Fuck the Police

Original article posted by Asmodeus:

My friend was assaulted last week by a police officer, coming home from work, and though many of you do not see me as the protective type, to those I call true friends I am very protective and very pissed this happened to him. He was arrested by campus police for get this tresspassing and resisiting arrest. What did he do? Nothing but trying to get home from work, which is on campus and now he is scratched up on his knees.

This is what pisses me off about our legal system, innocently walk home from work and get beat up by those who are supposed to serve and protect you. Molest childeren and you are out within 90 days assaulting yet more kids! Does something seem wrong about that with you people? It does me.

That police officer was lucky that person was not me, I tell you this is why i act like a criminal I have no respect for the system at all, that cop would have been shot if it was me, and it would have been by his own gun none the less. he wants me to protest but of course I can not do that because I am violent about my voice, I believe taking names and throwing back the crime solves everything, writing my government solves nothing I tell you nothing they dont hear, getting to that bastards family is key to winning the war.

I am sorry that life has to be that way, that is why Anarchy can not thrive. I never involve the police in any of my matters, they always turn ugly, yeah sure I threatened Kellie with the police with Neal but I never really turned him in, i look at it this way sure he gets away with two girls (she might not know that other part) but I see it this way unlike me kellie does have a heart, it may be hard for me to see she does, but I believe she does. My punishment to her is this, if Neal molests his child and gets caught for it and it is gruesome Kellie will live for the rest of her life knowing she could have stopped what happened but did not.

I wash the blood off of my hands. Well that is all I have to say about our corrupt useless government, if any of you have good ideas that is not violence I will listen and take it to my friend, but from experience violence works in a very powerfull way if you do not have fear for the law.

 

Breaking Point

Original article posted by Asmodeus:

WRONG! Radio silence is a sign of nuclear threat. Like childeren when they are playing queitly be on gaurd something is up. Most of you really will not be affected except the fact I finaly shut up which is what everyone really wants right.

I am a fair person, and I have allowed room for peace talks but I know Kellie too good to know she will not take that option, in fact most of our relationship consists of war, who will come out on top. Her saying she does not care does not make sense to me, I have known her for 6 or more years longer than any boyfriend she has, I have known her a long time it seems it would be a waste to throw that all away.

We all have our periods of anger, our imperfections infect our lives, but that is no reason to quite like she did! We tell people things are not fair so deal with it, however when it would happen to her it is different isnt it. I do have my own issues with being friends, i see things in a different light because I have already experienced it.

To most women if I slept with a bunch of girls just to sleep with them and that is it, to you that would be wrong right? I think it is equaly wrong to do that emotionaly to men. This is where Kellie thinks I am sexist, I believe that the only man in her life should be the man she is currently with, the only way (If I was Ryan that is I wouldn’t allow her to be with other men alone, I would ask her and not tell her but ask politely that I do have my reasons and that just as I should never be with another woman alone she should not be with another man alone.

God this is going to be a long one, I am sure most of you would say that is sexist, I would say protective, you would say sexist because I would be trying to control who she allied herself with but we could be friends as a couple together. Me saying protective cause all i have to tell you is reefers, GHB, to name a couple and also I have learned there is a toxin you can make to do just the same as these other things that pollutes the nervous system and you use rhye seed, I know how to make it, doesnt that frighten you? It is damn easy too.

Also I would like to add, that if she is seeking other men for emotional support than of course the person that is supposed to be giving it to her is not now is he. I would like Ryan to think long and hard about that one, she thinks you suck in a lot of ways and of course she did not tell me that directly (except the part you are bad in bed me and my friends had a good laugh at that one, and of course they came up with some theories but we wont get into that)

Also I am sure most of you would argue that I too am not emotionaly there for her, and I would have to say you are right, I wish I could be as emotionaly adequate as I am sexualy adequate for her, unfortunately I can make her body cream better than I can make her feel loved and needed.

Well I too am open to any good ideas nothing wrong with that, and you all have until the first of December to give any ideas or thoughts to me, I do really favore anything that could help me understand her better I will talk back I just wanted to write this early because I am sure she will not stop and I will have to do as I plan (trust me its really bad).

