#in this one the Corinthian comes looking for rose too but she’s at university and her uncle is home and the Corinthian is delighted to know

[bioticgoddess]

Of The Voide (#2 - an original work)

Here ya go. The next installment of the Of the Voide Story. Like I said, it’s an original work. So don’t steal my stuff but you’re welcome to share. :)

Please enjoy!

The Seti’Veth System: Cor’seti Station

The space station orbiting the planet Cor’seti was always a questionable decision. It wasn’t really neutral territory, being well within the jurisdiction of the Coalition, but they didn’t exactly police it. Meant that people like the crew of the Ashewake could dock and resupply. Right now, they needed the rest. The Krimmoran contract had been a bust and then they’d had to deposit the younger Voidekeine girl back with the flotilla. Her field tour ended early, much to her temporary shipmate’s relief.

Seated at the bar, black and blue hair pulled off her face in a series of braids, Zaffre Branwen took another swig from the mug. At least they’d had Corinthian Red Tea - most folks mistook it for brandy or some kind of whiskey until they tried to steal a swig, then they got trouble. Which was exactly the last thing she needed. Her base tint alabaster-gray skin was covered in what looked like paint splatter marks of black and a darker blue-gray. Terrans might have said she looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Others would have wondered when last she’d bathed. It was the usual variance of bullshit levied at all  Voidekeine. They were all as spotted and splattered as she was, though that alabaster base color could be as black as ebony - like her co-pilot and engineer Tagetes. His spotting was mostly shades of lighter grays.

He’d known the woman for decades, since they were kids using repair mechs to sneak from their assigned frigates to the Ag-ships to beg for cocoa pods so they could harvest the chocolate from within the fruit. He’d stowed away on her little transport ship one year when she’d swung through the Flotilla to drop off some supplies she’d been asked to ferry home between Contracts. Had they not been acquainted all those years, it was a near guarantee she’d have wasted the ammunition and escape pod necessary to send his ass right back home.  

“Alright Boss,” he stood behind the black and blue-haired woman. “We got watchers,” he whispered, the blue portion of her long hair brushing his hand as he put it against her back.  It was well rehearsed theater to make onlookers believe they were about to flit off for a lover’s tryst. 

He stood a full foot taller than she was and his proportions were emphasized by his armored vacsuit. He wasn’t comically large - though on the taler and broader side for their species, he couldn’t compare to the Krimmora or the Omari (an amphibious, crocodilian  race) or any of the other more massive denizens of the galaxy.  But he had a winning smile that, despite being a Voidekeine, disarmed everyone. Casually he raked a hand through his short mop of silver and pink  curls. The turn of his head towards the corner table indicated the direction of their new admirers. 

Sighing, she downed the remaining tea in one long slow draw and signaled the bartender to come over. “Vaun, can I get a couple canisters to go,” she pointed to her now empty drink, “And wrap up those meals too?”

Behind the bar, a tall red-skinned Corinthian gave a subtle nod, the same one he gave when a customer entered or paid their tab or tipped well. It was neutral but the affirming wink he tossed to the woman was emphatic. Vaun himself rose a full head taller than Tagetes when he rolled his shoulder and spine up and revealed his full stature. But he was spindly, the result of spending his youth in Corinthus-3’s low gravity. Like it’s sibling moons, Corinthus-3 was a mining concern and major source of metals and metalloids. Corinthus Rex, the heavy-gravity world around which the lunar system orbited, gave rise to a much stockier offshoot of their species and was, by all accounts, a more diverse and lush ecosystem. 

Most only bothered to visit the moons as they lacked the bone density, muscle, and cardiovascular development necessary to handle the central world’s gravity. Much like the Security vacsuit wearing group watching the two Voidekeine. 

Though to call the organization “security” on Cor’Seti Station was a joke. At best, they were thugs pretending they had the authority of the system behind them. At worst a cartel that the Coalition - who’s giant war ships were currently in orbit around the station - ignored because it meant that they didn’t have to actually police the station. They could focus on the parliamentary conquest and assimilation of the Seti’Veth System. 

“Auck’ver’im,” Vaun’s lips barely moved as he set the pack insert filled with her requisition down on the counter. “Crell’mey’rah.”

“Universal translator seems broken,” Zaffre tapped the small, hexagonal chip icon painted on her suit’s armored breast-plate. “But I got ya.” Index and forefinger pressed together, she saluted him with her left hand. 

Tagetes had taken the moment to put the oddly heavy pack in his rucksack. He knew they were lying about the translation device being offline. Despite his accent, when both Zaffre and he spoke he’d heard Universal Common and not Flotillaspeka. The Corinthian’s change to his native tongue had been deliberate. “You get enough tea,” he chided, his glance at Zaffre a cover to watch as the men sitting at the shadowed table rose to follow them. They certainly weren’t being subtle. “Wanna help me carry this stuff?”

Hands on her hips, close to the blaster pistols and the clip keeping her helmet in place, she shrugged. “Nah, you got this Tag,” rolling her head and stretching her neck, she took advantage of the reflection off one of the other shop windows to get a better look at their new friends. One was tall, full gear, possibly a Coalitioner. He didn’t look like he’d come off some broken down frigate or was born on a station. Nope, shoulders were too square and he moved through the crowd like he everyone owed him. The two on his flanks she wasn’t sure about. They could have been Coalition or natives, if the latter was true then they’d been hired. Probably sold out to one of the big Capital ships monitoring the station approach. “Any ideas why we’re so popular?”

“You did snipe that last target,” her silver and pink haired companion suggested. His free hand absently coming to rest on his own blaster as they took the turn leading to the docs. It would be longer this way; going through the slums meant they’d be more likely to disappear in the crowd. Their gear was carbon-scorred and pock marked with years of fire fights and falling from too-high up when a jetpack’s booster failed.

It was a slow trek.

The pair took turns taking covert glances in reflective surfaces to track their shadows, going down a dozen alley-like maintenance corridors, or through doors between bulkheads that shouldn’t have existed. They managed to lose their unexpected attachments as a result of going through the twist and turns of the station’s slum. They cut down through the old maintenance shafts and ladders instead of hopping on the lifts. It was like being home in the Flotilla, the way the station creaked and groaned with the artificial gravity generators and the air cyclers. If it was quiet, they knew something could be catastrophically wrong. The Voidekeine had grown accustomed to living in an environment that hummed with the lives of people and machines. To ask them, either might have said that ships and space stations had souls of their own because of the care put into building and maintaining them. 

Their peaceful walk didn’t last long. 

The three thugs, the likely Coalitioner at the forefront, barred their access to the Ashewake. Zaffre grumbled under her breath, “Fuck.” 

“Zaffre Branwen, Tagetes Patch, you’re a long way from the Flotilla.” Definitely Coalition. His accent was sterile and his words clipped short like the hair he probably had shaved stupidly close to his head under the polished helmet. Neither of them had clocked how clean he looked. 

Brow cocked, she asked in her own clipped speech, “We are on business. My logs are in order.”

“It’s Coalition Senior Inspector or Sir to you, and I do see that,” He grinned slightly, withdrawing a data pad from behind him. One of the hunched shouldered men behind him had had it. “Do you know why I wished to speak with you,” he asked, his tone making the hackles on her black and gray freckled neck stand up.

Shaking her head, Zaffre answered carefully, taking a step forward so she was between Tagetes and the Coaltion man. “‘Fraid I don’t. Sir.” There was no difference in her voice but the man couldn’t say she was being sarcastic. Not that he probably even knew what sarcasm was. 

“Your impulse thrusters,” he grinned like he’d caught her in a trap.

“You mean the one that’s been sputtering? Sir? Yes. Got the credits needed to pay for repairs on my last job...sir,” she nodded, moving her hands like she was doing the math on her fingers. 

Behind his helmet, it was a certainty the Coalitioner was seething. It bled into his careful words, “Good. You’ll be taking it to the ship yards then.” It was an instruction not a question and an assumption she was going to be using Galactic Coalition shipyard The sharpness of his words and precision of his posture broadcast that opinion.

“Yes. Sir,” carefully she moved her hands from near her blasters, last thing they needed was a firefight so near an airlock. Not that she wouldn’t put the lot of them down if they drew on her and Tagetes. Would be the principle and within her rights by every regulation and law she could think of for more than one system and the Flotilla. But this stop wasn’t actually about a busted up and overused thruster. No. This was about making sure they knew that he knew who they were and that the Coalition likely knew too.  “We were going to head for there at 0800 local time. Sir.”

The next several minutes were long. He stared them down, probably taking an inventory of their weapons and both were sure he was about to ask them to strip off the armor plating from their vacsuits and relinquish their weapons for inspection. That he’d detain them for long enough to put them behind whatever schedule her answer put in his head. “Good evening then,” he said suddenly, marching past and making sure to shove Zaffre with his shoulder on the way. 

The two men who shadowed him slinked behind, both keeping distance from the Voidekeine who watched until they were out of sight and the airlock door hissed closed behind them. Like a pair of synchronized binary stars, they slammed their helmets on as a precaution. 

First rule of dealing with an self important prick like the Coalitioner - always presume being spaced or left in a depressurized hold is possible. A glance at the computer interface mounted on her left gauntlet confirmed the ship was still there. The Ashewake hadn’t been impounded or vaporized - thank the Makers. It didn’t mean, however, that they could relax.

Tagetes punched in the command and security codes that opened the airlocks leading to their ship and brought her to life. Voice like rocks through a tumbler, he warned, “We better get the hells out of here.”

“I want this to be a speck on radar in the next thirty minutes,” she concurred, her own voice modulated through the helmet. “We can inventory Vaun’s things in FTL. I don’t wanna be around when The Inspector,” her turned mocking for just a moment before she continued towards the cockpit, “gets that Capital ship or the Seti’Veth Primus to authorize a search and seizure warrant.”

“Agreed,” he was through the doors and hooking the duffel to a wall. In the low gravity, it was easy to put it in the netting with another half dozen or so similar black and gray bags. All but one was marked with the symbol for P3Y-722; the Eck’Ra Home world. 

Over the ship’s intercom, she smiled, “Next stop on our grand galactic cruise, the sunny breaches of P3Y-722. Or as the locals call it Ori Velar.”

[massielandnetwork]

Thriving in an Economic Bubble during Anarchy

7. The Christian Succession – Everything is Bubbling

There are times I wonder if the Demented Marxists (DM) are serious about their opinions or a comedy act. The Bible talks about the foolish becoming obvious. Consider the following:

1. The Biden Administration has announced there are 76 different genders. Anything more than male and female is an example of out of control bureaucrats. Does the DM “Infrastructure Bill” include hiring “gender police”?

2. It wa reported that Eric Dean Wilson, supposedly a graduate student at City University in New York was quoted in a Time magazine article that air conditioning will destroy the planet Earth. Obviously, he is too young to remember life without air conditioning. I consider AC a blessing. If Mr. Wilson wants to sit in a non-air-conditioned domicile, he should feel free to do so. Not me.

3. Have you seen the videos about the crime in California resulting from passage of Proposition 47 entitled “Safe Neighborhoods and Schools Act” which reduced the penalties for felony crimes, allows the release of violent criminals, changed some felonies to misdemeanors, and allows thieve to steal up to $950 per day in property without prosecution, and I believe eliminated bail bonding. In broad daylight thieves are walking off with armfuls and containers full of merchandise from stores while the police ignore the calls from the merchants because the police cannot do anything. Eventually the exit of retailers from LA and San Fran etal will increase from a trickle to a flood leaving California cities as retail deserts except for the dope selling on the corner. Now that is Progressive Pride!!!

4. So Black Lives Matter came out in support of Cuba’s oppressive government. Who is surprised? The founders openly claim to be Marxists trained by China. I am not sure which is funnier, the formerly ranked #1 US Womens soccer team openly supporting Black Lives Matter and then getting whipped by the 5th ranked team or all those who got sucked into the whole “Social Justice” faux issue. This is Biblical!

5. Tom Brady tried making a joke with Biden about the faux election. The experience proved that Brady is a great quarterback but a lousy comedienne.

6. 177 days into the DM’s Coup, the Vote Fraud pot is beginning to boil. Texas has joined the increasing parade of states demanding a forensic audit. VoterGA reported significant vote fraud in Fulton County, the home of the suitcase ballots. There were more reports of confirmed vote fraud in Michigan and demands for audits. Trump released a letter from a former U. S. Attorney who said he was ordered by Attorney General Barr NOT to pursue voter fraud in the November 2020 election. Keep watching the Arizona audit. Pray for the patriots in Michigan, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona, …for Patriots across the USA. Where are the Virginia Republicans????

7. This forensic audit demand wave will and should continue. Every election needs to be subjected to a forensic audit. That should not be even a topic of discussion since honest elections are the basis of our society. The only parties against forensic audits are those afraid of what a forensic audit will reveal. This will be an epic show to watch.

In the world of economics, many folks are throwing around terms without any real understanding of them, the AOC approach. She claims to have minored in economics in college but her talking points demonstrate a lack of any real knowledge. Her business experience consists of being behind a bar providing drinks to customers, obviously her Peter Principle.

In a capitalistic society when there is more demand for a good or service than supply, prices increase. The prices will increase until the supply is equal to demand. The increased price attracts investment into producing more of those goods or services resulting in prices for that good or service declining. The price declines until the producers have satisfied the last profitable customer (marginal revenue). When prices go below the cost of producing the good or service, production is cut back so that prices will increase to the level at which they make a profit again. Otherwise, the producers go bankrupt. Sometimes bankruptcy is a part of getting price back up by eliminating producers.

This can be seen in the lumber market this spring. Demand for lumber surged above supply, prices soared distorted by speculation. Once supply and demand were back in balance the price declined as more supply arrived to the market. Timberland owners howled that the price they received from selling timber did not participate in the lumber bubble. The bubble simply did not endure long enough to affect the downstream market. The bubble will have a lingering effect on the retail price of lumber (Home Depot, Lowes, etc.) and hence buyers of homes, construction projects until the bubble priced lumber is consumed.

The lumber retailers will work off their bubble price inventory but then the price will be determined by their desire to increase how rapidly they can turn their inventory. A lower price and their inventory will turn faster. All of this is the normal functioning of capitalism. This is the reason The Fed believes the price increases will be transitory.

Inflation is different than the price for a good increasing due to demand being in excess of supply which entices more production. When the consumer experiences inflation, they are actually experiencing a devaluation of their currency. Increased production is not going to address the increase in price.

There are similarities between hyperinflation in Germany in 1918 – 1923 and the high inflation in USA in the late 1970’s when Carter was President. In both cases the central banks were making money readily available so that everyone had money to spend. Incomes rose and the interest paid to savers was below the rate of inflation so anyone saving money in a bank account looked foolish. Therefore, the consumers bought anything and everything. Retail sales were impressive. Prices for good rose because demand seemed to exceed supply constantly. The stock market soared. But the buying power of the currency actually constantly declined. Is this sounding familiar? Look around.

Over the last week, every conversation with builders and contractors had the same theme – prices are rising consistently. Everyone is trying to handle business equal to 150% of their capacity. Some of the increases are due to distorted markets – demand surging faster than supply can be created coming off the shutdown. Some prices are increasing because the manufactures feel they have “pricing power”.

What The Fed is ignoring is that the labor market is constrained by the increased federal unemployment so increasing productivity is very difficult. The federal unemployment payments are due to phase out in September. At the same time, the Demented Marxists (DM) want to shove through more stimulus euphemistically called “infrastructure” but actually is just the DM’s not wanting to waste a crisis in order to pursue their Marxist agenda. An over stimulated economy with money everywhere chasing everything because there is no incentive to hold cash is a recipe for inflation. That accurately describes the situation here in the USA today.

Expensive and unreliable electricity, tax increases, higher interest rates, higher energy prices, the DM’s focus on culture wars not supported by the vast majority of Americans, are all indications of miserably led country with an economy so out of balance as to be wobbly. The non-infrastructure Infrastructure Deal will only increase inflation and bubbles will continue to occur and burst. Bubbles always burst and when this one blows it will redefine the word “Ugly”.

A portfolio must have some cash but a great piece of land remains The Best investment long term. Capitalism builds wealth, Marxism/Socialism consumes it in self destruction. Pray for a return to honest and audited elections in the USA. God is in control. Men make plans, but God ALWAYS wins.

“We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, of the affliction we experienced in Asia; for we were so utterly unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death so that we would reply not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to rescue us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again,”

(2 Corinthians 1: 8-10) New Revised Standard Version, Oxford University Press)

Stay healthy,

Ned

July 21, 2021

Copyright Massie Land Network. All rights Reserved.

