or not, we have to have a base, or a source from where we make our conclusions. And yes, I am a Christian, so i will make my base be from the bible. But that would be wierd right? Because some churches say it's okay and accepts gays, and some churches don't.
I am from a Church that says it doesn't, and let me explain.
The church is based on the bible. Without the bible you wouldn't even have the church, just a bunch of people walking around telling you what's bad and what's good, and you wouldn't know why. The bible IS the church, in essence, it is what it teaches, and we do what it says, and we go by it. That's why I don't agree with churches that say it is okay to be gay. Now wait. I am not saying here being gay is wrong. The person that reads what I just wrote and says "There it is, he is saying he is against gays and I am not listening to him..." that is being ignorant. Listen to me.
I am not saying being gay is wrong there, with that sentence. I am saying that a church that says it is okay to be gay, that doesn't condemn homosexual marriage, is wrong. And if you think about it, I think you will agree with me. The Church is BASED on the bible, how can something stand for something and not stand for all of it? That would be like the government saying some rules don't apply. That they are there for no reason. Or that would be like taking some of the rules and saying "Well Washington didn't mean THAT... he meant..." w/e, to achieve the selfish need the person had at the moment. I am not saying being gay is wrong there, I am saying Churches that take parts of the bible out to suit their needs is wrong. And I know, even if you are an atheist, even if you are a GAY atheist, will agree.
That's like a church saying "Well stealing is not ACTUALLY wrong...". Imagine if that happened. How ludicrous would that be? If churches started popping up all over the place, you would have the church that is okay to steal, the church that is okay to lust, the church that is okay with JUST killing.... how crazy would that be? Well, I think it is the same as the church that think it is okay to be gay. And right now your probably thinking, if your an atheist, or gay, or w/e, well what are the verses? What are they? If you showed me, Drake, that it specifically says so in the bible, then I can agree that this church is wrong. And that's all I ask for. I am not asking you to believe in god and love jesus, if you are an athiest, I am asking you to agree with the basic fundementality that if something is built on something, it should be BUILT on it! All of it, not part of it. Even atheists or hinduists or what the heck ever can agree with me on that.
So here are 4 quick verses that I believe are the core of it. Just glance through real fast, and see if you agree or disagree. Afterwards I want to also tell all of yall of one VERY important thing. So just glance through these and read what I have to say afterwards, I promise you I'm almost done, lol.
Deuteronomy 23:17 There shall be no whore of the daughters of Israel, nor a sodomite of the sons of Israel. (The Sodomites consisted of a lot of homosexuals...)
Romans 1:26-27 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: (here the author is talking about THE VAGINA AND THE PENIS. Lol. When you were 12 you may have seen a "nature" video about how a male and a female have babies. This is what he is talking about...)
And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; (and again here...) men with men (right here...) working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet.
1 Corinthians 6:9-10 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, (here...)
Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
1 Timothy 1:9-11 Knowing this, that the law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for manslayers,
For whoremongers, for them that defile themselves with mankind, (again here...) for menstealers, for liars, for perjured persons, and if there be any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine;
According to the glorious gospel of the blessed God, which was committed to my trust.
There is one thing I want to point out. Paul was the first person to start speaking of these thing, and what Paul meant was, that homosexuality is a sin. In the bible it says to God, all sin is equal. If this is true, that means that lying to your mom about going to the mall is the same when two gay guys do each other in the butts. (Gross? Why is it? Think about why you had that initial reaction...) If this is true, then all sin is equal. That means that a guy lusting after a hot guy is the same after a guy lusting after a hot guy.
What does this mean? This mean that Paul, among the other authors, is saying that homosexual ACTS are a sin. He is saying that a guy being tempted to have gay sex is the same as a guy tempted to have pre-maritatl sex with a woman. The world has this mixed up thing that God condemns the feelings of a homosexual. That is not true. God doesn't condemn feelings. Feelings, it says this in the bible, are not a sin. It is being tempted. FEELINGS = BEING TEMPTED. It is not wrong to be tempted, it is wrong to act on it. Don't forget that since I am a crazy christian, I believe the verse that says the authors of the bible only spoke from the holy spirit, from god. So god is saying this.
What I am saying here is that we should view Homosexuals as any other sinner. Whether you steal or lie or have sex with the same sex, you are still a sinner. Churches need to stop abandoning gays and lesbians because they are different "sinners", they are still sinners. And so are we.
So what am I saying? Am I saying we need to be a church that allows and accepts homosexuals?
Not at all. These churches think that homosexuals are OKAY... that they are going to heaven. That somehow if you are a MARRIED homosexual, you are not sinning. And that is ridiculous, as the scriptures CLEARLY point out earlier...
Even if you are athiest, even if you are gay, even if you are a gay atheist, you should be able to agree with me. Those churches are split. They are forming their own way, and it is wrong, because they are based on the bible. PLEASE leave me comments, I would love to know what you think. But please don't leave comments on whether or not being gay is wrong. I am not argueing that. I already said I am a christian and I agree with christian morals, but that is not what I am disproving or saying is wrong. I am saying churches that accept homosexuals, and don't condemn it, are wrong.