So later people I hope you guys have lots of fun poking fun of people and shit.

 

Founding Father Grateful, Film at 11.

Original article posted by Greg:

But speaking of which…

I have something on my wall that I like to read sometimes.

“Whereas, it is the duty of all nations to acknowlege the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor, and;

“Whereas, both Houses of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me ‘to recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceable to establish a form of government for their saftey and happiness’;

“Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday, the 26th Day of November Next, to be devoted by the people of these states to the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, and that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation;… to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally, to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.

“Given under my hand, at the City of New York, the 3rd day of October, a.d. 1789.

“George Washington”

As for me… I’m grateful for the circumstances in which I have been able to live my life till now. I feel blessed (or ‘lucky’ to use athiest-speak) in terms of family, friends, upbringing, and opportunity. I am especially grateful to good friends who help me be my best just by being who they are.

I always used to hate going online and happening across a religious website. Or a Blog of somebody who is religious. And here I am on a mission. Writing religious things.

My voice is only just returning. I never realized before, but having a voice is pretty much essential to missionary work. I’ve spent the last 5 days or so just feeling useless. I hope that my voice will be up to the task of recording today.

Otherwise, things seem pretty good.

See last year’s entry for descriptions of this year’s weather.

-Yo.

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Cornelius
Re: Founding Father Grateful, Film at 11.
Darn straight! If I’m ever President, (gasp!) I’m going to read that at the first Thanksgiving Day I’m in office!

 

Story #26

Original article posted by bluesman:

It was the drops of blood that gave her away. Well, that’s not entirely true. She started acting strange after she came out of the restroom. Before she went in, she had been quiet, reserved, but lucid. Nothing out of the ordinary for a first date. Nothing that would require long explanations. After she came out, her demeanor completely changed. Her eyelids had fallen to half mast. She slouched in her chair. The corners of her mouth were pulled up into a very faint smile. She laughed loudly at things that weren’t even jokes. She lost interest in her meal. She was relaxed to the point of absurdity. Several times she made to hit Josh on the arm in that playful way girls do when they like a boy, but she missed each time, and nearly fell out of her chair with the last attempt. He had helped her back into her chair, while she giggled and said something he didn’t catch.
There was also the thing that fell out of her purse as she tried to get out of his car. He might not have given a second thought to it, he knew where she worked, but he had seen the drops of blood—dark points on spotless white pants. He had been staring at her in one of the obvious places: her rear. He saw the first drop when they got up to leave the restaurant. She stood up, turned around to pick up her sweater that lay draped over the back of her chair, and there it was: a small dark spot high up on her backside, just below the belt loops on the right side. At the time, it meant nothing to him. But then he saw another one, after she came out of the restroom at the music store. She had sat on her haunches, looking at the rap section, laughing obnoxiously, making noises, as though she were a human beat box. She nearly fell again, threw her hands out to arrest her fall, the C.D.s she held in her hands skittering on the floor. As he stooped to pick up her and the scattered C.D.s, he saw a second dot on her pants, this one just down and to the left of the first. Her behavior became even more erratic. She had put on a pair of headphones at one of the listening stations, and was bouncing to and fro, alternately pointing her index fingers in the air, a la John Travolta, her lips pursed and sticking out in a caricature of a kiss. The other browsers snickered and laughed behind their hands, while the store owner just looked on impatiently. Finally Josh pulled her away. She complained loudly as he led her out to the car, pulling away from him, fighting him. She tried to play it off with a smiling face, but her features were pinched and agitated. The smiles were more snarls than anything.
She started to complain of a headache, and so he pulled over next to a newsstand that had little packets of aspirin hanging in tidy rows. Before he could get out, she had jumped out of the car, yelling. Then he saw it fall out of her purse and onto the floor of the car: a small, plastic cylinder with a black rubber plunger and a tiny needle. The plunger was pushed all the way in. As he stared at it, the object became clear, immediate, present. He picked it up. It felt heavy in his hand. The back lettering on the sides, denoting measurements in milliliters, stood out sharply. Josh felt sick at his stomach.
There was a commotion outside. Looking up, he saw she was fighting with the newsstand keeper, holding a little packet of aspirin in one hand, and a bottle of mineral water in the other. Her face was twisted, her body rigid with anger. She threw the bottle of water at the newsstand guy. It struck him square on the nose, and he disappeared behind the counter, holding his hands to his face. She went berserk. She tore apart the newsstand, throwing newspapers, gum, playing cards, and souvenirs everywhere. Josh jumped out of his car, running toward the chaos. A cop came running up, called over by a concerned onlooker, and tried to calm her down. She turned on him, trying to scratch his face with her hands. The officer grabbed her and forced her down, kicking and screaming, to the pavement. And there she lay, on her belly, with her face pressed into the cold, wet cement, screaming and cursing, spittle flying from her mouth, tears gushing down her cheeks, as she thrashed underneath the heavy policeman. Josh just stood there, seeing dark spots and sinister syringes, looking down at the train wreck that was his date.