[naturalhealthgodsway]

Guest Blog: Katie Tippett Introduces Selah ~ Pause and Praise

Five years ago, I put my fussy baby in the car and started driving. She didn’t want to nap, but she was just so tired. And sometimes a car ride would soothe her. I had so much to do, but she was screaming, and I was desperate for just a moment to myself. I was a new mom in a new city. I had no friends, and 3 part time jobs. We had moved to a new place – this pretty little island – for a fresh start. But it just didn’t seem to be clicking. We had given up so much security to make this move because we felt led – guided – to THIS place. And now? I was honestly just exhausted. I had no direction. I was dragging my baby all over town to my day jobs, and handing her off to my husband at bedtime to go to my night time job. I felt like everything was a big mistake. Why did God bring me here?

As I drove endless loops around the island, I gritted my teeth and tried to sing soothingly. I didn’t want her to pick up on my anxiety. I wanted to be a place of rest and peace for my baby. So with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, I sang lullabies while my heart wrenched wildly for answers. And then, finally, silence in the back seat. She had dozed off, but I didn’t dare stop driving or singing for a long time. I focused on signing lullabies in the quiet car, feeling alone and wondering what it was all for. After a few songs in the quiet stillness, the tears began to fall. I wept all by myself in the car with my sleeping baby riding peacefully in the back seat. My tears turned me to prayer, and I angrily asked God, Why did you lead me here? This is not working. I feel like I’m meant for more than being exhausted. What do you want from me? Expecting silence – nothingness – I was surprised when He answered me. As if He were right there in my passenger seat – a gentle friend, unafraid of my tears and my anger – He breathed peace over me, Stop. Lay this all down. Be still and focus on your family now, and I will do the rest. Trust Me. I have a plan for you. I breathed deep and calm, but my heart raced with the excitement of His presence. I found my resolve in Him, and that day, I began to lay it all down.

I left 2 of my jobs, and within a year, I would leave the last job as well. I withdrew myself from social media, and turned my attention to my little family. In the beginning I was bored and lonely and confused. When I was busier, it was easier to avoid my pain. But now at home with my baby and no distractions, I was forced to face my pain. And over time, God worked in my heart, and a question rose to the surface. I asked myself this one question when I was struggling with contentment, overwhelmed with uncertainty, or exhausted from mothering a toddler while pregnant with the next babe. I asked it again and again when I felt lonely, or without purpose, or even apart from God, I asked it – a question that would eventually evolve into my mantra, my mission, my message born from my mess. I would ask simply, Where is my joy in this moment? And I would search for whatever sliver of truth or beauty I could find in that very moment. Once I found it, I said only, Thank You for Your gift. This very small and simple practice made a thousand mundane moments meaningful. It shaped a vision and a purpose in my life. It glorified God in the in between spaces of mothering – the dish washing and the rocking and the laundry and the vacuuming. Those spaces became sacred and holy spaces – overflowing with gifts of grace from my Father. My joy in a moment might come from the color of my baby’s hair or the sound of her laugh. It might come from the feeling of a cool breeze at my back or from the flash of a bright red cardinal swooping across my yard. Miracles abounded. When I just looked. After months of this practice, I stumbled across a word in Psalms – Selah. It felt lyrical and lovely, and it appealed to me instantly. When I looked up the meaning, I knew God was naming the question I had been asking myself. Selah means to pause and reflect – or give praise. Click To TweetIt’s mostly used in the Psalms to prompt a pause in reading – as if instructing the reader to pause and find the value in the passage. And isn’t that exactly what I had trained myself to do in my life? Pause and find the value? Pause and praise.? Selah. It was named. And when something is named, it is known and knowable. Once Selah – my practice of pause and praise – was named, I began teaching it. And today I’ve taught it to hundreds of women. Selah is why God told me to be still. It’s why He needed me to sit in my pain. It’s what He needed me to learn to transform my own life, and to love His people better. He needed me to be still so He could prepare me for the work he had laid out for me. It is still the message in my heart and my prayer for you – to learn to Selah. You can do it right now, where you are, whatever your life looks like. He is waiting for you to be still so He can show you something beautiful. So sister, if you find yourself in a season of uncertainty, overwhelm, or exhaustion - or if your life just doesn’t look the way you thought it would – keep your heart. The God of the universe crafted you for purpose and for abundance. So Selah. And see all that He has prepared for you. And the best part? Friend, He tells us just what to do find Him in the midst of it all. He gives us a plan right here in Scripture: Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. (Philippians 4:8). Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12:2) …we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:5) Do you see it? He’s telling us to train our minds. To control our thoughts. Take every thought captive… So what’s flowing through your mind today? Can you take captive every thought? Can you think about what’s lovely and pure and noble and praiseworthy? Once you can, then you can be transformed by the renewing of your mind. He’s waiting to show you what He has for you. Selah, sister. Pause and praise. And you’ll find Him. You can practice Selah in any moment. At a red light, washing the dishes, in car line, doing your makeup, changing a diaper, cooking dinner, or paying bills…pause, breathe, and name what you find. There will be good right there in that moment. And you know what? Nothing is too small to be named. Nothing is too insignificant to point to God. It could be your baby’s smile or your hot coffee. It could be the roof over your head or the sun on your face. It’s all abundance and it’s all meant to be delighted in. So delight in it. Don’t hold back. Grab every true and beautiful piece of your every day life and praise God for it. If you can do that, you can change your life. Love + Light, Katie From the Selah Toolbox: To start practicing Selah, you’ll need a plan. A great tool to begin your own practice is to set a few pause and praise triggers throughout your day. Think through your day and find a few spaces in your day that you can make pause and praise triggers. Every time you come to the trigger, no matter your current state of mind, just take a deep breath and pause to look for reasons to praise. One of my triggers is a sign over my couch. It says Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life. I can see it from my kitchen sink, and every night after dinner, when the kids are running wild and my back hurts and there’s a sink full of dishes, I take my place to start washing and I see that sign. It triggers me to reframe my situation. Instead of feeling like a tired mama with an aching back, I begin to see myself as a daughter of a King. Blessed with beautiful and lively babies, a strong body, and a wildly abundant life. Try creating your own triggers and let me know how it goes!

Katie is the founder of Selah St. Simons, where she coaches women to transform their lives by renewing their minds. She is the creator of The Selah Journal and the The Selah Journal for Kids. And she lives in St. Simons Island, GA with her husband, Jordan and their three daughters. You can connect with Katie at selahstsimons.com. Read the full article

[dfroza]

the sexual bond creates “One” body

as it mirrors the genesis seed of our Creator in forming His image in both male and female forms, pure equals in grace. and sex is intentionally designed to be enjoyed in the marital bond as a lifelong promise.

and we read of such a “Oneness” in Today’s chapter of the New Testament from the Letter of First Corinthians that also reflects upon our relationships in being able to get along with each other:

And how dare you take each other to court! When you think you have been wronged, does it make any sense to go before a court that knows nothing of God’s ways instead of a family of Christians? The day is coming when the world is going to stand before a jury made up of followers of Jesus. If someday you are going to rule on the world’s fate, wouldn’t it be a good idea to practice on some of these smaller cases? Why, we’re even going to judge angels! So why not these everyday affairs? As these disagreements and wrongs surface, why would you ever entrust them to the judgment of people you don’t trust in any other way?

I say this as bluntly as I can to wake you up to the stupidity of what you’re doing. Is it possible that there isn’t one levelheaded person among you who can make fair decisions when disagreements and disputes come up? I don’t believe it. And here you are taking each other to court before people who don’t even believe in God! How can they render justice if they don’t believe in the God of justice?

These court cases are an ugly blot on your community. Wouldn’t it be far better to just take it, to let yourselves be wronged and forget it? All you’re doing is providing fuel for more wrong, more injustice, bringing more hurt to the people of your own spiritual family.

Don’t you realize that this is not the way to live? Unjust people who don’t care about God will not be joining in his kingdom. Those who use and abuse each other, use and abuse sex, use and abuse the earth and everything in it, don’t qualify as citizens in God’s kingdom. A number of you know from experience what I’m talking about, for not so long ago you were on that list. Since then, you’ve been cleaned up and given a fresh start by Jesus, our Master, our Messiah, and by our God present in us, the Spirit.

Just because something is technically legal doesn’t mean that it’s spiritually appropriate. If I went around doing whatever I thought I could get by with, I’d be a slave to my whims.

You know the old saying, “First you eat to live, and then you live to eat”? Well, it may be true that the body is only a temporary thing, but that’s no excuse for stuffing your body with food, or indulging it with sex. Since the Master honors you with a body, honor him with your body!

God honored the Master’s body by raising it from the grave. He’ll treat yours with the same resurrection power. Until that time, remember that your bodies are created with the same dignity as the Master’s body. You wouldn’t take the Master’s body off to a whorehouse, would you? I should hope not.

There’s more to sex than mere skin on skin. Sex is as much spiritual mystery as physical fact. As written in Scripture, “The two become one.” Since we want to become spiritually one with the Master, we must not pursue the kind of sex that avoids commitment and intimacy, leaving us more lonely than ever—the kind of sex that can never “become one.” There is a sense in which sexual sins are different from all others. In sexual sin we violate the sacredness of our own bodies, these bodies that were made for God-given and God-modeled love, for “becoming one” with another. Or didn’t you realize that your body is a sacred place, the place of the Holy Spirit? Don’t you see that you can’t live however you please, squandering what God paid such a high price for? The physical part of you is not some piece of property belonging to the spiritual part of you. God owns the whole works. So let people see God in and through your body.

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 6 (The Message)

and the pairing for this chapter in Today’s reading of the Scriptures is chapter 19 of the book of Genesis when Judgment was acted upon toward sin. and a full cleansing of beautiful earth will happen again to right every wrong done in A grand end of time to restore God’s universal garden to make it our “Home”

[Genesis 19]

The two heavenly messengers arrived in Sodom that evening, and Lot was sitting at the gate of the city. When Lot saw them, he went out to meet them and bowed low, his face touching the ground.

Lot: Please, my lords, take time to come into your servant’s house to spend the night and wash your feet. Then you can rise early and be on your way.

Messengers: No, we will be fine spending the night in the city square.

But Lot persisted and urged them to come home with him and enjoy his hospitality. They agreed finally and came with Lot to his house. Lot prepared a huge meal for them, served with unleavened bread, and they ate until they were full. But before they could lie down to rest for the night, the men of the city—that is, the men of Sodom, young and old alike, every last one of them—surrounded the house and called out to Lot.

Men of Sodom: Where are the men who came with you to your house tonight? We saw them go in with you! Bring them out here. We want to have sex with them!

Lot slipped out of the door to address the men, shutting it firmly behind him.

Lot: Look, I beg you, brothers, don’t do this. Don’t sink to this level of depravity! Look—I have two daughters. Both are virgins. How about this: I’ll bring them out for you instead. You can do with them as you please. But please don’t do anything to these men. They are my guests. They deserve the protection of my home.

Men of Sodom: Get out of the way, man!

(to each other) Look, this guy came to our city as a stranger. He’s not one of us, and yet he thinks he has the right to judge all of us!

(to Lot) You better watch out, or we’ll treat you far worse than we will your guests!

They came at Lot and pushed him hard against the door until it was about to break. Just then the men inside reached out and pulled Lot into the house with them, shutting the door securely to block the men of Sodom out. Then the heavenly messengers struck all of the men pressing at the door with blindness—both young and old alike. It wasn’t long before they exhausted themselves blindly groping for the door.

Messengers (to Lot): Do you have anyone else here in the city—sons-in-law, sons, daughters, or any other members of your family—whom you want to save? If so, you need to get them out of here right now! We are going to destroy this place. Because of the immense outcry the Eternal One has received regarding the depravity of this city, the Eternal has sent us here to destroy it.

So Lot went out and found the young men who had pledged to marry his daughters.

Lot: Get up, and get out of this place. The Eternal One is going to destroy the city!

But his sons-in-law thought he was kidding and wouldn’t budge. At dawn, the heavenly messengers urged Lot to action again.

Messengers: Lot, you need to get up and take your wife and two daughters out of here. Otherwise you will be consumed along with the rest of the city.

But Lot kept procrastinating, so the two heavenly messengers grabbed him, his wife, and his two daughters by the hand. They took them outside the city, a safe distance away, because the Eternal decided to show mercy to Lot and his family. As they were leading them to safety, one of the messengers gave this instruction:

Messenger: Now run! Run for your lives! Don’t look back or stop anywhere in the plain. Head for the hills, or you’ll die along with everyone else.

Lot: My lords, no. I realize you have shown me great kindness and favored me by saving my life. But please—I can’t run that far. The devastation will surely catch up with me, and I’ll die anyway. Look, over there is a city. It’s not too far. I could escape there. It’s just a little one. Please, let me go there instead. Then my life will surely be saved!

Messenger: Look, as a favor to you, I won’t destroy the little city you’re talking about. But hurry now; escape there, because I can’t do anything until you arrive there safely!

Because of this, the little city Lot escaped to was called Zoar, which means, “little.”

Lot and his family arrived in Zoar just as the sun was coming up. Then the Eternal One rained sulfur and fire from out of the heavens onto Sodom and Gomorrah. He destroyed both cities, along with the other villages and towns in the valley and all of the people who lived there—even the vegetation was wiped out! But Lot’s wife never made it; she lagged behind her husband and looked back—despite the messenger’s advice—and turned into a pillar of salt.

Meanwhile, Abraham rose early in the morning and went out to the place where he had stood at the feet of the Eternal One. He looked down toward where Sodom and Gomorrah had been. He looked up and down the valley, and everywhere he looked clouds of smoke were billowing up—black, like smoke from a giant furnace. Now you know the story of how God destroyed the cities of the valley, but remembered Abraham and His covenant with him. So He sent Lot out of the destruction—out of the cities where he had been living.

After a brief time, Lot left Zoar and settled in the hill country with his two daughters. He was afraid to stay in Zoar, so he and his daughters made their home in a cave. 31 One day, the firstborn daughter took her younger sister aside to discuss the future.

Firstborn Daughter: Our father is getting old. We’ll never find a suitable husband around here. There’s no one to father our children according to accepted custom. Come on—let’s get him drunk on wine. Then we’ll each sleep with him. That way, we’ll be sure to have children to continue the family line.

So they got Lot drunk that night, and the firstborn daughter went in and slept with her father. He was so drunk, he had no idea when she entered or when she left. On the next day, the firstborn told her younger sister what had happened.

Firstborn Daughter: Look, I did it. I slept with my father last night. Now it’s your turn. Let’s get him drunk again tonight. Then you go in and sleep with him too. That way we’ll both have children through our father to ensure our family line.

So they made their father drink wine until he was drunk a second time, and the younger daughter slept with him that night. Again Lot had no idea when she entered or when she left. As a result, both daughters became pregnant by their father. The firstborn daughter gave birth to a son and named him Moab. He became the ancestor of the Moabites that you know of today. The younger daughter also gave birth to a son and named him Ben-ammi. Ben-ammi is the ancestor of the Ammonites that you also know of today.

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, february 15 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[lets-arelis]

erotonomicon volume 1-english version

ARELIS

         EROTONOMIKON

 THE MEMORIES OF A DECADENT LIFE

                             LETTER 1

 Damien Adaleux to Cesare Nerval

10-7-1997, Paris

 Dear Cesare,

When the hour and the minute hand pointed vertically to the South of Big Ben, Lucy-Aurora rose with her float from the open book-which we riffled during our battle to see who is going to raise the palm- like an offended donkey who was vibrating harshly on her backside by her imaginary master. Animals know no negotiations. They identify practices that are leading or amongst partners.

Every attempt of mine to cultivate the only name that should dwell in her heart proved fruitless due to momentum in the highway of the senses. But the more intensely you experience pleasure, the more she becomes automatic. I remained Benedictine with my diagonal, purple wand waiting to receive the title of the founder of her small city though unsuccessfully since the Ippokrini I bore was dry. The temple of Saint Sofia, a victorious general.

I was looking at Heaven’s floor like an Adam without foliage and sin. Like the school life in one colour. This made my pen turn on the spindle of the quest for originality.

Dethronement is experienced soundly after it is comprehended and follows the mind’s dives and dialogues. However, I was not looking for reactions to my callings but only a hallucinogen so as to bring them down behind the castles of Oblivion which I besieged with my sling.

I did so without delay. I talked to my little friend Jeremy who is loyal like a dog.

The leader Saturn was absent from my Olympian house during those two days of rest.

