letter from the host bastard 01:
Dear Bastard:
Up until I understood what a true bastard was, it was unclear to me what I was. And it was better that way. It is a very strange trip to be born a holy child in a family of baptists. Especially when I had a mental condition that made me nervous when I heard a lie. At least, they always seemed stupid. At most, revolting. Some would say this is what was at least partially responsible for my ear infections that made my little head a universe of pain.
When I was a new teenager or just before, a big ass bastard nearly killed me while playing ice hockey. I woke up in the ambulance. But the ringing in my ears never left. It's mine now. Helps me remember that far too many souls around this world are screaming.
The world knows the world is in trouble. But we are constantly reminded that it is better to ignore it.
And I have been told many times that I should just forget about Christianity if I think it is stupid. I do not believe it will go away fast enough by itself.
So for the last 25 years I have been working on learning to think and write. And the two have been much the same thing for me. I've even got to the point where I believe there is nothing, except music, more important for me to do than honour my ancestors by finding the problem in our language. And fix it. And make Jesus mean what I want him to mean.
And what countless other angels have told me what Jesus should mean.
I'm not certain if you wish to accept the job which I'm certain you were called here for. It could mean good income. Or a bullet. But we are in Europe and one of the freest countries in the world. They didn't kill Martin Luther. Even the Koran has been translated. Though they don't want anyone reading it.
My question is. Who do you think you are. I don't mean your this life identity. I'm certain if I communicated what you told me, some would think I was mad.
I also. No, let's grab an idea and go with it. Later.
It is my conviction that western religion, everything based on the tyrannical tale of Moses, is poisoning our language. And it all stems from the very first book of the holy scriptures.
God said women and knowledge are evil and snakes are to blame for the ultimate sin of Eve. Disobedience to the boss. It is an obvious lie which has been beaten into the western world for as long as the club of lies says the world and universe exists. An outrageous crime. A crime against 2 billion years of hard core evolution. A trip no living creature survives without instinct. And part of instinct is the instinct for comprehension.
We are taught by the western religions that instinct is for animals and that we are not animals. God gave animals instinct. Us, he gave law. This is what we are taught to believe and it is a lie. We are so obviously creatures of instinct. And it is not the devil in us. It is the angel. The beginner god. Doubt. An important ingredient of obey and grovel in fear of the big scary God.
And I must think of the Wizard of Oz. Were the big scary God, correct me if I am wrong, was a frightened little bone head. And perhaps it was a poke right into the ribs of Moses. The son and grandson of the Pharaoh. Child of incest rape. Like the children of Lot's children. He simply was a messed up bastard. Not every inbred is insane. Moses was.
Of course the story, like any story told many times before written, then written under control of state priests, can only be laced with fiction. So I prefer to see it as fiction and see what the instinct of the writer managed to include in the fantastic fantasy.
There is much to learn about how to kill sheep, goats, cattle and city states. And one learns laws. Most of them bloody obvious enough for a tribe of illiterates. But primates are not a simple creature. There is the tendency to take extreme action in executing our will to power.
The will to power can be a beautiful thing.
By the way, my friend, this is a letter. It is my conviction that a letter is the place for improvising.
Which brings us nicely to why we should sell many books and recordings of the new new testament. One 'cause it is good, for I have been a good student and always, without exception, payed attention to my teachers.
With loads of money, schools can be built and teachers taught to teach the beauty of evolution and the universe.
And what I am convinced of more than anything is: instinct must be taught. That is a frightening thing. We have been taught not to trust it. Not to even believe it. I was lucky that my instinct was my master. It showed me early that she or it knew. But I also suspect she seldom receives a welcome host.
A host is what I feel I am. I do what I see fit after I have listened to all that I have been told. The opposite of ego. And I suppose I could thank you openly for nicely kicking the last bit of mine apart.
I'll tell you something even crazier. The woman who I try not to think of or mention. The woman who hosts my grandmother's spirit. She woke me up. And in a very significant way, I took on my writing with no reservation after I saw that she really existed. The character I had been trying to write since it was clear to me that my women lacked character in my books.
And eventually I understood that I loved her. And still did. In her eyes I could see the universe. The long process of evolution. The will in life. The instinct.
It wasn't perfectly obvious to me that evolution and reincarnation are two perspectives of the same thing.
I knew a long time ago that it would be better not to dwell on who was who in a past life. Who is a cloudy question. What we were is what we are.
So start baptizing people.
What I wanted to say about instinct was how would a teacher go about teaching it. And thought of a class room in Africa. Four posts and a metal roof. 16 children and a teacher. Not likely much would happen. At least the first minute. Maybe the woods would be a better place.
Whatever.
So anyway. I know you are a teacher and if I could pay you, I might. Best bet would be just to get busy doing your job, what maybe you started already. Not including, of course, the information you have brought me.
Things are happening. I think if we take it slowly and make an honest effort at playing at it, we can change the language. And people will no longer believe in Death Cults and Life will be our only temple.
Gehörspiel. What's that in English. Listen play. Dark Stage Theater. But I think with our present technology, people would enjoy seeing who was reading the Bible to them.
Many of the humans who believe they are gods who speak to gods are in hospitals. And not a small number of my friends have been for visits to the hospital for crazy conditions. I also think Henry Rollins will support us and many other animals, when we make a move to fight the church by teaching that there is no sin. Women are at least equal to men. And knowledge is a beautiful thing. And as long as there is life, we are in it. That may seem like a big jump. I wouldn't believe it. I can, however, see it. As have many others.
"If the doors of perception were cleansed, man would see things as they truly are. Infinite." William Blake.
So the doors gotta get cleaned.
By the way, you can respond in French if you chose. I won't understand much but many people read French.
So now then. I think I've said enough. But I don't know so I'll see what come of the next words.
Sex. Don't know. Seems like too much trouble. Unless, whatever happens. I know I'm not too old for it.
Okay. Politics. A comedy of idiots. It is very obvious that Imperialism, be it Chinese or American, is not working. In fact, one could call the American Empire the second beast. They would likely disagree. But I have understood the meaning behind the words. And this is the objective of language.
The new testament is a time bomb waiting for a true bastard to climb inside of it and rip it apart and see what is hidden behind the grand walls of fantasy illusion and fear.
So let's have it. Tell the world what you think.
And let's collect some clothes and books and send them. Something to show us we can do something more than talk redundancies.
A little story to finish this letter. Once upon a time there was a king. He liked to rape children and kill their parents. He killed all who spoke. All worked hard in the field under his yoke.
"That ain't a nice story."
And that is the trouble. For it is our story for many thousand years. Primate madness.
And we could be gods. We are the gods. We have been told not to act like gods. Told to bow to gold. Serve for our virtual share.
While paradise goes to hell. So you lazy bastard. Get to work.
And write your bastard friend.
letter from the other bastard 01 |