This is Camille’s story.

Camille worked on the third floor of the Midwest Regional Hospital. The third floor is Behavioral Sciences. It is the place where drug addicts, depressed teenagers and semi-suicidal people go to wait for proper treatment. A holding pen/halfway house for the marginally dangerous. Camille worked the graveyard shift. She had been there two years, working three twelve hour shifts that start at six p.m., Thursday through Saturday. She got along okay with her co-workers, if only for the fact that she always showed up on time, did her charting properly, and was always willing to work everybody else’s shift when they called in sick—which was every three day weekend or whenever somebody made camping or boating trips.
Behavioral Sciences shared floor space with Pediatrics, and Camille had to walk through halls adorned with painted scenes from Toy Story, The Jungle Book and Bambi to get to her corner of the floor. Along the way were narrow, darkened rooms with small children sequestered within—children shaved bald, I.V.s sticking out of their emaciated arms, translucent respirators over their mouths, emotionally and fiscally crushed parents sitting beside them.
Camille had to punch in a code to enter her work area. Her code was her own birthday, until one of the patients in Behavioral found it out and then told it to his friend during his afternoon call. The friend came in later that night, drunk, and threatening to lock up Camille and the other woman on duty, Teresa, waving a small steak knife as he shouted. Everyone in Behavioral had to change their codes after that, and Camille changed hers to the birthday of her mother, whom she hadn’t spoken to for three years.
Once inside the heavy door, she would sit down behind the long counter than faced the patient’s rooms, and get the shift change report. The twelve hours she would spend at work consisted mostly of tedious sitting. The patients usually came out of their rooms to pace, or to tell their life’s story to Camille, or whoever was working that night. One night a patient would tell Camille about how she ran away from home. The next, another would tell her how he tried to poison his wife because she refused to buy him pantyhose. Every once in a while, a patient would become so agitated that they would have to restrain them. Sometimes the patients were so violent they would call hospital security—a fat balding man well versed in Star Trek lore who would tell Camille that “a phaser set to stun would put this one down, quick,”
At around three a.m. Camille would take her lunch break, all fifteen minutes of it, in the small office behind the bathroom. There was just enough room to slide into the creaking roller chair that was wedged between the wall and the heavy metal desk that held the patients paperwork. She would eat in silence, staring at the insipid posters which hung on three of the four walls of the space—a man in a rowboat, gliding across a fog-strewn lake in the early morning light, a woman scaling an impossibly high slab of sandstone in the middle of a forsaken desert, a muscular runner at the blocks, his body covered in sweat. Each scene was underscored with a caption:

PERFECTION:
THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED BY
Or,
DETERMINATION IS SEEING THROUGH WHAT OTHERS WILL NOT
And again,
SUCCESS IS A JOURNEY, NOT A DESTINATION

And there Camille would sit; slowly eating her food, her face blank, the word PERFECTION standing over her like some crushing, incomprehensible monument.

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Cube
Re: Story #26

Keep up the story posting…. its what this place is about and I enjoy what you post.