Rea was absent too since they had long drifted apart.

My Amaltheia was sepulchral. Desperate to rise again, yearning for her Milk, like a sapling with delicate roots ready to break by intruders which rides the caresses of the Bright Sun and the Pure Poseidon as the only lifesaver in order to refute the reasonable and set up the exception to the rule.  

The dark grass like a ghost on the face of Jeremy, his locks with the colour of the wheat and an archaic ribbon reminding of the ornamental ones of the Master of Music, his eyes sparkling with the shade and honour of the Corinthian Gulf and his ears worthy of a Pan…

A numinous Uriel who combined the fracture and the union of the human core’s atoms, for the understanding of the Circle and the Idea.

It desired to play the lyre to the Lark of my pants, so as every inch of me could listen carefully to that cord, like a special Being that demanded respect and paganism.

I told him to sit on the chair so as his true nature could be seen from my forehead.

I turned on the radio and out came melodies. I was looking for complicity. To me it was inconceivable for a lyre to exist without a symphonic orchestra.

I immediately embezzled his cloaks for I was a cat from starvation milk for forty days and every night.

But my soul’s heat turned the famine into thirst and me into a dog that wanted to be nurtured from every inch, to show the traveler the affection that came after the coming of many Saturns on the Island.

The rings of his feet were the beginning… So refined and polishing like a table full of dirt, dehydrated and ready for a new celebration.

My face transformed into a white flag when my tongue conversed with the thick toe of his right foot to invent the proper measures. If with sparkles I had desired it then it would have waved and acquired irrational and unrealistic folds.

It did not take long for my tongue to move the measure to the left. It always had a great sensitivity for the left-footed.

The Right corner expresses the greatness of the measures and the soul of Bismarck’s army. The Left always proves the exception to the rule:

a) that we can be led to the same result if we follow myriads of different ways which many of us handle and b) that anyone can reach the circle’s beginning starting from the end with the same interaction that he could have if he kissed the unit to give an orgasm at the end of the g spot.

Fibula, calf, knee, thigh bone of the fate…

Bus stations with a co-operative beginning… Terracotta legs of a debauchery colossus…

He was feeling the torch for the elevator and the flame. I had a covert dream: the recreation of one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World so as my father, who as I have mentioned was on holidays, would be defeated.

But Jeremy had dreams too: the experience of a miracle that he had acted.

If you cannot be transformed into a Commodus in this life you take his part and with temporary success you detain the applause from the invisible audience that surrounds you with the curtains of the room and silent testimony.

I invited him to make my bed, ornate with numerous roses, our shroud.

He accepted it with no cause. We depicted the standing symbol of the Cancer. Our silhouettes in perfect proportion, since each of us had stood on the adapted ruler of the situations.

In this Dionysian celebration, Bacchus and Satire were altered in the complex of Kronide and Ganymede. An illustration not from Paros but from hide and of sweat; not like a cenotaph at all.

My mouth became a kidney to process every flavour which differentiates her appearance into bitter chocolate or Andalusian water, cloth and toxins when the body weakens.

On his spear I was seeking, like Pentheus, to become a Columbus of what I could not do or to make mine whatever it was that I scorned. A small story of an initiate, who was not tested in his retrogression, was hidden in every side of it. My tongue became a volleyball racquet which pushed the bullets towards an unknown rival with the blinds of a supply teacher.

Unfortunately, their place on the north quarter’s infinite spots was weak. According to Physics, there is a specific spot depending on the human abilities towards which a sphere can be thrown. But does reproduction have life? Does anyone know the deeper meaning of these balloons? The wheels of their surface were enough.

Needless to say that in every initiative of mine taken in my own spaceship he had responded, following the beginning of imitation which is the most essential in life.

Even cars reproduce the human figure. Another notice showing that man through technology can make it human but at the same time his god. Who has not been awestruck when seeing their eyes-lights and their sharp teeth? The repetition of the Four-feet Era with that of the Four-wheel Version.

Perhaps I wanted my tongue to be Tangential with the Unknown’s Past and to take part in the Story of the Universe which at the moment is weak.

My life’s shell approached my ear so as I can hear it and communicate with its elimination code. When you cannot win your faceless enemy, try to find a picture of him or having your imagination as your shotgun find a model to surrender to him. It is essential to design our rivals, even the ones that do not exist, so as not to be led to self-destruction. In an alternative case we make our moonless self the enemy and we thrash him at the Catalaunian Fields to ensure the empire of the Shining One.

The time has come for me to taste the game in all its dimensions and through the relic of my mind to condemn it to impalement. After all, the Bastille is the body of the mind and Marathon’s tomb for the soul. The dictations push the mind to complex conformities that sometimes have ways of revenge.

I was observing as a Neutral supervisor in the Third dimension what was happening above the operating table while the kerykeion of Hermes made me numb and my body was becoming the Velouhiotis of my thoughts. That could not have been me. Maybe a Pausanias-wanderer. The core of yourself has become spiritual in such Druid rituals. You become something else. Perhaps a shapeless mass of iron or a trapped astronaut in a black hole that instead of swallowing it, it lures you into her own depths.

For me it was the second choice. My tongue read the New Translation of the decomposition of food. The sign of prices, a traitor. While I was spitting on it on the scales of this aperture, it was descending without ever separating from it. It had the place of honour because it was the street’s wise one and knew many languages like diving, victory, the linear script, the pencil sharpener, the tear and the caress.

I was a Rodin in this hole and a great wonder for what I could not ever do to myself due to lack of flexibility-unless I was a faqir- I did it to Jeremy. I was wondering while I was carrying out my work whether we do to others what we can not do to ourselves. In a different case I believe that we will preserve these privileges exclusively for our “ego”.

I saw on Jeremy’s left thigh-as much as my occupation with my ascetic work was allowed- an Indian prince with a feminine without weights, a scene of intercourse taken from Kama Sutra: a racist book, I wondered, about homosexuality.

Nowhere any enactments of men or women at their wedding’s Netherlands. A textbook of social agreements, after all. However, it leaves imagination free to fly for all of us since we do not confine ourselves to the suggestion that only our solar system is inferior to us: our verbal! It is not possible to explore any more.

The thing that lightened my relationship with him was “give-and-take”. Both being Libra without weights and chains, without Trial like a crown on our heads or Punishment with her lame leg chasing us for a crime so anonymous trying to arrest us. In this union, both I and he were not on the side of any sexual, spiritual and moral category or even ontogenetic… This word was to us the X factor. We were like the amoebae which had multiplied on their own… The thoughts or the actions were as many as the beings…

<<Proteus of love>> he used to call me and me, <<Aeolus of the sea>>.

These delegations of duties brought, as far as he was concerned, howls of wolves and as for me some money in my mouth, paper coins of no value and secondarily gigantic, a light of his expressed vitality. I saved her like my soul, until my will was broken and I returned the change that equal the ones of less value to end with those of major, so as the eagerness would gradually become enormous.

My mouth like a moneybox with expiration date, like a shooting star that smites the Adriatic Sea or a teenage love with doubtful duration(but always a teenage love)…

After this diffusion of mutuality, Jeremy rose and due to the obvious dictate of society, transformed with his fins into something totally different from what he was in bed before.

Dream Book: The delight of crabs will bring a strong share-out.

“I have to kiss my girlfriend on the Eiffel Tower”, he said with an apologetic tone and without even looking at me as he was ready for that hastened departure, like Socrates. Or perhaps because he felt so guilty for what had happened before. From iambus to elegiac poetry…

He chose the Eiffel Tower instead of the one our bodies had created; even though destructive so as to give the impression of unstable and vulnerable to the Mongolian incursions of social comments that give a reproof for the divergent way of racial action or because he likes to fight the manuscript with masks… The besieging Goths at my Rome… But no invader will take my Rome away. I built it and I will ruin it. In her there is Birth, Fall and Greatness. Seven hills which are the Light of my life. Only if I had seven males and seven females I would send them to the Labyrinth for the Minotaur of Hell to devour them as dessert.

      Till then I am vigilant and I protect.

 Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 10

 Damien Adaleux to Jeremy Cloix

5-9-1997, Paris

 Dear Jeremy,

Tonight at sunset, no cheerful Saint with gifts and reindeer knocked on my door. It was Gerard.

His silk shirt became a symmetrical treble clef with his short, thin, anorexic body which seemed to have been in cryonics. He was a student of Pastoral Theology. He used to fast quite often.

The son of a Hecatonchir, businessman and dear friend. His beady, emerald eyes reminded me of a few sayings about the magical characteristics of the stone when it is worn.

If I had invaded his territory I would have been enlightened and I would have obtained his wealth. It is an ecstatic feeling when the crinolines are tainted. I imagined Yggdrasill’s roots reaching the core of the earth and my inner weak determination. A Samson from Trapezounta with no blood.

All these have not been inscribed so as you can feel the injustice coming from the loss of the first prize. Do not make an expostulation about all the recent losses but imitate the life of a prodigal Augustine.

He asked to be baptized in a steam bath which was made by my father, who is the first minister of the country so as I can live an easy life. Luxury is always the best weapon for the reiteration of intrigue.

“Ask and you will be given!” a gipsy once told me. I could not resist this saying’s power and consented to it without a fox’s thought.

He put his diplomas outside my Turkish bath and he entered, like his soul, with a pelican’s towel.

I was watching my prey like a raven from the system that had been installed in my office which was connected to cameras inside and outside of the Turkish bath and described the movement of the moment in way so firm like Nevada’s rocks. His chest’s muscles were parallel lives, like the perfectly set fields of Thessaly where I was on holidays for a few weeks last summer…

The paralysis of his nerves from the steam and the high temperature which reached the borderline of faint was the last of Pandora’s gifts and the urge for an unexpected experience. I saw with relief his eyes that were half closed and full of sweat he was breathing with great difficulty. He was between Sleep and Death. I had to take the opportunity and like a Naked Fool I would make his white towel like the universe.

I quickly descended the stairs that led from my office to the place where The Painter of Death was making the urn-like sea-gulls.

I found myself in front of the Gate of the steam bath with the ten glass tiles that were separated from the oak ones, like I have imagined the Gates of Heaven. The keys were on the door alone and neglected. I became their concupiscent godfather. I was going to be a Roman Catholic priest in this ritual with the blissful water stemming from me and going on the prodigal saint so as he could be transformed into a prodigal impious in speech and deeds…

Any hesitation would be a retractable interrelation. With a silent push the door cracked a little and I appeared in front of one of my inexperienced students.

He had his birthday in September like the queen Virgin. I decided to change his date of transpiration. His sugarcane-like face was like Lucy’s whom I deeply desired when she was miles away from me.

She was working for her newspaper with the acknowledgement of undiluted wine but also with devious sparks of resistance and protest that had not been expressed because the eye above the pyramid was not insignificant but had been loved in the rubies. She was sent to Londinium to cover the funeral of the kind-hearted princess.

My substitute was finally found. His rosy cheeks meant not only health but also modesty. That is why I wanted him to have been painted in citrus. His poppy-like braids were like Lucy’s but coming from the sun. He had the courtesy of a Wise Lion with a royal purple. He lacked the scepter and I was addicted to covering the needs of people who had eclipses or gaps so as a content could be given to the parts of the New Testament that were not offered to those who were not at the slaughter houses.

I closed the door in the same way I had opened it without him understanding a thing. As it is common in the kingdom of toads the tongue flies so quickly towards the appetizer-insect that it never felt the Gorgo until it was too late.

I sat next to him at the same “table”. That towel was the Iron Virginity that had to be translated into a fraction with him being the denominator and a lowest common multiple in desire’s collaborations.

With my robust hand I was imprisoning the keys and with my left one I was touching him on the knee up to his Mediterranean pelvis.

In this exploration the silkworm should have met with a plug so as the blackout caused by my soul’s lust which gave its extension to the half lit steam bath could have had partial power supply like Albania. The generators belong to the gods; not the mortals.

Pretty soon sparks had dashed from his wire and he made the mistake of his mine from his February Olympics.

My first plan failed before it had the chance to flourish. I had to put my back up plan in action.

His empty photocopy became a flag on my Doric head. A halo of truth… His statuesque bearing was in a butterfly position. I was attracted by his funnel, like the magnetic compass attracts the iron filings.

At that moment I tried to approach his belly’s Oracle of Delphi for his Ideas and his Prophecies to spring up. My wire was in athletics with obstacles. It is not in the plug it belongs to, but in a similar one. Who said that the path to Virtue has not been sown with malodorous and bloody echini that have bloomed? His hair became the shackles of his hands. Who said that under unknown circumstances our strength cannot be our greatest weakness? His mouth kissed the beggar’s hand like a proper silencer. My torpedo rekindled his wanted senses. He seemed to have accepted the accomplished fact. He sucked my thumb like a toddler but not his creeks. He was trying to return to the beginning of the birth.

The tear and life exactly like miscarriage. I cried inside of him and with the key like a blade, indifferent to the amnesty of his life imprisoned hands, his hair was weakened…

He faced the severance of the experience in my house and at school. I have always been a personification of it. Everyone has the delusion that someday they will store it but nobody realizes that Heaven has sloughed us off and that we desire to celebrate the Restoration of the father by committing adultery with the Earth.

He did not dare to look me with his own eyes. I had done the same.

He was shaking like a whale that had gone astray, waiting for her return to half life. In the end, death is also breath. This is what a beggar once claimed and everyone had noticed “props” in his speech. Thus, I can handle this saying to be considered a god too… Usurpation of authority…

I gave him the keys so as to tempt him to unfold in the Gates of Hell.

To conclude, whether somebody will go to Hell or Heaven will be determined by the way he handled the crucial moments of his life and by expiation.

I opened widely the Steam bath’s door and I did not look back nor closed the door.

Never has a closed door behind u been locked.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 20

Damien Adaleux to Jeremy Cloix

15-9-1997, Paris

 Dear Jeremy,

Like Pluto, I am expecting Lucy rabidly even though I am aware of her devotion to her Mother-Work since March.

They say that when the cat is absent then the friendship of men dances a waltz. Nobody can agree more than me.

I invited three old friends to celebrate my birthday.

Tony, George, Jean and me, sitting at the four chairs of a table, were splitting the portion of hashish so as to pretend we were Pythia. The hypocrites for an ancient Greek comedy must always be four.

Tony was inconsolable for his unjustly lost girlfriend, when the airplane she had on was flying like Icarus to decorate the sea of Middle Earth…

On the other hand, Jean had broken up with his girlfriend because she caught him in bed lost in the webs of “Kirki”.

George was in no mood to tell us anything of value.

When you have friends you are obliged to tell them every little exclamation mark of the unseen side of the moon, like a simple soldier does with his captain.

I suggested they stigmatize themselves with the suit of the burnt pines. They accepted it without their cheeks to swell or become red.

On the sofas in the living room I had carnival and feminine ornaments, fabrics, masks and stuffing to give a sense of bulge, all scattered like offering stones at Etruria’s altars which you expose for the dangers like a sign of piety but you also avoid them.

I succeeded Seine’s flow. We were comfortable with our new clothes, like a poor man who wins billions in lottery and adjusts to the new facts so all this cannot be seen as the beginning of Luck and expectations or not to expose his humble origin to his new caste.

In the Room of Mirrors George’s lips were pale and Toni’s cheeks with Jean’s eyes were coloured.  I was merely the lowest common denominator of his fake eyelashes.

Urged by our corrupted bliss, the omen of the Kozaks was deified in our palate after it had sexual intercourse with that of Champagne. We wanted to spread the news about the orgiastic ceremony from the West to Zagreus’s East.

A certain quantity of liquid flora and fauna gushed from the floor of the Parthians at George’s constitutional diverse units and became visible as a reactor by an amazed me.

This rare stellar phenomenon had to be made into a film.

A Marseille kiss should be given to George by Toni. His first reaction was repulsive.

“Are u a turkey, French kid?” I asked him and he said he had never felt that way…

“Traditional grammar has strict rules”. Whatever applies has to be accepted even by one of them. I filmed, Jeremy, the decadent idea of his obedience, as a gift for your forthcoming birthday.

Tony was on the ground after all this, bursting into laughter. On his knees on Aladdin’s carpet, he prayed to his God and his head along with those of Jean and George had been incarnated into an Argo of the Symplegades. “It is time to pray in a different language” I told him begging.

His head was a bisector in a triangle of skirts, undecided about which hand grenade to disarm before he is eliminated. A vague mass of drapery barely indicated the vehicle’s directions. The Jurassic Stones were covered in his mouth and thus he was transformed into a Golden Horn. The dovecote did not misbehave. Bad omens from the Olympian gods. Slates of mosaic with Sarlo’s gulf in the prehistory of trial.