SOME EXTRA THOUGHTS...
I talked to this girl, Longtimefriend, and she told me a couple things. She said that, although one of her pastors is a lesbian, the church "chooses not to talk about those things..." and I can't help but wonder why. Why? What do you think? She also, when pressed about her personal beliefs, and evidence, said that she really didn't know, and that they mostly use a "prayer book" when in church. I asked her who wrote it. It seemed reasonable if you base your beliefs and morals on a book you should know all about it. She said she didn't know who wrote it, and neither did her parents.
In this blog, I will try to explain what I think is the biggest reason why people hurt over an ex, or even a current relationship, and how you can overcome that.
A long time ago I used to be a mall rat. I used to go to Grapevine Mills Mall and that’s when I started dressing emo, when I started doing drugs, when I started smoking and when I started falling in love. The first girl I fell head over heels for was for a girl that is named Jordan Elizabeth Amick.
She was a little younger than me, and I never really got to talk to her, but one day when I was high, she went up to me and boldly came up and just kissed me on the lips. When I’m high, things seem complicated and simple at the same time, and when she kissed me, and I saw her beautiful little face with that cute button nose and her red short hair, I was in love.
We fell in love soon after that. We started talking a lot and hanging out a lot, we were madly in love. I could describe a million scenes right now, a scene where we first ’did stuff’ at a park with her best friend Rachel walking around, alone (god bless that girl lol), the time we first hung out at her house, and we hugged in a secret forest for literally, about ten minutes, all the times we walked around the mall, her clinging to my arm, proud to show off her boyfriend that was known as the most popular hottest rock kid of all time (at that time), I could describe to you a million thing, but if you’ve ever been in love, you know what I mean, and you have similar situations. The first kiss, all the late night phone conversations, meeting the parents, all that jazz.
I don’t really know what happened after that. And if you have ever been hurt by someone very badly, I think you know what I mean. Things are so wonderful, your just so in love, and then you wake up and three years have gone by and you think "What happened?"
The same thing happened to me. We started having sex, and that was fine, for the first few months. But then just all these little things just kept building up, and now, here I am, three years later, and discovering that I still desparately care for this stupid girl that I want to get over.
I think when we were young, me and Jo, I think we didn’t realize the implications of sex, of the results of the bond it creates, or of drugs, or jealousy, or jealousy of a best friend, and many others. We were too young. We wanted something we thought we could have, but were too immature to know it. We thought it was easy, that there was nothing that hard that we could not face. That we could beat sin.
I haven’t even seen her in a long time, and the last time we talked on the phone she hurt me worst than any other time, just using her voice. The last thing she said to me was "Don’t you ever fucking call me again, Drake." Click.
For three years I’ve been hurting from her. For three years and still, today, sometimes I think about her, and it just hurts, it’s like a black hole in my stomach, when I see her myspace and hear her voice, when I text her and she gets her friends to cuss me out on the phone, the hole just widens larger and larger, and it just hurts so freaking badly. I can’t even explain it with words, and that’s incredible to me, because I’m a writer, but if you’ve ever been truly hurt, you know what I mean.
I think if I was a magnifecent painter I would be able to explain it. I would draw a big picture of just blackness, unending blackness, and it’s edges would be made out of razors.
For so long I’ve been hurting, and it’s not like every day I cry about it. But every once in a while I am reminded of her, and I wonder, "Will I ever get over this? Will I ever get over my first love, the person I gave my virginity to?" And I ask people, and they all give me different replies, but tonight, I got a different answer, and I realized why I have been hurting, and I think it’s the number one reason why everybody hurts for so long.
I think it’s because they ’why’s’. I wish that we could have just broken up quickly, and never talked again. I wished that she would have just cheated on me while we broke up, and that would have been that. There are certain standards every person lives by, if she does that, I’ll break up with her, if he does that, it’s over, for sure. But when these standards remain unbroken, and things get messy, when things get complicated, when things happen, like she has sex with some guy after we break up at a party, or I go out with so and so on Christmas and do this or that, everything gets so confusing. And I think, even if it was a simple break, a simple standard broken, it would still be the same, we would still ask why.
For a while, after we broke up, we kept trying again. We saw each other and talked, then we went back out, then we lasted a month, then we stopped for a few months. Then we tried again, we broke up, and tried over and over, and all this was incurring were more and more why’s.
Sometimes I want to call her so badly at night, when I think of her, and I realize that I just want to know why. Why, Jo, did you have sex with that guy at that party the day after we broke up? Were you really that drunk? Was it in spite? Why, Jo, did you hold hands with Marshall that day yall drove home, and it took a while for you to tell me? Was it just a fleeting stupid, senseless thing? Why, Jo, when I know you care about me, say hurtful things? Why, Jo, why? Why this! Why that! I want to know why she did every thing to hurt me, I want to know everything! Tell me why you did this! Tell me why Jo!