-Cube Out

 

Pink booties

Original article posted by Greg:

So I took a little train ride to taipei today to rehearse. About 2 hours later the rest of the group showed up (yes, late. I wasn’t early.) and we sang through it twice, said “Sounds good to me.” and had lunch.

But my voice is nearly gone today. I can’t sing above an F. It may have something to do with those filthy chickens I played with a couple weeks ago, but I don’t think so. Maybe I shouldn’t have licked one of them. Hmmm.

Joking.

But we are actually going to make a CD next week, which I think is pretty exciting. I’ve always wanted to be famous. So we’re making a cd of hymns in chinese for the chinese people. Because they haven’t got any. So we thought they could do with some. So it’s being done. I can’t believe some of the talent here in the mission. It’s amazing.

Not much else is new here. Suprized. No earthquakes since elder Ruoti came on island, which is too bad. I remember my first day I had a pretty decent one.

I have a desire to memorize hamlet’s monologue, but no hamlet to read from. And then also no time to read it. And I don’t know where this desire is coming from.

Haven’t found any buddhist gods lately, which is sad. But I can always imagine myself carting a leprechaun around in my bike basket.

I bet that kind of thing would be helpful for people in Iraq. Just imagine an angry leprechaun in your knapsack or whatever. “Ye’ll be feedin’ me more of your MRT candies or I’ll be feedin’ ye to a sandworm!”

I had the chance to talk to a guy who had been excommunicated from the church years ago. He was a catholic missionary once long ago, then bought himself a Book of Mormon one day, started reading it 3 years later, and decided that same day that he needed to join the church. Long story short, he got in trouble for something unspecified, got excommunicated, and then 3 years later re-baptized. The thing that struck me was his attitude towards going through church discipline. He felt really blessed that the Lord would take the time to teach him just how serious his sins were, instead of letting him go on and assume it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a nice meeting, anyway. I thought.

My time is up. I like letters.

-Elder Hamblin

 

Miasma Valley

Original article posted by Asmodeus:

I need to explain the Ley lines for those of you who do not understand. These ley lines are actualy like the blood vesseles of this planet, they are huge waves of energy pulsing affecting our lives in many ways, unfortunately humans are eating away at this energy by building things that do not coincide with the earth. I am finding the Ley lines on this land and i have already found some outside the utah area.

I have two options I can either fix the problem or make it worse, and since everyone in this town sucks my nuts I figure why not kill the land destroy the trees show them what a desolate world looks like, show them my pain this valley shall be henceforth known as the Miasma Valley, they will all kill themselves.

But there is more than that looming over the people of the great salt lake, when the time comes their will be people told to leave this valley, I am already convincing people how bad the LDS people are thanks to the FLDS, of course these pissed off people dont know the difference, when the time comes for the mormans to leave we will trap most of them and make sure they never do leave, most of you will die here with me.

That pretty much ends my plans and my doctorine, so if you live in utah and are LDS you might want to run now while you can while my power here is still weak and meager, because when the time comes I will be more hatefull and I will have more power than I do now.

Take the advice and run.

 

Too much social defiance…

Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Entry 85 – November 11, 2005

I called a sucide hotline tonight. Not because I’m having any sort of tendancy… I just wanted the answers to some questions.

I’ve been reading again…. comics mostly, and some short stories, some poetry… short things, but things that are printed and that take time and effort to read… and they have been opening up bits of me that refuse to stay down regardless of how often I personally put bullets through the back of them.

I would be a great deal better off with some dead bits… all burned out and unable to function anymore, never able to think or see or feel or disagree with the majority.

Democracy is the theory that people know what they want and deserve to get it good and hard. -HL Mencken.

It is so hard to disagree with a man of such pith.

I need, rather, I will or must remind myself why it is that I started all of this in the first place. Or, more importantly, what am I currently after, because it really doesn’t matter what I was originally after, what is important is what I want now. I’ve lost all sense of purpose and direction and I desparetaly need both.

So below will be a jumbled bunch of sentence about things I give a damn about and then I’ll figure out what the pattern is and start categorizing them by importance, then we’ll see what kind of life i could eventually/soon/maybe living.