In a little while their Caspian Sea would gush and the dove like a Cherub would be promoted to an unknown cloud.

But for Toni, this ultimate contact was not orgasmic.

Those Titanian Stones, now sealed, had two craters and were surrounded by bear’s skin. It is like a hundred devious horses have gathered to the zero point and rolling they emerge with the greatest power.

George and Jean with their soul’s half closed mirrors magnified their ego, identifying Hyperion in each other.

However, it seemed like their mouths were an opposing Pile of Hermes. One was offering the other oxygen and love. It was then that I remembered love is the oxygen of life, which when exhaled to your other half, becomes carbon dioxide. All this reminded me of a conjuring trick of the adolescence: the girl that disappears in her vertical coffin along with the knives.

I admit that I was always curious to see what is hidden under a dress. All the more so now that I had two in front of me.

The dove emerging from the earth, whiter than ever, was swallowing the rim with its archaic, holy smile like a game of a safe life.

With a deer’s flexibility, Toni bowed in front of the sofa and invited the devastated Jean to come into the turbulent doll’s house where George, who was closest to him, had cut the silk and thus had exposed the roof. Also he poured citrus juice on him so as his lazy dust could barely sleep. He rubbed him with a sponge so as a series of plastic dolls parading in front of the precursor of Virgin Mary’s icon would have Ptolemaic hospitality.

“I am ready to welcome him!” said Toni the host, who wanted to celebrate his friend’s birthday with the proper Laurentian way.

With his entrance into the middle aisle, Jean wanted to place the bread and wine on his friend’s Altar. His deacon thing even though bent, was risen and the congregation could feel the earthquake of his respect from the pillars of the side aisles. Till then those who were not deacons could not be in the Altar. But if the others are guinea-pigs and you the scientist who experiments then the first time can never be the last one. The way to Holy Communion demands Gargantua’s persistence. And he was also forced to float from the area where women sit.

A few pillars were stopping him with mud so as he could not reach the car’s wheel and people were throwing him Gedrosian paint so as to blame him for a crime. Jean had found a supporter in Toni who helped with the constant attacks of the enemies. There could be a tearing of his clothes and the amulet could be holy in the Altar. The subject is always the erotic desire.

Tony as a cognate object and George as a second subject gave him a flute to play a melancholy rhythm while Jean having the ideal equilibrium was stirring it inside his doll’s house.

He ended though in a testosterone acme on billy goats skin, playing a paean in pastoral note like Attila before his bow was broken.

The defender of “passive resistance” and I of the dictum “an eye for an eye”.

There were the tones, the semitones and the intonations that always supplied the voids of his psychological stave. Perhaps this arrow symbolized the help of Father Ares whose, as a member of the Salian order, I was a careful caretaker since it was separated from the Earth and Uranus.

I and he were both malleable kouroi, illegitimate and renounced.

Claudius once ordered Messalina to be executed. Thankfully not in my usurping case.

Jeremy you know that I was not born in Paris since my father was at the 45th parallel as an ambassador for many years.

For my opium and my Swiss love army I demand a cheque from my father. When this is not enough I threaten him with the publication of past mistakes. This letter would be ecclesiastical for his political career.

I may not be Phoebus but I have the inclination to transform into a villainous Hercules. I do not know my real father… The poppies, the grassy paper candles, the swollen bosom or the farm’s dogs?

Whoever Pindos will stand on my Egnatia way, I will pretend to be Hades inside Pluto. I commit this hubris to provoke Deism.

After this interfering sentence let us move to our original one.

Toni’s mouth was in the end a fountain of swans that made George quit.

After this Victorian change order was given to objectify the subject of the sentence.

Calmness and spin…

Bliss of two categories into one, like a myrtle into a laurel wreath.

My opinion about an indent in Jean’s waist was a leash that through its opening made him retire.

The return of a hypnotized man to life. I read the truth that had been stolen from him.

I presume that the truth is for everyone something to have forever. I will not say whether Joan of Arc was listening to voices of ambrosia or her own self or whatever Nature dictates. I am a friend of the material. Not of Hypatia… It is vain to pretend being something you are not. Oxygen becomes water when it has intercourse with the hydrogen.

Every human quiver is a heterogeneous substance that contains a code of numbers that has to be memorized as to steal the other’s treasure when the moment is right. For the most profitable union or that with the least results as negative, the proper combination must come from you.

I am a hog which loves to indulge into the gutter of immorality. I believe that you must help your friends and return your enemies like a string of beads back to myspace. I have no doubt about my virtues but I do not ask for someone to be in a position to defame my omnipotence…

 A dove whispered in my ear that you were seen in London with my hereditary Juliette. I though I was once a Patroclus- lover…

Whoever pretends to be a Paris with my Helen then I will become his Menelaus:

a) for he is not only mine and b) for whoever trespasses her is a Trojan.

Jeremy, I never threaten anyone so as he never has a lead in my wishes and my actions. My scorpion’s tail reaches the ground with no notice and with the Leukothoe that I will be wearing I will break all the doors to find you. If from my Diabolical Primacy you see her again then you will not have the right to sin anymore.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 30

 Damien Adaleux to George Labrouille

1-10-1997, Paris

 Dear George,

The other day I had a nice evening surprise for my tunics that were not detached from my skin: from the solitaire they were laying on the table for reasons of balance with the old pest of the American usury.

I made a deal with a model agency for a temporary buying and selling. “Eastern Europe at the gates” was its title.

I always looked at other people’s bodies as being services on which you satisfy every gastronomic pleasure. It is not pointless to take advantage of the other’s indisposition. Our putrid soul and our damaged tastes by the star of dog become an arrow on the girls’ pears.

Anorexic due to marijuana abuse and thus ready to succumb with scruple to the maximum number of clients. Many of them keep the torch in an Olympics film of strawberry garlic.

The bell chimed and out of the church there came a little, skinny, untrained, black girl… For breakfast she had a heroin injection. We would be the main course: the triumvirate that was made after the assassination of Julius.

On her face you could see the fear of uncertainty. She would allow the army of Mohamed to enter her Saint Sofia…

It seems she knew that if we had sent her to the Lake Aherusia she would not have been looked for. She did not have any belongings, name or identity… Another immigrant who entered the country illegally. A woodcock in decay and I the unpunished angry hunter, the son of a wealthy man for the tour inside the palace of Queen Christine, Lucy and Jeremy.

I ordered her to take off her clothes. Pointless for someone to reach the onion’s core.

She lay on a mattress at the centre of the living room.

Jean was looking to get mother’s milk from her nipples that an antelope with overexcitement has when she notices the hyena in the jungle. The way of manipulation was like the Discovery of America. His father stood like Zeus and nourished him inside the head. Another photocell prayer from the lamp’s jinn.

Like him, I was loyal to the spirit’s domination.

Toni and I were licking her lips that were deformed like brain’s cancer cells…

A sculptor must have no home. The truth should have been enacted with our tongue which is a more exact chisel so as the idea of Hedonism could have been shaped.

The introduction of the Babel of languages was done and was asking from our pickaxe the alphabet, the Latin one, the English, the French, the Russian and the Runes or the multiplication table reversed or rational.

Aristocratic patent from parental teaching. Children of the High Society… After all, language has always a use of variety. It will depend on your style whether you will follow the historical-comparing grammar, the traditional, the structural or the genetic-transforming one. The lessons of language are the most important so as not to seem like you have the disease of love’s illiteracy. It is not enough anymore to want somebody. The Cyrillic will change its meaning according to its surrounding and with which word, morpheme, phoneme it will be lined. The proper articulation and utterance can play an important role like the ironic tone or the judicial, the pretentious or the rhetorical one at the wheels of Pelops’ carriage.  After all, people speak an Esperanto that has been disguised at the infinite levels of the mirror: “Interest is above all”.

We were looking for the node of our linguistic bombarding to explode at Aphrodite’s mountains. Light floods, visitors of our Anglosaxonic that united at some point…

The common cause can bring together old enemies… All the more so, friends…

She was not wearing a red cap, disorientated in Amazon with the moon as her crown. Something else was double and had to be covered at the scrub so as she could be accepted at his grandmother’s house before she gets devoured by the bad wolf…

The role of the victim is not a process I enjoy but it has always come before Orion.

She had exposed herself in an extra terrestrial, formless mass of hedonistic aura and that caused a repulsive inclination towards love.

Toni came from the narthex into her building which was like a Basilica and I from an arcaded window like an unknown thief.

“I won, Solomon!” Jean was shouting towards the patio, watching a fountain from the dome on which the inscription: “NIPSONANOMIMATAMIMONANOPSIN” was written. It means “wash away your sins and not only your face”. Four big pillars supported that building that was followed by pairs, with our hands as arcs and our bones as columns. Half-circled alcoves were our donkey bottoms. The unseen, dead spectators were curved aisles and for chant there were the quadrants that carried parts of dome on the secondary columns of the external masonry. Our fingers became dome’s neurons from time to time so as windows of forty ideas inside the temple could shed broad light and its straight marble complexion could be exposed. The pillars full of humidity. The mosaic detached due to illegal antique trading. Parts of glass on the dome’s windows. On the Altar numerous priests were celebrating mass even though they came from all kinds of creed. A comparative sexual religion.

In a previous life we were three Knights Hospitaller and whoever female aura we desired on the way from the Liberated Jerusalem we could forge her with no hesitation.

Luck in this life like a true light and leader in a progressive decay thinking that the one column would roll on the other and collide.

The earthquakes caused irreparable damage to the Building of the Olive and the pillars we owned followed a right turn or a circular one but rarely a boustrophedon…

The little Romanian girl was playing a Middle Age catholic song with Jean’s harmonica in her mouth, though I would prefer the song of the Nibelungen.

Izolde in continents far away from us and I like Tristan found fairytales in a pale, like citrus fruits, incompatible body. Yellow will always amortize next to the street’s pitch.

I was sprinkling the Rodan of her back with myrrh to make her holy and become hallowed myself. Now there would be a double game.

There was a rope abandoned on the ground. I had tied her hands behind her back with it.

She resisted but my friends proved to be my Varangs in my deadly actions.

Her sweat from Tropic of Cancer became an Arctic one. You could see a lamb in her eyes that wanted to breathe before it died begging for the governor’s grace. She knew though that this game was a roulette of death and life.

This degenerate fountain of divine death demanded our heavenly blood and an Iphigenia to be sacrificed.

I lit a cigarette while Toni and Jean continued their replenishment and I stubbed it out on the tattoo of her breathless pelvis and she, like a pandora, began to writhe.

However, Jean gave her cream flavoured ice-cream and she swallowed it at once leaving the cherry intact. Toni left like the sand from the sea wave.

I smothered her like Desdemona with an unfriendly rope. She accepted her torture with no melodrama or pity but patiently. Dignified Austrian Queen who was lost to remind me that she could never be like my Lucy.

I always filmed my worst vices…

A golden medal at right’s trapshooting. The bronze ones are for the others.

Her body still, like her soul. Why having body skin when your soul has quit? With a diamond under her tongue she realized the true meaning of life. I signed my duplicate with a Papist seal and the two of them carried her dead body in a trash bag to Toni’s car and buried her in a place outside Paris with the new moon.

We rich urban children, no matter how devious crimes we commit, we have the right connections so nobody can rule us for laws are made by the gods to manipulate the dead. The Spider of Justice pours her venom on the children of the poor and traps them in her webs.

The tickets are for the others.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 40

 Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

30-10-1997, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

With this letter I also send you a tape with an one-act play of mutual understanding that was filmed in the Room of mirrors with a fake camera between me and Jeremy.

This is the monkey that jumped from branch to branch to escape my heart’s pulse.

He is an amphibious at the identical stars that I am too. Make sure you send him the image of his eye to the stellar brother of the bear to stress that I am his authentic friend. By becoming your friend you will not buy him any field.

I get mad with the idea that another man apart from me approaches you.

If you do not give me water and earth I will ruin your life.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 41

   Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

4-11-1997, Paris

 Dear Damien,

In this letter you will find a box of love but not from water and earth.

I am sending you my excrements and my urine to sanctify them. Only these two can embellish you and no superior law.

I am telling you now that I am pregnant with your child so as you will take your responsibilities.

I will not apologise to your lemon forest’s newspapers for you having not taken the precautions found at kiosks.

Headline: “The son of the Prime Minister has blighted an immature schoolgirl with his seed”.

I demand that you tell me what to do.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 42

  Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

8-11-1997, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

Innocent, carnivorous night flower, it’s not as if we have raped you.

You were enchanted by the striated muscles of my belly (that only meanders offer to the vases), my height and the thickness which made the veteran and incomparable beauty overwhelming with the firm image of the oscillatory light.

“Narcissus!” you were often calling me in your neologisms. I am still waiting for Paris to kidnap me and dash me to Ilion’s walls.

I do not recognize this child. Do the abortion that your womb did not do for you. Especially, since I learnt that recently a Bull took you on his back and travelled you to your pleasure’s field.

I pity you and I do not want to see you ever again. You are a burden of asbestos that I wish to assimilate with the secret of the Indian Dike.

Cut your veins and find a hayof ha-kantes to confess it to, you that are transferred to a psychiatric institution by a therapist… The child will be schizophrenic like you…

Learn that your father was dressed as a Nyriad every night. He may have given me wealth and fortune to pity you but he will not be spared by my glove.

One night of a metaphysical year I offered him food in my limousine. His gurgling body with his muscles like deflated balloons, an unevenness of tears and laughter. The ultimate humiliation of the old age. Compliments and repulsion.

They say that old people inspire respect. I say that this is not something that you earn due to age. You were born with this and you die slowly with this.

He was asking like an anemone for the freshness of our firm bodies in exchange for many fields in the countryside.

Make your decision that the wedding from the Apennines has been excluded. Its derivatives are welcomed in plural.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 45

 Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont

17-11-1997, Paris

 Dear Marie,

It is not that easy to manipulate Damien. My previous letters about committing suicide did not touch him at all.

The secret that only Damien knows about is ready to be revealed to you: when I was nine years old my cousin, like Acteon, committed a sacrilege to the temple of Ephesus.

Thankfully, my father is not aware of this as he is not of the baby. I will follow the way of Kronos with Rhea’s belly. Damien will give the money and my mother will provide the method for killing the baby.

What will society say? That I will live in Hades where I am floating?

My father is the Leader of the Swarm. If he finds out what is going on, I will be “imprisoned” for forty days which means that I will not be able to leave my room and only get an invitation for breakfast, lunch and dinner. How could my poor minded, earthly God know that as much underwear as he notes every five years the same amount of lovers is deleted?

Damien was equal to Nijinsky in bed and a golden Olympic champion in any kind of sports: from volleyball to horse riding, from long jump to butterfly, from tennis to weight lifting.

His forehead ornamented by sugar beet and arctic conium. I was flattered by the eyes of the Chinese and by the contractions at the Donation of the Completed Mass. The body that remoulded me was the Oak tree of my Agnosticism made by Limestone and Granite…

Every time he was suppressed, he was threatening me at the Corner that he would reveal to my Judge that I was an Aspasia of luxury.

Damien, the Pittakos of Elikon and of the Crystalline Fountain in New Rome, will become the Re-creator of the Garden of Earthly Pleasures since he will study art and acrylic design in a School of Arts. He insists to separate our tongues in the final hour. Thus, we have a common code of ideas.

Even our mothers were colleagues in Sorbonne. I am his feminine litigant and he is my masculine one. He does whatever I cannot do and I will imitate eclipse’s march. We are the ancient two-headed animal. Thank God for the separation between the active and the passive because now we can enjoy the same amount of hot and cold, healthy and sick, good and evil…

Thus, the chance of meeting several sides of the same creature is born. I believe he will be worthy of the name of his own Father. Till his last breath… For this reason he will remain Untouched and Blessed…

I imagine that his trinitarian number should be on his head and all nations should adore him.

I, the Apotheosis of Beauty and not the Jews’ calf head…

My men are vulgar but as long as they are useful, amusing and kind I can tolerate them. When I cannot see the image at least I remember every man’s odour either because I will deny the chrysanthemum in the vases or because I must have the comparison with the best flowers. Every hierophant’s sperm is different in cooking.

My fortune has not yet been set by any man, maybe because I have annihilated it. It is more than certain with a geometric progression that I will find the man of my hopes so as to quickly wrap him around my flag’s pole.