And I think to myself, I WILL BE OKAY! IF I JUST FIND OUT WHY, I CAN MOVE ON! IF I JUST KNOW FUCKING WHY THIS OR THAT HAPPENED, I CAN FINALLY BE OKAY, I WILL ACCEPT IT, AND MOVE ON!
And I tried. I called her a few times, asking why, and I got answers. But there were always more answers, and even if not, how do I know those are really true answers? Time has gone by, and time blurs our reasons for doing things.
Our heads are like invisible jigsaw pieces.
I don’t know. For so long I just keep asking why’s, and I think that’s what kept me sad.
Tonight I asked this guy at work, this older guy that is always smiling. His name tag says Jim B. and I always call him Jim Bean after the alcoholic beverage. I asked him if it’s possible to get over your first love, and he said yes. He started talking about this and that, and I didn’t even relate anything of my story to him about Jo, and then he said it.
With his hand against a pallet jack, his eyes staring off into space, his lips chewing gum and his voice coming out of one side of his mouth with his stupid tie die shirt (he’s like fifty...), he says, "But I realized, Drake, that you just have to stop asking all the why’s. They just keep you going, and your never gonna really find out. You just got to stop asking the why’s, and force yourself to move on."
I hope I did that tonight. I think I did. I rarely ask why’s anymore, but now I know that that’s why I went through that for so long.
I know that some of you are hurting so badly. You, the person reading this, might be hurting so badly, and might have a billion fucking why’s to not just one person, but many, or this or that, or whatever. I don’t know. I don’t know your story. All I know is that the why’s are what keep causing that hole to grow. So quit it. I know what it’s like, I know the pain, I know the fantasies to the past, and worst of all, oh god, the dreams. The dreams are the worst, because your back there, your that age again, your in love again, and then you wake up, and three years have gone by, and you wonder why this, why that?
So hopefully you won’t ask any more why’s. I know I won’t. I mean, in the back of my mind I will always wonder, why DID she do that? But I won’t dwell on it. I will just say that I learned through it all.
I know you probably won’t read this. You deleted your myspace and hate my guts, and probably want to stab my eyes out. I know you will probably never, in your life, check my myspace again, and even if you do, it might be years, and this blog will be long and gone, deleted in the infinite negative archives of computerdom. But if you do read this, I just want you to know I still love you. I will always love you, I gave you my heart, and it would be a shame to say "I love you as a friend," because when we were in love, I told you, you had my heart forever. Of course, I’m smart now, and I wouldn’t try again with you, but I do love you, and I want you to know, more than anything, that I’m sorry for all the mean things I’ve done to you. God knows I’ve done a lot, some recently, some a long, long time ago. But I’m sorry, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day, even if I am unaware of it.
In a perfect world, Jo, we would have lasted. In a perfect world we would have stayed together and really gotten married and had Lilly and Amory and that wierd name you always wanted, I think it was Emery, or the name of some band, I’m not sure, but this is not a perfect world. We are the victims only to this broken world full of sin, run by the prince of demons, Satan. We are victims, but not for long.
I hope one day that we can see each other again in heaven. I hope you keep fighting the good fight (words paul used) for our faith, that you keep fighting, and one day we will be in heaven together, and everything will be glorious and wonderful, and we won’t have to worry about silly grown up things like relationships or sex, because there is no marriage in heaven, just, I believe, dancing and drinking and praising God, where we will all be kids and love everything and smell flowers and praise God and dance for him and sing and fly on clouds and eat honey with new types of fruit and swim in rivers of gold and walk on floors of diamonds, where we will build up the kingdom of God on Earth just like the bible says, and we will be happy, and the best part about all of this, the best part is not that it is so wonderful and lovely and amazing, but that it’s forever, that there is no growing of physical bodies, there is no tomorrow, it’s just one, infinite, beautiful day.
And that, I think, is something so amazing we cannot even wrap our minds around it.
I love you Jo, and I hope you have a wonderful and happy life. I hope you stay with God, I hope you get old and meet a wonderful guy that can put up with your craziness, lol, and that, most of all, I hope that when you think of me you don’t get sad or ask why’s, that you just remember the good times, and think to yourself, when you wake up from having a dream about me and become sad, that it was not pointless, because the only reason we are sad in the first place is because the bad times, I hope you remember the good times, our first kiss, may 13th, the paintings, the scary movies, the late nights on your couch, that "let’s just get married" song, the gifts, the wierd fetishes I had, lol, that one wierd fetish you had, the times we played in your pool with your family, the hot dogs and all the times, all the glorious times that I walked ten miles on the side of a damn highway, ten there and ten back, just to spend a night with you.
But I don’t want you to be sad when you remember these things because they are gone, but be happy because we are over! I know that sounds morbid, but thank God you don’t have to deal with my freak outs or my going crazy attacks! Thank god I don’t have to deal with blue balls anymore! Thank God you don’t have to deal with me crying on the phone, and thank God I don’t have to worry what you are doing!
Thank God, enjoy the good memories, and learn from the bad ones. And don’t ask why’s. There’s my advice, I hope it goes on my tombstone. But if it does, I’ll never know.