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Cornelius
Re: Too much social defiance…
I like the quote about Democracy. I really wish I could help you, but I’m too far away, or rather, too out of the know, to give you specific advice. I firmly believe that prayer and the scriptures have the vast majority of answers in them. I can’t tell you more than that. I wish I could.

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Nickname: Asmodeus
Re: Too much social defiance…
I am one person that understands, there is probably no one you know that knows how you feel better than I do. I do have something to say but I will write you in private for that. You are not feeling suicidal like most people do, however its there, tucked way deep down inside your being. You don’t know who you are anymore, that is why you hate it when people say they know you how can they know you if you cant even understand yourself?

Well ok maybe that is how “I” feel right now. I personaly would love to get rid of how I feel, taking away the emotion love is what I seek most right now, Kellie helped me along with that one. How would it be to not love or not feel, just be a cold calculating machine!?

Hmm well that is all I guess, see you around and good luck pulling through, its hard but eventualy you will pull through it and than it will come back so on and so forth.

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Nickname: Junpei
Re: Too much social defiance…
You’re suggested first to resort to scripture and prayer(1), then you get a nice comment from the resident satanist(2) who mostly just talks about himself. While this is amusing, something like a digital version of shoulder angels maybe, I really can’t leave you like that.

(and yet, in 3 attempts, everything I write below this line just comes out as too wordy. fuck.)

Maybe I’ll just leave you with a vague sense of an idea and then remind you that you know where I live and that I go to bed at ten. Deal? Deal.

Success is nice, but it will not give you purpose. Perhaps helpful, perhaps not, but something I have found.

I offer one suggestion, as well. I have often done something extremely similar to what you’re attempting to do, in your soon-to-be-written jumble of sentences. I imagine myself lying in a grass field, because I like grass fields and I particularly like lying in them. I cut off anything that is a responsibility. I become untethered, a word I have never used to refer to this until now. I just cut everything off. It’s sort of like reverse suicide. I kill the world rather than myself. I remove it, and remove it’s influence, and leave only myself behind. Then, I wait for desires to come. Eat, sleep, warmth, these generally come first. Then I want friends, then I want a few comforts and mild pleasures. I do like a good video game, which are rather difficult to come by in grass fields untethered from the rest of the world. Eventually, I usually end up picking back up the responsibilities that I ditched earlier. I find that their benefits outweigh their pressures. But it is nice to be free of them long enough to realize why I keep them. Sometimes, I don’t pick a responsibility back up. I find I’ve outgrown it, or find it not worth the effort, or otherwise don’t need it. Sometimes I’m inspired. I think I just like re-accepting my life, under my own terms and at my own option.

Well, that got wordy too. But it’s a purer thought than my first three attempts. I apologize that I seem to be mostly talking about myself, something that I just criticized another for doing a moment ago. I find that relating to personal experience is the only ability I have to help someone. Who else would I trust to know better? Perhaps it’s helpful, perhaps not. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so open.

Anyway. If you’re around tonight, I’m up until ten and you know where I live.

(1) admittedly, with good intentions
(2) the ‘i hump teh devil’ kind, not the ‘I believe in mankind’ kind.

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Nickname: Asmodeus
Re: Too much social defiance…
your local satanist has something to say. Define success. AWWW such kind friends you are, telling him its all going to be ok truth is it wont be ok it will get worse look at this hell we call life! We all have purpose, good or bad either way its purpose you never lose that, it only changes.

I wish I could kill myself, if only god was so merciful to allow me to get a gun point the barrel between my eyes, pull the trigger and BAM, its all over. Unfortunately legion will not allow me to do that, and none of you could ever understand why I can’t.

Yup my friends it is a shity ass world we live in. Welcome to the age of the fig tree. Oh and for the record I read the bible more steadily than any of you, and my lords name is not satan, but Lord Belial. Now why would a satanist read the bible? Think on that riddle a moment.