And when I devour him I will swallow solid sugilite and hydrochloric acid so as after Jonah’s three-day death I can get him out of my stomach and he will know that he would have been happier if we had not embrace each other. I hold their misery’s cane with no medal of racism. I have known the Treasury of the nations as a keeper of sexual experiences. I like filming them when I adopt their children at the unsigned gallows.

I would compare my father to Lot who satisfies all my whims in the middle of the night and as a swan comes inside me so as I can pretend to be Leda and he can hope for Dioscuri and Helen to be born. Every night that a love letter knocks on my window I want Gyge’s ring to hang around my partner’s neck so as I can make him invisible and lost in the shadows of the past. I pierce my fabric dolls with pine needles, imagining I eliminate Kandavlis and I escape the insult.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

 LETTER 50

 Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

6-1-1998, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

Only because I have a Saracen’s right ear does not mean I am Horatio Nelson or that I have the Turkish flag on my head and my left ear is a pirate one.

I am an amphibious reptile so as to be able to be saved in Armageddon time by eating the forest’s carcasses. I am Wallace, Cagliostro of the legionnaire, since nothing can stop me, neither Hannibal the Carthaginian general.

When you have a relationship with someone in obscurity, till you break up with your fiancés for good, I pore over your ischemic malady. Penelope, having no word over the final choice of your own web!

Once more I will emancipate in Amaltheia itself since I have been holding my hat in my hands for a long time with great strength.

It is a set of laws about nature so as you end like Simeon the Stylite.

Like Cassandra, I will tell you your fate by looking at your left palm. Now though, I will tell you about the past.

Jeremy’s parents found him hanged on his bedroom’s lighted fig tree. I and two others sneaked into his room as accomplices. He had surrendered to Bella Dona’s arms and to invent Prometheus’s box he had been paralyzed with chloroform by us. A rope around the neck and through the chandelier he had been led to the gallows.

Here is Judas the Innovator…

Are you sure that the real cause of Judas’s death was suicide?

Poor him! He thought I would spare him because he always was as sweet as a chocolate cake and wise… He crashed on his calculations and, like Titanic, sank in two stages.

Not even one of his admirals saw me at his tower. The calculation of my moves can be compared to the hands of the clock…

The Fullness of Cronus has come, Lucy. A red carpet from achates had been laid for him by Beel and Zeboul… Do not worry… One day my turn to succeed to this will come… We have some time until the Day of Judgment…

After all, out of sight, out of mind… I hope this revelation has caused your soul a little crack. I know that you will tell my story and my confession with a gag… Be careful lest you lose your court shoe and the Wolf keeps it… Unless he appears as a Charming Prince every time his hair is messy.

I know many secrets about your family and your legendary…

For example, your brother came this morning to give me a picture of yours that had been taken at the Land of the Basques.

Oh! You cannot remember the Land of the Basques? For all France to listen to your news I am thinking of putting a common battery in your radio.

For whoever is unaware of it, I will put it as a fashion model: she is a club that does group and extrovert activities.

Your brother had the kindness of a Habsburg and quickly informed me about your childish fault after he had traced it in the bag of your electronic mind…

Many hated Ephialtes, but none of my friends hated your picture!

A clear archaic complex… You and the boys’ V in positions of awe. Who said that different images cannot be expressed in language? Your body is a dirt road without potholes. You formed the implication of victory on your tongue and three more around you.

Pierre did not demonstrate his sting only for the vowels and the pressure you exerted on him due to High school exams but also because my undying figure from you is more appealing. I confess that I am corrupted by flattery. He recently keystroke number thirteen. I regret not having met you at the same age.

Your little brother lost your Adolescence’s April. Your tufted hair and your make up reminded of a Sophoclean tragedy, the rocky, sad vibration of yours that makes the primula wilt…

I ordered him to fall on all fours like a panther and since he is a koala to obey to his mother’s affection.

I kneaded his bended stick and made it a ruler. Using my mouth and my wavy hands I taught him, like Goya, the sequence without a smooth or rough breathing in the well of his labial letters. I wrapped a Galenus’s glove around my ruler so as to diagnose the child’s epidemic. I was shaking thinking of that Industrial Mayday well and how it gave fleas to the rats from Bengal. But when you have sexual intercourse with your worst fear then you gradually begin to overcome it. The blackboard of his morals was smaller than expected while my finger was making circles with the chalk.

My other hand grabbed his little blackberries that were bustling with life so as for me to end up by his small, floating piece of wood and elongate his life which had been on sales by others. This could be achieved only by a Saman or a god with automatic moves.

I decided to take it in my teeth like a knife, as a special marine at the Black Forrest. I played “Dies Irae” with my flute and I had signed a revocation at the decree of Nantes.

Something for the new generations to imitate and a note for the invention of my personal mythology. Your brother contributed a lot to my posthumous fame but showed little strength while dealing with the forger…

“Deus ex machina”. My drops made hospital flowers to bloom on the little piece of wood and the scar came on the grass of my sin.

He surrendered to his self’s cannibalism and with his soul like a machine the carpet had been cleaned like a gum and like a cat acts every time she senses the original sin.

The love towards children is divine. An idea of the Ancient Greeks; not mine. A Neo-Greek without a flag, loyal to the holy matrimony of Almighty Christ, founding the New Church of lust. Your brother was the first of my followers at my catacomb.

However, every religion demands saints and tortures. Your little brother felt slaps on his tight cheeks and on his tied mouth landed the missile of coagulation. At the strawberries of the crack of Dawn, my ice-cream was drawn on the surface. It would have been more nutritious with all these proteins. Like a leech though, it absorbed all his blood, even though he held his position with great difficulty. I became a tracker at his Aheloos’s banks but I had been there before as a mutant canoeist.

He left during lunch since you had burnt pork with sweet potatoes. I gave him candy for his trip and acceleration that suited him, so as the time will come when the suit I want will be given to him.

At some point we all embroider our childhood on the Tree of Oblivion. My first time on my bed was the end of the Spring and the beginning of the Summer.

Scars on her face, and the solar plexus was calling me to explore her universe, her fake hair dictated by my mother.

Their relationship was like Procne’s with Philomela and in order for me to mature I had to rot like a mulberry and not like a bloom…

The mausoleum of Aelia Galla Placidia had become my publishing house renovated with collagen at my ideal Ravenna. We played man-hunting and I was trying to find the proper octave on the stretched rope so as not to fall and go up and down. The return to my previous image would mean an infinite school Conciergerie.

Failure is a word that I cannot understand. The embryos were so close to Tartarus before they were separated from the umbilical cord.

In these macabre thoughts I should claim:

“Absent”!

Her body was not electrifying at all. It looked like a gel that was deflated by overheating.

Her eighteen years working on my back with her nails as accoutrements, searching for a heel of anaemia that would give her alibi in my nectar body with lack of self-reliance and also the realization of landing to society.

I was thinking about Jeremy in a way of cooking covered up with Leonidas’s carrots, cherries of beholders, a Mediterranean of refrains, lammergeyer’s eggs and cage’s chickens.

When you hear about few cherries, do not wait for anyone to offer them to you. Absorb them when you get the chance since Nature’s Lowland has a wide hand.

With the rule of deduction the lines on her face and her round arivalloi on the breasts. With the rule of addition the reforestation of pine needles on the chin and lips.

As for the spot under her belly, I thought she was not Akasha but Anna Frank’s Dutch hideout for an Eyck van painting. I had bought this from some Barons as an art merchant. My zero endowment.

My contact with a third body without an engagement ring and eternal vows repressed me to a free, troubled and bendable void.

Watercolours with a sense of Lotus winter reminding experiences of previous breaths…

With as much perceptiveness as one can have to correlate…  Some call it intuition and others survival…

I call it return to Ithaca…

I and she did not have a common bundle of sticks. A farrago of questions was created while I was whipping her Saint Louis like a thunder.

Was I a matricide and did not want to admit it? Did I want to give chlorophyll to a breathless uterine spear so as to become a Chief Magistrate of the Templars’ School? Did I underestimate my value by doing evil but without knowing what and which?

Her lightning conductor gave me to non-existence. Force without thought leads to clumsiness. Her body was a forty five years old, messy book and I was her queen’s bookmarker of Midas.

Her husband hunting Forest Nymphs at his office all day and then exhausted from work sleeping with the mute water for “love”. She was neglected like a stowaway, reading Marcel Proust’s “In search of lost time” under the sleepless look of candles, trying to interpret the eerie mood of the company.

To pass her time she would go to the make up artist, to the sauna or to take care of her nails.

After my triumph at Nafpaktos she told me that she aims at strong young men with the help of yachts and limousines while Zephyr is blowing, Spring is waiting and Flora is imprisoned. Hermes with his alchemy stick cleared my mind’s fog. An example for escape. Only Charites should hug me and I with my asclepian paint…

After all these, I was somebody else. Maybe Merlin.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 60

 Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont

4-3-1998, Paris

 Dear Marie,

The previous weekend my parents went to the Council of Nicaea ignoring my own Arianism.

It was a Chance from heaven to attack to the son of Mithras. Money always makes a man more satellite in the eyes of a woman as it happens with a cake made of sugar and loquat. How many people actually got married out of interest and not altruistic love? The most hedonistic of all is that your tempest cannot be interpreted if it does not get photographed at its right dimensions for the enlargement at the recipient of eugenics’ hope.

I liked him since we were teenagers studying together at the Christian School of New Lorraine. During breaks, a Neoptolemus with eyes of a bat was approaching the Andromache-victim unsuccessfully. His vulgar eye was looking at my necklace considering it to be a marriage settlement but unbinding indeed. His voice was masculine in the full sense of the word.

A voice like a rough Bari that knows what it asks for and which motorway to receive it from. The men had focused on the First Holy Podium and the spirit of the seraglio had been conveyed. At school he had the unaffected fame of a womanizer. They were all drained like the oil and the egg in the pan. A Petain for the girls, a compromise with the Third Reich’s active militarism.

I was playing hard to get not because I was like this but because this is the right aphrodisiac for a man. You must show your real self to the uneasy ones: the easily passable.

Antoine came through my door on Saturday night wearing a film noir coat and on his eyes he had night’s glass so as I cannot see what is moving on the inside. He covered the kitchen’s table with his own for the omen of a black ritual.

With the retreatism of his helmet the Keres would come after my soul. Now his silhouette was visible.

He sat on a chair giggling, with his legs in a relaxing position which was an ideal study for the students of the Refined Arts, eager to watch an erotic film. I did not ruin his abundance.

In such scenes men become spectators and pretend to be guards from the Beast of the Apocalypse. They hold their breath with difficulty while they remain still and they fight with an invincible enemy. Some have their artillery extended and others disclosed. High school x-rays for somebody to run to the Peeping Tom of the stands.

I watch men’s natural reactions. It seemed his pants would explode like a bomb. I never accepted parks with a moon.

Instead of dealing with the displacement of the earth’s axis I grabbed his hand as a feather and I gave his ear a chrism with my brush so as I could be aligned with his fireworks.

He took off the northern and southern hemisphere of his black coat like it was a corset of the 18th century that cries for freedom and like a cat he lied on my living room’s divan with his socks and kothurni. I lied like Eve only with my slip dress in a dead-like position. Adam stood up and went to the kitchen. He did not give me the impression of this being the end of a dying story but the beginning of a new one. I regained lazily sensitivity’s six.

A tourist with a glass of champagne and a sweet candle with a roseate box. Due to clumsiness they were almost married to the earth.

My mouth became a faucet with a subsidy of reversal. Swallowing without breathing… With his tongue, he tried to make all the oxygen get saved.

Since he had not achieved much, my nipples became honeycombs. He reached the navel of my door while with three earrings he was like a shiny calendar that talked about how Delphi raced with chariots in a tango full of holes, like life. He wanted to uncover Christ’s rock with his teeth. That would be possible only with my expected Resurrection and that Latin rabbit-sleeping soldier…

I bled a bit and as the aspirin sweetens the headache so did his honey. After my blood’s assimilation came that of the flesh.

His head got off at the next bus station. He faltered awkwardly… The Cave of Life and the Deepest Spot of Truth… He did not want to eat my Olympian though… A gynecologist had fried him a while ago…

I had a past similar to the Titans, bound to the core of the Aloades’ Earth and a future not at all fanciful with all the possible assumptions of work.

How would the earth be without water? How would Athens be without the Acropolis? How would the chess move be without the Queen?

I move like a sea-horse through life, forward and backwards, right or left in decisive borders…

Unless you are captured by the enemy or you are thrown at the garbage can… Maybe because you are not an expert anymore…

Your fears that you will not play the game with cleverness should not be barriers. Thank God I was not born a horse or a tower or a soldier. In this game the Queen is the most powerful pawn in chess and I will move my own pawns depending on my changing emotions.

“The triumph of the Agastonos Amphitrite”.

My Poseidon’s beard was the dolphin and I had attached his seismic urchins, which were on my lips, on Tritons so as at the seaweed of the Province of my Life he could echo shells.

Life has laws and I make a praising interlude for them. His tongue had the direction of a brush and he was painting a caricature of Guernica on my body with the dexterity of a Picasso. Because Eros is Archidamian and I am Mata Hari that should die from sensuality…

The divan had become Triton’s back and I, with my hand like a trident, was holding the hair of the hedonistic Elpenor.

He succeeded in boring through my dark heel and through life’s best wines to get the paraffin.

Sometimes tongue is a crutch, especially when artillery has been decimated. Unfortunately, her size at Aphrodite’s or Hermes’ mountain is not enough.

It did not take long for his self’s extension to shout at the Sargasso Sea and I wandered at the secret moon’s circles. The shore welcomed the ebb tide and the high tide. He was looking for a lighthouse and I was trying to protect myself from the salt water since he was spicy like a pizza.

Antoine, though, did not delay and arrived to the closest coast of my Amorgos. I was walking with a tight shoe till it would be exposed by causing blood and calluses, since hiking lasted long, and till I take it off and be relieved. My only consolation until the end of my military service was the fact I had found and tickled my Doris who was holding the torch. But Antoine was a liar and a battering ram. I felt my backside and its Kilimanjaro getting hurt by many meteorites because I had been a naughty student. He slid the snakes I had on my head like lemons through a bridle and every time I looked at him from the chariot, a dog’s bone.

The only way for it not to thaw is if he had decapitated me like Mary Stewart so as he could engrave my name on the list-shield too. He was choosing his reactive demise.

I was looking at him like a voracious wolf looks at a lost sheep at the pastures. The forest of Boulogne on his chest reminded me which verb to make out of an acrostic in our sentence.

His sweat like rain on my back and he was imitating my position scared on his two feet like a horse that whinnies and turns into a domestic dog, even though he was biting my back like a maniac.

His swear words were the proper medicine for rabies. I felt like Poverty’s whore. Just the sign would change and the genitive possessive: poverty’s; not luxury’s.

The owner was changing and not what I will be until the Day of Judgment… God always comes second. Mine was taking the golden achievement with X-rays.

Stings on my nipples for me to give up without a fight, while he was opening my camellia’s bud with his litany’s bread, since I needed oats. An unorthodox way of fulfilling while my stomach was aching. With this way of deletion I preserve my beauty’s course.

He represented the man’s archetype that I only sense in Damien’s refinement and marquisian origin.

Like all the others, I felt like a weak receptor in that bath tub. In the end, it was snowing pearls on my body without me giving him my eggs on his branches.

He was smoking a cigarette until Morpheus would steal him from Charon’s hug and till dawn he becomes Margot Fonteyn.

Sunday morning went by so lightly like the fall of the leaves and the rustle at the plain.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 70

 Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont

6-6-1998, Paris

 Dear Marie,

You were seen with Damien at your hair’s weave and at the dialogue of your lips at the hanging gardens of Versailles… May Grace be with you…

When I made an oral protest he told me on the phone that I should bloom the Mexican Gulf.

I did that at once during camping where I was a leader but it was boggy.

With two buttered German molossians… The one was an instructor from Berlin and the other from Bonn. Capitalism and communism would become one on my body in the Hansa of pleasures. Who claimed that manifests do not communicate in communicating vessels?

We were a triad of spoken anecdotes at the camp’s tent.

I was telling them that Damien has his Byzantine decree like the Myrmidons and he seals awfully the manuscript from the lamb.

They both had arms of wrestlers and gigantic breasts like Chinese sumo.

I wanted to meet transpiration’s eastern rhythm during my controversy with the West.

Their noses were like pumpkins with potatoes. I spoke the Teutonic language fluently and knew all its shades.

On a table there were handcuffs, dildos and whips for a Ulysses in our happy melody.