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Nickname: Olorle
Re: Too much social defiance…
I think you are missing something of the point of life, Asmodeus. Just because things are bad has never really been a reason to stop. In fact, it’s ussually the only reason to keep going.
“Won’t it be dull when we rid ourselves of all these demons haunting us to keep us company.”
– Barenaked Ladies

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Nickname: Asmodeus
Re: Too much social defiance…
I dont think ravenpaine is suicidal, however I also can not tell him it will be ok like everybody else does, cause the way I see it we are not ok. Kellie would think that i would want him to take his life, but that is not always the case, I happen to think he is pretty cool, and it takes a lot of character to stand back and understand someone who is not normaly understandable. Everybody thinks Kellie is this great person, and at one time I would say the same, however I see it the other way around. Kellie destroys frienships and lives, I am begining to see that now. I think for someone that is so educated, Kellie lacks communication skills she can not relate to people.

I however can relate to people of all types the sick or the normal, though I would say to you if you asked me to act normal around certain people, i would ask what is normal?

Some previous history of me, I used to believe that humans needed to live with the planet rather than against it. But a lot of people have taught me that, it is impossible for us to do so. The world is retaliating, and I see it if we are hit by an earthquake and all die or a hurricane than of course we deserve it.

Antichrist to me, I see Antichrist as cleaning the planet of our filth, because he will tempt us into filth and darkness once you let it in it never goes away it just destroys.

As for me and Kellie all I ever want from a woman is for her to love me as I do her, it is misinterpreted as sex, however I have had sex with women but they did not love me.

As for the Legion, Legion is an army of devils I am apart of them and they are apart of me, if I die they die, hence they will not let me kill myself and I will go on doing what they want me to do to my part of the land, none of you will be affected by me unless you yourself come to the northern part of utah or you have family and friends here. to give you an idea here is what the dark voices inside me say:

Cover the skies black with our Miasma and they will suffer too much to harm you.

That is all i have to say about that.

 

The Unforgivable Sin!

Original article posted by Asmodeus:

That is my sin, I have commited the unforgivable sin, and its no wonder that I suffer so much. I wish to die, but can not. I seek death and it flees’s from me, I hope that one day someone will hate me enough, have enough rage inside them to finish me off and kill me. Than I can die forever, my death will be that of spiritual death as well as physical. Kellie can not bring me such peace she is too weak in her spirit as well, but at least she has not commited the unforgivable like I have.

This very sin has some meaning, my master the one you people call the antichrist, he will come to this world to decieve he will be the master, the christ and many will fall to his wims of hate and I will go with them. I will not be alone in my sin others will follow the one called the Antichrist.

The reason I tell you people this, is cause many of you think I could change, but I can not there is no going back for me ever, I can not even atone. If you want to help me than slay me as God so has decreed you to do.

 

Lavendbluegosityism.

Original article posted by Greg:

Things go pretty well here. The time goes faster than I can keep up with most of the time and I find myself later thinking of things I wanted to do that I didn’t, and things that I am sure I did, but I’m not sure how long ago it was.

I want to give you a nice christmas gift. It will be chinese in nature. But to give you this gift you must supply the following to me: Your Address, and an ideal you admire or feel you have in good suply. For example: Honor, Love, Truth, Wisdom, Health, Luck, Freedom, Self, Glory, Life, Choices, Puppies. Or at the very least just send me your address and I will supply the gift, but as of right now I don’t have many persons address. This includes you. Yes you. the reader of this article.

Speaking of reading. Reading is not good enough. I hope that you will go and write a great review of a movie you saw recently. And a book you recently read. Go. Do it. Click on reviews. Write one. I do this for selfish reasons. Because one day I will go through the site and pick out the things suggested by others for me to read and watch. Unless I’m the only person writing on the site. And then I’m awesome and everybody needs to pay attention to me.

Ready go.

I found meself a buddhist god last night. I put him in my bike basket and rode around with him. He has long nose and ear hairs. I like to pretend he’s a leprechaun.

Hmm… where should I go tonight to tract?

“Ye’ll be goin’ to center mountain road, or I’ll be givin’ ye a pop on the nose!”

No… I think I’ll just tract here.

“Blarney!”

Then he probably gives me a buddhist curse where all my lucky charms turn into bad karma charms. Or tries to trick me into drinking a potion.

I gave him to my companion. He’s pumped. I kinda regret it just a bit.

But only a little.

People have finally started giving me a hard time about being “old” on the mission. Luckily, nobody gives me any problems about actually being old. Monday a few Elders from the group before me, who I knew in the MTC, gave their farewell testimonies. because they aren’t extending to the full 2 year mark so they can be home for christmas. It’s weird. I swear they just got here. And so did I.

The work goes pretty great lately. We’ve had a lot of success finding. I hope that we’ll see some people make it from being found and willing to hear about the church to actually asking if it’s all it claims to be.

A couple of exciting events for me: A nice young deaf man who I contacted a couple weeks ago just got baptized. And a lady who rode up to me and wanted to more is getting baptized in a week. She even asked if she had to be baptized before she’s allowed to be a missionary.

Then elder Money and Cooper were having dinner last night when they struck up a conversation with the fellow next to them. He, as it turns out, has been to church in another city many times and is hoping to be baptized as soon as possible. So they set a date with him right there. He’ll be baptized next week.

These things make me happy.

I’ve also learned and realized a lot lately which I haven’t been able to write down because of having so little time. I am sad. But I’ll try to take a few notes and in a coming day I will have a bit more time to write, I’m sure. Right? There’s always time in the future. Right?

Anyway, All else is otherwise,
-me

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Cornelius
Re: Lavendbluegosityism.
Blaine Anderson
HCR Box 500
Garrison, Ut 84728

Any of those will do. Except puppies! No freakin’ puppies! And no false doctrines either. I trust your judgement on that one. But remember, for every puppy I find, I shall kill you!

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Nickname: Stephanie
Re: Lavendbluegosityism.
Love
6B Quinton Place
Bishopdale
Christchurch
New Zealand
miss you. Visit me on your way home 😉

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Nickname: Stephanie
Re: Lavendbluegosityism.
I don’t really need anything Chinese (I have far too much weird Thai stuff hanging around from Scott’s mission) but couldn’t resist leaving a note on the same page as Blaine & Steph. It makes me feel closer to people in Taiwan, Iraq, and New Zealand, seeing as I have no hope to ever go any of those places.

In other news, I am considering graduate school. We’ll see if I think I can hack it. (Probably not.)

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Nickname: AnaNg
Re: Lavendbluegosityism.
Hey there, mister. I have recently sold my house, and am currently staying in Joseph’s sister’s guest bedroom while the guest house is being remodled so that Jack and I can live there while Joseph is in Afghanistan. Crazy stuff. My address is 22680 Hoskins Rd., Guesthouse, Wilder, ID 83676. I like letters, too. Speaking of which, you once promised me that if I wrote to you, you’d write back. I’ve written 3 times and you’ve responded once. If you’re good I’ll count the christmas present as two letters. 🙂 Some of the “ideals” that you mentioned are actually virtues. My favorite one right now is Truth. It’s one I’ve been working on. Not that I’ve been lying to others, mostly I’ve just not been true to my “ideals”, or rather I’ve been holding others to standards that I am lenient with myself about. Does this make sense? Let me liken it to that silly mustard seed. (Truth is one part, I’ll get to that.) First of all, I have never liked the analogy of the mustard seed which implies that if we have faith the size of a mustard seed then we would be able to move mountains. I have never moved a mountain. And I do not know anyone that has. So this means that I have no faith? Or smaller faith than a mustard seed size? Ridiculous! I KNOW that I have faith. And lots of it. So! The analogy actually means Faith as a mustard seed HAS faith. Or, like a mustard seed has faith. So how does a mustard seed have faith? First, it BELIEVES that it is a mustard seed. It knows what it is and what it can become. We are Children of God and as such must also BELIEVE in our potential – know we are God’s seed. (think of seed in both denotations: as a seed you plant to grow, and as for example, the seed of Abraham.) Second, It must BE what it is: it must grow and develop as a mustard seed does. We must BE what we say we are: Followers of Christ. (This is the part I am working on. Being TRUE to who I am and what I say I am doing.) Last, the mustard seed experiences (uses) the POWER within itself to grow into the mustard plant. We also have and must use the power within ourselves to become/grow like God. He can’t do it for us. We know that. WE must do it ourselves. Of course, there is always help, the Master does tend his vineyard. But we need to put forth the effort, use the power within ourselves to become like Him. So, in summary, First we must BELIEVE in our potential, then we must ACT on our belief, then we must experience (use) the POWER within us to make it happen.
The Savior gave a whole speech in that one verse about a mustard seed. (Matt.17:20) Notice that he didn’t say faith the size of a mustard seed. He said Faith AS a mustard seed. And us silly mortals go around thinking that we have no faith because we can’t move mountains. I love sharing things that I find with you. I hope they make you as happy and grateful for the knowledge as they do me. Hope you’re doing great. Don’t get down about not doing everything. You can’t. And Heavenly Father knows that. And he’s fine with that. He wouldn’t have sent you if he wasn’t going to be pleased with all that you WOULD do.