They immediately decorated me with blinders so as I could not see and thus not be able to be subjective. The senses of the kangaroos would lead me to my most desirable goal.

An antenna that belonged to Taygetus landed on my nose and then on my lips because she wanted to find shelter in my tongue and at Parnes, like all those people who never get ill and the hikers.

Friedrich was inventing the metaphysical word while Adolf was sloshing with his hand on my quayside.

I felt that my underwear would leave the position of minister and Member of Parliament which it had as a hereditary right. It seems Adolph had written his name on a shell and my sewer had welcomed Friedrich’s cataclysm so as to get rid of rodents and cockroaches.

I was the space between Ursa Minor and Ursa Major.

I was waiting for two transatlantic liners to anchor at my life’s pier: Lusitania and Britannic inside me to steal the Holy Grail with votives or Blue Hope.

Perhaps, deep inside, I was looking for a Magellan to discover the chest with the treasure and violate it with a crowbar so a strange fume could come out of it.

Friedrich told me “I love you” and my mouth’s walls broke into two. The Earth stole my lower part and Heaven the superior “I”. The cane and their ether and uncovered void were the medium between humans and Gods. Ears of wheat accommodated my burning temple. I thought “Be aware of Danaoi and their gifts” when I breathed only from my nose and my ears.

Adolph dropped anchor on the breakwater though the ship was going back and forth giving me the impression it would sink. Not a minute went by and Friedrich decided to collide with Adolph at the port. He was never a coward. They were sailing together, intransitive indeed. The waves reached the port as a result of the tectonic slabs’ rupture which became one with their moisturizer nomadic caravan.

Friedrich was leading the cleaners’ crew to my drain. The man that put his credit card in me must have been a God. Maybe Anubis or Hor… He never introduced himself to me… Rebellious larvae were coming out of the breasts. I was committing something legally explicit with a negative sign.

I was prophet Tiresias and I was looking at pleasure’s light at the end of the corridor, molecular at first and then as a magnifying glass.

In the end, the tanks broke and the baby creams of the galleys were like a huge fire on the sea.

Maybe because water is the beginning of everything. Maybe because babies are nourished from their mother’s placenta. Maybe because everything inside us is flowing. Maybe because whether it will be Michigan sober or tempest, it depends on the way of the Soul’s Bible recitation.

I am now a free woman who will take pastoral and amusing walks.

I know ten languages. Who said that foreign languages do not benefit anyone? I have many overdrafts translated into appreciations. It is said that you can deservingly use only two languages: your mother tongue and the step one. Because you always have on the candle two parents or selves. Some say that you cannot serve two masters simultaneously but you should operate one at a time. I believe you can manage all the languages of the world with the body as criterion.

Adolph was static like the Celtic swamps. Friedrich immediately decided to leave.

I felt a rod whipping Ares’ mountain and another whipping that of Aphrodite. The colonization of the planets was practical to me. I wanted them to bleed like the Judaic cult’s God who was fighting with the Calicotome villosa.

I wanted them to flow like a Ganges of blood at my sewer and wash away baby creams and all the crap they carry in life.

I preferred death to be my escort. The more somebody prolongs life, the more he appreciates it and he realises that Hades will come and catch him at the river Styx.

A sentence of truth with an annihilating status.

In everyone’s Soul, when your wish dies another is born so she can fly too and give her baton to another one. Even Hebe will someday evaporate when she will hold Helicon’s flame at the Fates.

My two ignorant friends were like the men in the Capella Sistina’s acrostic, like I am.

It was not a Senet of revenge between Alsace and Lorraine. It was the fallacy of the nostalgia’s bliss.

They dropped anchor at my personal Odessa because the sun of the Ionian Sea was misleading them.

Which is the border though between the earth and the sea? Wherever the Earth stops, Melicertes will ride a dolphin. Without the earth there would be no Ino and without void there would be no earth. Our existence, our life and our memory are left to the void that cannot be manipulated.

Life adds many questions and few answers.

Adolph stepped off the untamed mare and was hitting me, like a Trainer, with chains on my archaic pile so as I would obey.

I had to be punished because I enjoyed Eden’s illegal and boundless fruit.

I was offering them my other side too while they were kicking me on the belly and ribs. A mourning of two untamed men from the syndrome of Stockholm, with no shell and sepulchral, gave me a second orgasm of dissension lest I forget my genitals while clamping.

The alehouse’s conspiracy forced me to be attentive. The foam had many kinds of feel in my mouth.

This letter ensures your lawful rights and proves a man’s renal failure who has completely failed at his mission.

I hope you make this known to Damien.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

   LETTER 75

  Damien Adaleux to Antoine Heloire

10-6-1998, Paris

 Dear Antoine,

I swear to you that I will take revenge from this scum of a woman. I always keep my promises whether they concern a curse or an epode.

I will upload her nude appearances on the Internet with myself having a supporting role.

I am not holding in my hand only a big or small pen but all her past.

Her letter is an inscriptive museum. Interest and promise are two notions that are independent for society but for me they are one.

I suspect that since she is unaware I can place a collar on her. You can see if a Moor is hematite from the molars.

I and ten more people experienced a feast yesterday and we were casting all our powers from our sling aiming at the basket of our tyro Kristof- the well known classmate and brother of ours at school- who never took part to the meetings of our Round Table though he had the right to do so.

It was decided for him to enter our Paul Mellon and we arranged his sojourn at my apartment in St Elysee. For breakfast, we ripped his greatcoat like Maenads. Then I gave him Damocles’ lesson, to carve the line of life on my left palm so as not to be mortal anymore…

Moreover, the capital letters of our names appeared the infinitive letters.

Each and every one of us was sipping his cocktail like a peltast. A compulsory term in the Brotherhood’s manual…

A Crassus that had to be surrendered to Hague…

Since that happened, we demanded to open his mouth and fall on his knees like the Cetus from hell that punishes the disbelievers…

We were looking for a main meal, cemetery of garbage, to place our septisemic ambrosia. Especially a recycling storage for our rubbish.

A few creams of Callisto found their target on his body and others missed it completely. Whichever help was descending from the sky he was simulating it with silence making every time a curse or a wish. He liked that muddy rain.

At some point he went after the reclamation of the substance. We could not be negative towards that. Our trousers had big holes and out came the trunks of our elephants.

This is said to be the Symbol of Luck. After omega comes life… Another living dead amongst the billions on earth.

We were shaking the water beams of the sun and he herded at the sugar clouds.

Poor him! Some firing was blank and others landed on an inaccurate port.

His eyes fiery like the sun, his hair crystallized from garlands and his chest stigmatized from acme’s cotton…

Yesterday’s competition was a beauty’s treatment and a parade of lieutenants on a greasy face…

Everyone’s yellow rain was distorting his mouth: his river Yangtze. I have always been a fan of the Chinese culture. My body’s outfall imitates him…

Pierre gave an omen he would mate his red mud with the yellow rain. He has some kind of Libyan anemia and not a renal failure like me. Others transformed his body from pearl to gold.

He was thirsty for knowledge and we for Herbart’s method of drastic notions. I am not Comenius in the classic sense. I will treat everyone as if they are my sperms and I will lead them to unexplored ways of the mind.

We did our doctorate on him with punches and kicks as if he was an empty sack. For dinner we opened Aeolus’ sack and a pole got stuck in his round eyes at the royal feast. He almost went blind and dill’s blood going back and forth. We began an art exhibition reminding of a feast to avoid having light’s recomposition.

If he really wanted to become a member of my team he should experience those meaningless tests and as a last temptation to trample over his swan and offer him to us alive with sweet potatoes.

I am neither a friend of life nor a friend of animals, I admit it.

All people have three legs but stand on two because they do not want to admit it. Everything is bound by reins. If of course somebody does his duties right as a charioteer…

Thus he will carry the right light of Erythrea to the form.

In any other case there is danger of animals becoming a theme for the encaustic. These have a secret, unique number for everything that belongs to you to be a guarantee.

I anticipate, like you, count of the living.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 80

  Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse

22-6-1998, Paris

 Dear Jean,

Yesterday we had a meeting of gods, deities and goddesses at the association… Can you imagine having sun for twenty four hours? When would the bats set or rise?

We were forty men inside a crock and I was the leader. Female and male genders. Others were of unknown intention.

When Dimitra rested her eyes we were able to breathe at my villa in Orleans.

You never begin blind man’s buff before it starts with the social prejudices, because there is no chance you could win.

I was shaking the urn to choose each and every body and for love one of the four vases.

“Random love’s democracy…” the procedure was named by me.

An Act of Unity regardless gender, name or age.

The stereotypes of men and women had become Roman slaves of the Winged Hermaphrodite.

A carnival of nudists and improbable combinations. Strangers amongst strangers… Who said that Love is not Blind? Strange and Globetrotter I would dare say. Few expressed the Antiochia of the classical era to prefer mates.

And I was the king of the Sun on Nocret’s table board. I was overseeing Sudoku and whether the rules were followed.

Culture was a sword on the bull’s back. The person had lost its core and everyone their identities.

We took off our dark clothes and we remained with the clean ones.

Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was heard like rock music.

Candles of cider and lead were flaming from the summer solstice.

After all, summer was always offered for the conflict of the Amazons.

That was my photorealistic father’s party that became constitutional. It preserved though its autonomy at the crypt of the Constitutions.

He demanded the continuation of its tradition and woe betide anyone that gave his signature at the contract and with his entry defected or stepped over my Cylonian Affair.

I was the observer of my Holy Mountain and all those Capuchins were running for their saved souls to the monasteries of empty tombs. They were untrodden Karpathia for the ones that were not introduced and woe betide anyone who read their typed prayers on the bodies. Divisions devoted to climaxes and hierarchies. It was the day of dedication to the Worship of the Ultimate Being. I was not a fan of Robespierre but of the spirit that was opposed to my interests and my values.

Tenors and sopranos performed their feelings at the five floors of Orleans.

My cottage seemed like it had been bombarded by a plane. Shoes under the sofas and veils on branches, fried clocks that had obstinacy with memory, underwear on lamps-because maybe the gleam is gold or whatever does not shine is the tower of London- trousers without men, like they belonged to ghosts that abandoned present life, socks on fireplaces without tabards or pearls that some shipwreck’s sea washes ashore-the art thief’s craving for pleasure- or strings of bilinguals and landowners.

All these things were objects of the poor passengers and I was the inventor of recapture and a lonely stowaway. Dead bodies scattered all over. They were scarcely separated from the earth. They did not know either the cause or their mortality…

I was in a neutral mood to give them a literary annotation.

The dead always want to keep you close to them when they realize that as long as you live they will not worship the earth. Their relic on the ground. They falsely believed that that move would give them breath. Even God’s hand cannot make an excess. To stop being dead, death must be shot at your bed. Never let him scare you but fight for his elimination until next life comes. After all, earth is drift sand and my furniture and partners are the silent witnesses of a crime.

You were sneaking on couples at the sacrifices with water, the dining room, the balcony, the chandelier, the television, the bathroom, the chairs or the sofas…

There were not any adjectives, names or nouns… Gaza was medium and neutral voice like the quails in the cage, for the other two forebode a love zoster without condom.

My home became a house of alimentary scandal and orgasm.

The wings of the curtains were ripped at the battle of Poitiers, beds and chairs with crippled legs, the handrails at the balconies reminded of Bastille’s Capture…

My house remained crippled since everyone was devouring (after a forty days diet) whatever he found and his foundations were creaking. Who said that the telchines come from the pylons of the earth only for certain days of responsibility?

My villa became the sarcophagus of Fulvius. But I was not half dead by the sword of Jerusalem because my half pillars remained untouched at the infant’s moment.

Everywhere you could see the exposure of life and an ice like banana peel able to make you lose control. Everyone was drunk in a Tae Kwon Do of souls and in love’s ecstasy in the form of pills.

The first couple of numbers that would expire at night would choose thirty eight local pelts regardless of specifications until it dawns with me as a priest and my bed the Holy Table.

Marie and George were the extensions of the Darkness and everyone else their ropes.

There would be no slaughter by the daughters of Danaos this time. They would sacrifice themselves on love’s altar like Constantine Palaeologus; not necessarily by a man’s hand.

The right of the first magical night… For whoever is first amongst equals always reigns over the stars of Perseus.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 85

Lucy Sanguin to Janet Valloire

7-7-1998, Paris

 Dear Janet,

While I was a bride on my bed the day before yesterday, Marie like a forerunner of relief read to me parts of the “Megas Anatolikos”.

I had to enter her virtues to regain Damien and imitate them.

I tried to be created from life’s marsupium. Unfortunatelly I vomited the thirty capsules of antibiotics and I did not have to get hospitalized.

If I died, I would take Damien to be my partner in grave.

If I committed suicide, he would leave life for us to move to the implication.

My soul is sick like a whale and the companies of my men who share my bed are therapeutical.

Based on the laws of possibilities, it is impossible not to find my clay effigy at Theoclymenus. For now though, I will compromise with the alternative.

At first, Marie’s perception was binding at the book’s pages while an oil lamp from the rider of Artemisium had been ignited… She was waiting for one more from the true nostalgia for the chariot to begin its attack to the Colosseum.

Marie made the book able not to touch the table. The intermixture of her visions was a marching song of kids as pure as the vulgar sonnet of the adulterers. It did not take long for her to remove the blouse and skirt from March’s body.

She began to rub the flame of her left breast. She brought it like a half tone to her mouth… The void’s ablactation…

Her panties were an uncoordinated lover to facilitate the monotonous interaction. She was a bald actress at life’s Pythagorean due to the blade of over performing.

From her uniformity the outline was clearer than the anatomical details. The disembodied charting at the bodies’ twilight was never a registered letter and guest of her imperfections.

I never wanted to walk with vinegar at survival’s glass with the illusions.

Since the truth follows us in a retrogressive way from the object of desire we become forgers of our self’s signature.

Marie left the chair on the gravity’s succession and sat on my shroud to spread her sinful myrrh on it. It was the time of transition from the neo-Hellenic mythology to the poetic of Sappho’s lyricism.

She softly strokes my leg at the protective sheet. But a warrior never forgets that Penthesilea was a queen.

That sheet was the omen that I should have died.

But that touch of hers on the leg and with the Holy Shroud as interstice made it clear that I would have a new chance in life like Lazarus.

She drew my mounds forcefully. She did not want to x-ray their furniture nor identify my fire with the method of anthrax.

I was a nymph of the Winner like her.

Cyprus was always the house of Gods and I imagined being love’s guide there. Life has taught me not to be strict but determined. I am not used to wearing clothes when I sleep for postponements and excuses of unwanted trips: for Orthros not to come and take me out of the fridge and dance with me at Kerameikos, imbued with rebels’ blood, unless I myself do not call for him to jest. If she saw she wanted to bite me, I would wear my archaic dress.

Marie though doubted my Bourbonic pre-eminence. She wanted to show me that it is worth living on the mast. She got involved with my head’s bindweed, to fruit their maturity.

Dualism is a board of paganism. She was stroking the trees with my eyebrows branches, to discern and find the correct course with exclamation marks and agility.

At my third eye her pump continued with offering of covert kisses. Searching of intentions, emotions and side lines. She realized I was affable…

She departed for my cheeks like a dog when he missed his master after a long trip.

I took out my tongue to reach hers.

The void is a universe where you can meet anything ill favoured or amusing and live there if you grab it.

She had a plum caramel in her mouth and when our tongues united she split it into two pieces instead of giving it all to me.

Half shame for her and half for me. Spring in her mouth and winter at her speech.

Who said that people do not represent their era? Everyone leads his own so as not to abstain from life. Seasons are inside of us like the time’s rules.

The first are old lines on our opened palm while the second are not appointed by us; they can be altered though.

She carved brushworks on my neck like a jaguar. The exquisiteness and the refined perfume are the greatest virtues of women since one understands better what the other asks. Our society accepts them easier than Telemachus and Achilles on the same bed.

Whoever is closer to become feminine is certain to be criticized. We are going towards the era of Men even if this will soon change.

Woman is no longer considered an illness since she will transform into something she is not like man also will.

The model of men is a widely accepted transmitter.

Men are flattered by Lesvos and its balance.

Women who pretend to be men do not affect the reproductive procedure. They forgive everything we do for we give birth.

My affair with Damien was my homosexual preface. It taught me to like both Druids and Gauls.

After all this, I realized the election of his governance by her.