Be happy , Elder Hamblin. Lots of handshakes,

Teah

 

Bloody Well Right

Original article posted by bluesman:

Crash was a punker of the first magnitude. He was one of those latchkey kids that came out of the British depression. One of those dirt poor, roving Manchester castaways that had no use for school or work, ’cause neither one was going to give him what he wanted: the Power. This is what Crash thought about, all through the smoggy, dismal days, wandering through the backalleys, kicking at cans, arguing with the constables, stealing food from the depressingly bare food shoppes, getting in fist fights in Eardley’s House of Records. He thought about the Power–he thought about holding, cradling, wielding the Power, until the neon pink spikes on his shaved head burned with the intensity of 30 million punk-lit candles. He brooded on the Power until his creaking leather jacket smoked and the spiked collar around his neck sparked with outrage. He lusted after the Power, his face pulling in tighter and tighter, his visage a bitter mask of contempt stretched over a skull filled with hate. It was in these moments of blinding lucidity that Crash fancied he could, if he had had the Power, stretch forth his hand, blast the entire bloody mess into the ocean, where he would later walk through the leveled landscape in terrible majesty, bringing up a heaven or a hell on earth as he saw fit. As he sat in the dismal gloom of his dirty flat, the pitiful sobs of his drunken mother echoing off the grimy walls, mixing with the blasting, tinny wail of his record player, human misery and detuned guitars meshing in a cacophany of naked despair, Crash decided he would reach out and seize the Power. Crash had a gun, the old Webley revolver that was kept up in a sagging shoe box, put there by his mother, the ghost, after her husband had used the weapon to blow his head off, a man finally overcome, a man visited nightly by bloody war companions who urged him to keep up the good fight, lad, standing around him in their ghastly pallor, with eyes like hard, black glass. Crash took the gun, stuffing it into the front of his trousers, oblivious of the rust on the barrel, storming out of the apartment past the spreading misery of his mother, out the flimsy door and into the cramped, gargoyle streets. The pistol, a burning heat in his crotch, a fire in his belly, nuclear dragons tearing at the inside of his skull as he stalks, shoulders cramped and teeth grinding, towards Lord Chancey de Vonney’s manor, which sits across that invisible membrane which separates Crash’s world, the world of Churchill, the world of smoking factories, blackened coal miners, prostitutes, and His Lordship’s; afternoon tea in Grandmama’s best China, obsequious butlers, high laughter and pounds, pounds evergrowing, fattening the Realm’s great money houses. Crash walked right up to the gates, sensing the Power just inside the stately house, leisurely, fat, magnanimous in victory. Crash waited, in the drizzle of a Manchester morning, the rusty revolver, with its now useless ammunition, like yellow teeth in the head of a vagrant, rubbing achiingly against Crash’s palm. Crash waited, the Power emerged, the explosion and noise of a backfire devour him, destroying his purpose along with his face.

And somewhere, another punker starts to feel a hum in his guts, starts to think about Power.