He was satisfying himself with a Pinochet Hippolyte that did not take “no” of the thirty second but she did not offer the big “yes” either. I will explain what I mean. When she asked me to perform laparoscopy on me with her head to see whether I will give birth to another baby by Damien she ripped the sheet in Palestine’s strips in a rebel state. With a violence reminding of Demetrius the Besieger she tied my hands and legs on the deathbed of Procrustes.

She took two models of men out of her bag.

She tried them like the assistants did at Kyrus’s dinners so as the King would not get poisoned. They were wet and they should be hung at my balcony for the sun or air to dry them. She began with the delivery to end to the sewer… A pleasure without breath and its intonation…

I was like a DaVinci’s drawing. I had many arms like goddess Kali. I could have escaped but I did not do it out of curiosity.

Unfortunately they did not dry because sky’s cottons had covered him with their thirteen guilts to mourn for what I have not yet done. But it is never too late.

An artificial blast impulse of our lithospheric plates took place at a friction with no ending and beginning.

Artificial because the causes were on an excursion. They deforested mountain Ararat that was next to Sinai. Those were the New Commandments until the land of Canaan emerges.

Only through Kalahari and lack of water you can find an oasis in the empire of Alexander the Great.

Wherever there is triumph there is also the decay in which it has been condemned.

Later, the rain was falling weak. My eyes due to the changes had been transformed into weather’s windows. It suddenly stopped and then started again without hesitation. Then the heavy rain began while lightings and thunders came out of our mouths.

Thankfully my room’s doors were entrenched. My mother landed on the balcony not being supported, like the Sun, with wings of marabou to convey the happy message to this storm of Evangelism.

Thank God she must have thought it to be a girl’s toy.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 90

  Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

10-10-1998, Paris

 Dear Damien,

I bet you cannot break the strap of nun “Glykeria” when you wait for me and you look at her outside my school’s rails…

My sky has clouds, white horses and black ones.

George’s sister is hard to be subjugated… Do you risk losing your friendship with him? You, a Don Juan and not being able to make a Turkish cat like her fall for you in the sea of Venice? Unique case…

Forget about my classmate so as I can forgive you and stop being angry.

Every Lord’s Day has a crucifix around its neck for the Sunday school.

You may go to prison for seduction of an adolescent girl.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 91

 Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

13-10-1998, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

Listen to my echo little girl. When I move my sardonyx all women come quickly to my trousers and do not leave my resin.

I happily accept your invitation. I will send you a video tape of what will happen. But if I succeed, you will do whatever I tell you to.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 92

Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

15-10-1998, Paris

 Dear Damien,

I accept it with honour.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 100

Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse

17-11-1998, Paris

 Dear Jean,

As it is known, my former fresh carpet said that I cannot break the “Madonna with the goldfinch”. I’d better guffaw!!!

The deck’s Solomon card is not the one you have thrown on the table by accident, but expect the exact same to fall in your hand so as yourself will win again the game that it has lost.

Everything is a matter of self-suggestion. “Ask and Cybele will come to you!”

It is a Soviet Union that attacks so as not to defend and by now it knows how to handle crises.

I and Pierre bought a variation of our kind sitting on the comfortable seats of our limousine while we were wandering at the city streets.

He was our age but also thinner. French not from porcelain. His breasts were from silicone and on his tight back there was a covered, wheaten, curly wig. He was wearing a leopard skirt and a cherry t-shirt.

His lips did not exist, like Christ. His eyes were students of the darkness. All made up and beautified stepping on stilettos. Before Northerly wind performs at our Epidaurus, like the pale moon…

I liked the Carnival that blessed that little boy.

I wanted to taste the son of Theseus by pretending to be Phaedra. Aphrodite’s enemies are my partners. I paid him with vegetables candles.

It did not take long for him to peel like us. I had ordered the driver to make us Hungarian until the Odyssey of our fieriness takes us to the palace. Which is exactly what happened.

Like octopuses his breasts of an acid without gender were striking my back. A capsule-corset was clamping the bedridden patient more and more.

The ultimate thing was that out of an empty shirt I was giving birth to Erinyes and not life.

Forgetting my being, I was a subject-object in a defective sentence. Though in this specific case, the patient was acting the illness and he was infecting the nurse. Another controversial relationship like life.

Only a chain embellished Pierre’s left foot and an earring on his right ear was watching what was happening like the student watches his own instructor at the surgery bed.

It would be untrue if I claimed that I do not want a silver corset to confirm the champion and feel heavier than ever. Unfortunately, a palaestra has a set capacity.

It had been asked from that man hybrid to insert a ring in his clarinet for the maximum possible stay.

No moisturizing day cream on my body. I was always against any kind of product that alters our nature. Another fan of Rousseau. It is in our nature to hurt. Everything’s birth has no subjectivisms or classifications.

Pierre was printing our one-act play in the form of messages of his mobile voice.

Sagas that have not been heard before since the Third Race had been outmarched. Now we belonged to the Fourth that brings dei ex machina.

My mind was a tyre of that machine. Noone is going to get fired by the Employer if he is useful to the consumption and the production.

We must always be perfect in art, otherwise it is better not to get involved with it at all. That androgynous reminded me that I should see the future via Chiron and not be retrogressive. I have to take that step that others are afraid to take.

Pierre decided to give the tennis rackets and the balls to our employee with no name.

I instantly felt spatters of singing birds on my back.

I had to be reborn like the Baptist at river Jordan with Pierre’s lubricant, since Orontes was not by my side.

The non-gender man gave birth to his baby in my Volga and the diplomas ran out like a nightingale. I may have felt nauseous but I was a castaway-professional. After all I was taught to seal my ears with sealing-wax.

It was the frenzy of the moment but I would like to repeat it in the future with you as a protagonist.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 110    

Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

25-11-1998, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

I am sending you the crime’s evidence. “Do not touch me, faithless Thomas”. You are now obliged to do whatever you are told by love’s slave market.

As it is known, your sympathetic had put an ad for a private school of the arts.

Knowing that I am an excellent Marinetti, I willingly but with disgust as well, took on the hard work of the teacher. I write beautifully and I lick the higher lands even better. I am an arrogant Flaubert.

I was accommodated at my atelier (extension of my room). George, since he was her cognate, contributed to the final choice.

Isn’t that what friends are for, after all? Friends must recognize you thrice when you are going through rough times in your life.

I was literally willing to offer my services without getting paid.

On a symbolic level, I would be an opportunist to her naivety.

I wanted to teach her painting without gouache, specks and dots.

I gave her an orange juice to drink while she was sitting on my sofa. I had put barbiturates in it so she would not resist.

You never rape somebody if you do not have the right precautions.

It is a main rule not to blackmail anyone if you have not raped him first.

Burglars always wear gloves so as not to get caught. I turn everything into stalactites in my life’s puppet show so as to make others dolls in photographs. When I shake them, my moving drawings are postulant…

Antoine my rebellious officer was waiting to be given a sign by his Lord the Guardian so as to attack our royal domestic.

We took her to my room while she was unconscious.

So innocent and sugary!

We put her on the bed as any Don Quixote would have done for his lady if from his own typhoon she was traversed.

Her skinny body reminded me of the odalisque in one colour by Ingres.

I was always an admirer of Neo-Classicism. I wanted to rip this painting to pieces because it had an emotional and historical value.

A smell of security, well being and intolerance was hiding under her fat at the slum. Ideas that provoke me to doubt them to whoever claims that has them stored in his hard disc.

When I was Tom Sawyer I was always breaking the vases mum brought home from her trip to Sichuan.

Ming Dynasty was being diluted in my hand not because I loathe the Chin culture but to see my mother go insane. An untranslatable civilization to my own life theory. I did not like my mother’s incontrollable arrogance. I wanted her to sacrifice her eyes so as she could doubt what I feel or do.

I was so greasy like a snail without a shell and I loved it.

“Faunus of Pompeii.”

I wanted to seduce her flabby thighs at Parnassus. Women, apart from tongue and hand, they need teeth from topaz because the danger of a filling always lurks…

Female anatomy in its totality always looks like a jungle in safari where you explore its various genders and species every time…

I never read enough zoology and that is why I was throwing the black and white cows from Keadas with their panties.

I was an expert at the human anatomy and I had a scholarship too…

My hand moved to find and break her crab which was above her belly. After all, when the glass on the bedside table faints, the evil is in the love breaker. It is idiomatic to hide behind somebody else’s back.

There is no chance a daddy can save his seemingly innocent pullet from me. If I agree with something I take it to the end.

I was coming inside her monastery violating her steel door with a burning solid liquid. The nuns were unarmed. You could see it in their face’s fractures.

I was Mohammed the Conqueror at the marionette palace of Magnaura.

I was wondering while staring at the mirror whether I wanted to make love to my Adonis. Where would I see again this airy and marvelous body? Would my profile be simulated at the magazine’s cover which Antoine was preparing for the internet?

It is unreasonable to throw chocolate to the defloration. My uninitiated to vows body would get salty.

Later on, Antoine confirmed that he had suffered the passive orgasms of Sleep from Deimos.

I hope he dreams of my kiss when he goes to sleep. When he accepted the tool of the circumstances of commitment-as a kind of disapproval- tomatoes and holy water, I realized that the end had come for my starry mission and thus I left running with my excubitores.

I ran away being scared of the divine wrath that was over my head due to the asylum’s desecration.

When she returned to the other world, she understood that I was the Saviour of her Metamorphosis.

The performance of your duties will be postponed for the time being and I am arranging it for the distant future when I think it is compulsory.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 130

Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron

30-5-1999, Paris

 Dear Sophie,

You can make creative acquaintances at camps. A man from Catalonia was ogling me when I was sitting around the camp fire along with the logs last night.

I pretended to faint to give him a paper-garbage telling him to meet me at the camp’s toilets at 2 o’clock at night.

The danger of me being caught red-handed was desperately naught. His name was Juan and he was getting paid to act, like a bee worker, in erotic films. I like hanging out with people who do not come from the same social class as me. I forget the limitations I have and that is fascinating.

Damien thinks I am Alcibiades. Like a Hindu he is surrounded only with smiles from our rank. I believe I must not dump the Untouched on the street.

Juan knew how to win my heart with his great jokes. He was a painkiller and a boredom repellent. I would lie if I said that I did not eagerly wait my chthonic tracker.

He opened the toilet’s door at dark which till then was slightly lightened by the moon’s light and the pillars. He was accompanied only by a couple: Joan from America and Scott from Great Britain.

He explained to me that in the past they were lovers. My second nature would have to deal then with three strangers who knew the art of war. I have to declare that I was thrilled!

With our debauchery’s quartet the toilet would become our concentrated Serbia. We would join forces in favour of the Kosovars and we would ruthlessly bombard the Serbian-Slavs racists.

We never believed in love’s racialism. Scott was a blond Apollo Sauroktonos lying on the wet floor not only to cool himself but also to get a battle position and arrest the unapproachable pisces by taking out his hawser.

I was throwing my stars on him from the sky… Clusters of meteorites…

We had Earthquake sealed inside our Etna. Joan also bowed over Scott’s head. She was sacrificing an animal to propitiate her little God.

Juan was a tiny gerund lover. His eyebrows were a proper stimulant for a woman. He had pierced his belly-button with a silver ring. It is said that werewolves die by a silver crucifix. Apparently he had been tied by his machine. A flat belly like the table’s surface, skin-tied with it as its only identity.

I was swaying on Scott like the baker mills the dough. I wanted to feel the baking tin in all its dimensions and not miss any corner that has not been filled with this dough.

I was a shipwreck that wanted to suck everything in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean.

The repetition in darkness’s space was Juan’s black hair. He looked like he had been decapitated like Danton.

His spaceship landed on my Cape Canaveral like a splitting on my two over stuffed fried eggs. A pigeon wounded and bleeding that attempted to fly because it believed it was possible though reality belied it. It’s this belief that we can become what we were before we were transformed into something else by a buoy. It is the present’s denial of the previous moment. I waited for him to pour the butter into the frying pan and eat the best omelet looking at me from the kitchen’s hot plate.

The French and the Spanish were conspiring in a long time to destroy the terrorist organization. We like dominant countries and not self-contained areas.

The collaboration with the Englishman was something that could not be blamed. I was Clemenceau and he was Lloyd George. Our Archidamian was universal like our love was figurative.

I pretended to be the elevator at the Eiffel Tower that goes up and down, Scott was Thames that waited like Noah to soak me, Juan the Escorial whose lust I saw rising from the west and Joan the Statue of Liberty that gives the fire of death to the remaining nations holding the window like a torch that brings balance.

Joan’s lips had gone so red that you thought a Chimera would rebound without Bellerophon. You could see the Aztecs’ unhewn wood on her look. To be precise, a sea without any water. She had the hair of citrus but anyone could doubt its originality.

While Scott was giving me floods of pleasure, I was staring at Juan’s Irresistible Armada.

I was the porphyrite-cloth to my Matador. I liked his passion and his Mediterranean imposition. He was staring at me as if I were Napoleon’s domain in a sphere of influence.

He suggested I should pour the butter out of the frying pan and onto the kitchen’s hot plates to turn them off since they were all turned on. But lots of butter was thrown into my casserole. Thus the spaghetti I was making had a nutritious taste for my saprophytes.

I always wanted to learn Swahili in Africa, eat human legs inside the Alps, one of the few alive at Zulu dance…

I felt an acerbate taste in my belly since I was the tomato in the liquidizer. But in the tomato juice some liquid flour profiterole was added like the soothing breeze. A penetration with no pleasure…

Our heavy breaths were implying our need to wear masks of euphoric oxygen.

When that was done, we collected our few clothes because the full moon was looking at us with a fig’s leaf.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 140

 Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse

30-6-1999, Paris

 Dear Jean,

When the sunset came to an end, Robert and I went on an excursion to the degraded northeast suburbs with our limousine.

The order was to narrate on the camera what was happening at the third apartment.

There, thousands of blacks, unemployed or Muslims from Africa would suffer for a few francs.

My victims were two sixteen year old blacks and an adult Muslim from Algeria.

Many of them are drug dealers. The feeling of doing something illegal was always a catheter to me. There should be a punishment for capitalism and colonialism to an Aristocrat from the higher bourgeoisie… For the mistakes of the past and for the evils that bedevil their present… With a gesture of mine they came into my extra erotic clinic.

They were so Dionysian that if I did not wear anything they might kidnap me to sell my organs. They do not know that Dionysus Zagreus never dies and tortures the disrespectful.

Robert and two loyal guards of mine from Hades would kill this actor if something went wrong.

I had timed and put boundaries to my vice’s game.

I was a fan of tenebrism and I wanted my head to look like that of Holofernes when Judith cut it off for the Liberator of her people.

Paintings for me are the occasions to act roles that in normal circumstances I would not act. The real of the past is depicted with the present’s concepts. Another fake theme and I was its multiple.

I knew the fake reality. In no way I reassured myself with false expectations. I wanted, even in this way, for my dark enemy to undertake my caricature…

The threat of monkeys for making an Aryan French nation was now a watershed from the past to the present. But not in its real dimensions.

An arrogation of rights that those androids will never have…

These ideal slaves were privileged for their huge assets and they were made to bring nude photographs of themselves.

The ideal servants for us arrogant masters…

My gold watch which they asked for was given to them. I had many of them. I gave them my emerald ring without a grumble.

But the third time I refused to give my right ear’s diamond earring because it was my self portrait’s wand.

The Algerian pushed me down. I slightly hit my head. Thankfully I was Aphrodite on her hunkers without a rupture.

The one Black man carried away my hands and the other tied them with a rope…

They were calling me vulgar names and kicking me or punching me. On the other hand, the Algerian took off my earring and blood dribbled on my face.

Profoundly satisfied from their loot, even though they never conquered Malta, they took off my pants to obviously steal it too.

“What a golden boy!” exclaimed the Algerian.

Before I come around from the continuous beatings, I saw them nude.

The Algerian had been circumcised as the Koran orders. Obviously one of his two parents was white French since he had a dark colour.

The hoses of the Blacks were diversionary and unhealthy like the Bavarian sausages I loved every time I went to Germany.

My one black man, like someone who loves his neighbour, was touching my thighs trying to find the average…

“This well needs oil!” said the one and then the other black man took a bottle out of the jacket.

The first black was counting my mouth with his finger that was sergeants of my unit from willow’s hands in case of resort due to NATO bombarding.

Sometimes it was casual harvest and open for the errand of equities of the free to loose market… Other times, the store would close due to the bubbles of the wet Spartans who washed ashore more branches…

The sink is always blocked due to hairs that are gathered after the big razors’ long stay.

The second black man while unplugging was pouring from the jug to achieve the first goal: a flexible girl to be ready for the intruders. Oil contributes to life’s width. Modern Hippocrates says it as well. It is the most essential to the Mediterranean cuisine.

I say that oil has a great contribution to the biggest volume’s capacity of winged ships.

This well could now fit into any kind of windlass. It did not have any more restraints. It had gained a totalitarian autonomy without my authoritarian will. They had charged the brutal troops of his Chorbates on my land so as every human right would be eliminated…

A mathematical triad was looting my body.

Every conqueror had his own unique characteristics.

The first black man had the alpine look of Pseudo-Longinus. The second one had a gross but middle one. The Algerian had Gauguin’s but totally effective.

The windows were sad coffins. The atmosphere was stifling due to the sweat of our bodies.

Relaxation at a Turkish bath. Their smell was more aggressive because they did an exorcism the previous Christmas for the last time.

The water and hour glass’s economy of our national identity was a common denominator…

When the one intruder was breaking my country’s metal grilles, I was being bathed with wet and solid perfumes-merchandise by the other two.

I liked the Algerian more because he was the Lyre with no costs, the Partisan’s manual that has a strong power and nobody can subjugate.

The tramontana was revolving dark spikes from his barn to the homestead.

All this bayberry was dribbling from my palate like a stalactite. At some point there was a parallel admission from two teams but the fence was so narrow that as a lecturer he expelled the one since it was about to break…

The black man that was behind was an inspirational canoeist on my neck’s chain and I was the giraffe with a leash…

The other one was adjusting my head’s thyme to take the proper bow for the flying ball like a loyal hound despite the fact that it opposed to the Ottoman.

A law student who was my classmate at school had taught me the Ottoman Law from an early age. Seemingly, the Greek-Roman and the Byzantine.

I had pored over the spirit of the laws and balance, knowing at the same time that the most rational demand is also the most blatant injustice, if covered by the power’s robe emits the senses of the firm code of values that knows how to adjust to the circumstances and alters its behaviour for the high casts, exhausting all our lenience’s boundaries, while it exhausts every room for strictness of the committed crime for the deprived with a few variations.

I was a crime’s victim and totally satisfied that I pretended to be the scapegoat for all the crimes that the national and my own bourgeoisie once had committed.

I wanted to feel the Hippies’ vibration which they had when De Gaulle was in power for the independent Algerian. I was a lover of apostasy, a fallen fair angel of the Lord.

I wanted though for the last time, like a capitalist body snatcher, to dissipate the milky oil of those strong immigrants and absorb the power of these nomads even if it led to the founding of the Finnish.

I was the Son of the Man-French who paid for his Forefathers’ crimes, like today’s Israelis apologize for Christ’s humiliations or that they have to feel guilty for His Crucifixion when scrupulous Christians claim so.

I liked “paying” for crimes I had never committed. On the contrary, I would not like to be punished for the hubris I consciously commit. The concept of my collective responsibility was affectionate…

My body was pithy from slurs and raised like Fifth Avenue. It revealed like the product of his cherry earthquakes.

A wreck that was waiting to visit the oven of the hopeless.

It was an excess inside that space like his ox-like eyes were reflecting luminary.

Robert did not interfere with the instructions given.

On the contrary, he preferred masturbating while watching that live, violent porn unreel like Ariadne’s carcass in his fantasies’ Minoan palace since in every one there was an avant-garde waiting for him. He just had to accept her or deny her to be sold to her whom he wants to find till the way out.

I was in the middle of this farrago and I was touched by the fact that a listener was applauding me even with one hand on stage.

When I published the foams from my mouth, Robert realized that that was the end of the game. I was full of lather to mop the tribe’s crime.

Killing of a nation or dialysis? Hard to say. I missed their wheat rain. It did not take long for my pot to be watered.

I felt like a four-wheel that had gone to the washing bay to get cleaned from the red clay.

They quickly got dressed with their lawful assets and, like the chicken thieves, departed from my life once and for all.

After all, earth never ceases to move. Even when we are converted to sleep. Even more so when crimes have been committed. I was Antaios and they were Hercules. I took earth off of me and I denied the sky’s power.

I took a lesson of morality: a dewdrop of goodness that has evil in it. It sounds unbelievable but so true…

My victim’s mentality is now more fitting. I made sure that news was spread amongst my friends’ circles. I seem like a hero in their eyes since I survived from those blackguards. I look more immaculate than ever…

The worst crimes can be committed with the greatest easiness of movements and extenuations…

I am the Julius of all women and the Augusta of all men.

My fame was known to all the fashionable circles not only of the capital but of the whole Europe.

The worst alibi is the confession of the crime. The others think you are accomplice to something. You do not think that when you have committed something…

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 150

 Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux

1-10-1999, New York

 Dear Louis,

I arrived with an aeroplane that gave the New City’s aura to the buildings a new moon before.

When I visited the Metropolitan Museum, I realized she is equal to Europe’s Snatch… Here are the horses of Lysippus… The peak of the Crusaders… The possession of the city of multi-faced Lucifer…

And I, Michael Palaiologos, having the pencil and the paper as my munitions, was waiting for the right moment to grab those treasures.

I was a bright student for the Museum’s exhibits. I captured the permanent collection of the museum to practise the art of painter-sculptor.

The subject that lost the sense of volume has been ornamented with that of the level so as to imitate the dimensions with the most successful way. The colours with the classifications at their imperfections were helpers of an attempt for a natural failure.

Can the flattened statue of Marcus Aurelius be impressed at its real sights?

Even the material of its moulding does not have anything to do with what it represents. It does not have either a human hide or organs or blood…

Perhaps if art is cloned then its real face will be conquered. The people of history will be clones in the cold storage and not absent but with the same inorganic and organic elements in a representative art.

I recently saw paintings with colours of human blood at a museum of contemporary art.

Here is an exceptional art for the man made by a man.

Anyone can choose a cut leg or arm if he travels to the countries of ignition or even Cicero’s head with his multi-pierced tongue. Thus, he will recompose his real like the senses or feelings private art at his home. That means the art of the powerful has a sixth sense perception, almost geotropic I would say. After all, all painters had a powerful Maecenas: Botticelli had the Medici or Philippe the painter from Crete who painted with the hand…

Art is a sequence and we are the humble drivers that follow her.

I started realizing my insignificance while watching those huge buildings, amongst the millions of citizens in this vast land where all the Titans and the Egyptian Gods have gathered.

Parthenon’s frieze in reversal. Zeus with his thunder is not an ambassador in this city. The victory of the Giants and the Titans on the Olympian land! You can commit any crime you want without being punished if you step on the mermaid shield of wisdom! You will see everything in reversal here. The tycoons are dense gods and the bevy of ignorant people on the top of Pieria.

With a pole in the eye, shape of architecture…

The blood of the citizens will reach their feet as a punishment. A brain with no oxygen in a post surgery remission without blood.

I was a dwarf in front of juggernauts with clay legs that I left in the evenings since I always attended the classes of the Fine Art College.

I went to the hospital where I was born and I worked temporarily as a historian at its archives. The receipts were swimmers in the papers. I was my mother’s child indeed… My father? I always assumed he was from the New Land.

An Ares on my mother’s bed. My father caught them soon after the action when he returned from the UNO. He had displayed a few documents concerning the captive Americans in Iran which he had to study so as to orate at the channel.

Americans never forgave the Shah’s Persians for their banishment like I never forgave my mother for not revealing me my true father’s name.

Four years later, not even the birth of my duplicate sister prevented my parents’ divorce. I gathered information from the living residents of the building where my parents used to live before I was born (not from my father’s head but from his thigh).

It was heard that my Hecuba had an affair with an American painter named Peter Wise. A distant relative of his who lived in that block of apartments gave me a slightly ruined photograph as if it had almost been saved by the flames.

She also mentioned he had two children and that one of them was studying sculpture at my University.

We had the same age. She told me not to bug her again though, because she had fought with Wise’s sister in the past.

On the first semester I attended the optional lesson of sculpture so as to meet this student.

An optional touch that would be the cause of compulsory information.

Almost immediately our eyes were copulation in the void. Our causeless intimacy came more from our common background than from moral patterns.

He was a baptized ice-cream in the Darkness. On his face I saw my own and then Peter’s, my father’s.

Denial and rejection made the nostalgia to perform a tragedy. Maybe an Oedipus without the fairytale…

Three days ago I invited him to my apartment for the search of the man missing and his family tree.

He told me that his father had once transformed a turkey into a billy-goat to mate with a nanny-goat because she was feeling lonely due to his January chores.

He told me that four months before 1982 she brought her own azalea from his cyclamen and a rose. She asked for a flight identification document but he denied the annihilation’s baby. He had placed the arrows of Puti to another woman and by phosphoric chance a white rose popped out on the same month. He told him he thought I was a ton of cement and threw me in New City’s ocean like he had done with the French woman’s past. I kept my polar temperature and did not make a gesture despite all I had just heard and the fact he kissed me on the mouth.

Under her though, I was singling out Hera from the spike. I was sexually attracted to my clone. I wanted to be broken down into a thousand pieces and get blessed with seven years of bad luck.

On his face I saw the rejection of my enlightening progress. My father was the Echo at the first handwriting and reading. A clock whose thumb had turned backwards and I saw my father making a gesture at me to make me emerge as a mortal this time.

I was given the chance, with time’s retrospect, to commit his crash and surpass destiny.

If his candle melted, neither I nor my brother would give breath to Thor.

For many years I was dead at the wretched old lady who lives in a Cave, lame and isolated.

At the humanitarian sphere, I was processing the teenager who does not want to grow old but be mentioned from everybody as Antinous.

I could never undermine happiness.

Blood is thicker than water. Unless you get sick with leukemia. I was curious to see though whether the blood in his veins was red or blue.

“I am a naughty girl!” he told me and coloured his lips with a lipstick taken from his short pants.

He did not differ from a sweet, nerveless and odourless girl. I was looking for a hole to give him an injection. That would take all his blood to protect the country from the terrorists.

I also contributed to this child’s disengagement from his metropolis. A colony that wanted to surmount her own womb with radiance and her Octavius to be deified to everybody’s discrepancy.

The beginning of cuntarchy and the end of democracy…

Men and women were acting like natives who surrendered easily to the Visigoths. With their weapons they opened pits to hide their heads.

There is only one acceptable way of reproduction: that of the cathartic.

They wanted to accept the colony’s ideas unconditionally without remembering how the World’s Metropolis should be.

A marriage between children of the sewers. I had to perform those bonds.

“I want you to draw my face on the canvas” he told me in a sensual way.

He ornamented the chair that was next to him with his dresses. After all, in a few minutes he would become Dead Nature. He temporarily stayed at my death bed that now had become his own uniform.

His body was to my eyes the golden apples of Esperides that I had to bring back to my country in order to get by.

His arms and legs were tied with a leash. I charted his area which was in an interesting situation and I had to make a report so as the material found would be classified.

My stiletto landed on her like an extra terrestrial disc which creates untranslatable hieroglyphs on the English land.

Always cut the spike that protrudes. This is what I did too. I cut his entire spike in its peak and I gave it to him to eat it.

Mucus of blood useful for my canvas’s painting…

I decided I had to operate. You can tame all the natural coloured climaxes with the proper pressure at any human body’s pressure gauge. I wanted to make a painting from human’s colour. A nominal anthropology… An anthropology without any person but at the Day of Judgment…

My painting would be named: “Laius was murdered by Oedipus”.

I would write snake-like and pre-historic lizards instead of people. My brother was a great contributor and sponsor to this painting. This is Fraternal Solidarity.

After all, I did not do anything that had not been done in the Old Testament.

While I was operating him, he was looking at me like the patient looks at his healer before he dies. A mobile painting “Lesson of Anatomy” of the Netherlands… Nobody can compete with Rembrandt. Not even me… Thank God he is not alive or he would end up a brother…

Thunder struck and scared he left this world for ever, without a voice or a pencil paper.

There was no originality. The only moment of originality in this fratricide-Thucydides said that civil wars were the worst of all- was that I wanted to impregnate my brother after his departure.

A nameless child, without a father, like me. A child without lungs and heart, like me. A child carcass, like me.

I chopped his carcass and got rid of him once and for all with a common way.

A new night rises…

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

   LETTER 160

  Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux

30-10-1999, New York

 Dear Louis,

I feel dizzy from the extreme actions of the lovers of my ex, present and eternal Joan. I constantly underline that the Pope of her heart is a man and unique. Harems do not exist in the palace of my Arts.

But I am dishonest, Louis. I am a Disloyal, superficial person. She swears on my mistrust’s governance. The difference is more than distinguished.

I invited two of my classmates to my apartment late last night. It was Raisha from Russia and Tsung Li from China. On their faces I saw Mao and Stalin.

If it wasn’t for communism, capitalism would not matter at all. It is possible, the opposing awe that doubts my interests in a fridge of planet Ares to be transmuted as an epidemic in my country, something which I deprecated and wanted to be aimed at its individuality.

I had the look of the arch that the pagan owners had.

Tsung Li had a skin of solar fog and her hair was black like that of Bernice. She was as little and plain as a small piece of wood in the Hippocrene…

On the contrary, Raisha, used to the Siberian winter, was a full moon and Antarctica, a rough ox-button, a bud ready to pop out of his petal. I was about to accept my defeat on her cold forehead and the decimation of Napoleon’s troops.

An unusual bear in its beauty. I would like to have her head as a trophy over my fireplace and her white skin as a rug to keep me warm during the Norwegian December nights.

We three followed a Bronx dance in a hip hop rhythm because I have the broadband and the right of the Pantocrator to doubt.

Sweaty as they were, they fell on my bed of casual crusade. I approached the sink to turn on the hot plate and make chocolate to pour on Tsung Li’s sweaty breasts and try it.

Mu hunger ceased the sit-down strike it had started in my stomach and moved on to her love’s Taksim.

Raisha was shamelessly flirting as an escort at the October Revolution in despair’s creek, not caring whether there will be a laurel to crown her Seferian achievements and save her.

While I was a tenant at Tsung Li’s ozone-spherical apartments, Raisha driven by her curiosity, moved to her lower levels to water the chosen plants of her studio flat.

Like a caring Samaritan she was willing to take what was inside outside since the tenant was about to move out.

Every kiss or stroke there, made Tsung Li to burst in lust’s cries like a cackle that suddenly stops and the next time echoes its vowels and consonants louder.

An upward sound climax that slightly affects my own employment. I had to throw away the chocolates with my broomstick like a lawful supervisor. I had poured all these in a vanilla ice-cream giving the surface another printer’s look from that of the content that has as its ultimate proposition to fool the consumer.

My kilometric hand wanted to clean the flat’s windows but the flat was closed due to renovation. Raisha moved the furniture to the living-room so as to place pipes on the beggar-walls where water gushed. A lust of a red garment…

I had to open the fountains so as the soil would go away and leave water to flow. I do not usually live in such flats…

I am the dauphin of grandiosity. At the palace of Versailles or at the villa of Medici, since one of my ancestors belonged to the generation of the “Bourbons-Capetids”.

Now I had to confine myself to Saint Petersburg and the palace of the Forbidden City. There was a chance I would be Japheth in tubular spaces.

When we try to avoid something, it will always approve of us in the beginning of every century till it stops existing with our death. Awe soon became action.

My tyrannosaurus found its natural place for the protection of his meteors whose shadows resembled figures inscribed in the depths of the caverns.

Thus, it had to reach the surface and one of them should override it so as every shadow could realize it has a downward pull and a special weight. If you are Romanos Diogenes, never show willingness to leave your eyes… Your destiny, which is the others, guides you…

My bread had been accommodated in Tsung Li’s garden. Raisha was melting her butter on my bread and on the side cookies to make it tastier. It was a game for tasters. The winners would receive a Dionysian prize on the footstall.

It is really honourable to think that you serve two parts: the one where you are visitor and the one you serve to the others.

A Xenios Zeus from the depths of Arabia… Proceedings and observer at the same time like a full moon phenomenon and an eclipse of a whole conjugation.      

I felt a cookie moving on my burnt baking tin, like Saturn on the move, so as my fever would rise.

A Dionysian panther was stroking Tsung Li’s eyes his nitric rain from the hair.

My erection caused double pleasure at the Pillar of Salt: For the one that felt, it remained silent and the one it could not avoid it wanted her to protest so as to seem more like a victim than accomplice to the immolator’s crime and declare her innocent in front of the jury-cameras. Or maybe she catches the crime’s reactions when she becomes an eye witness or an auricular one after she has forgotten its essence.

Raisha took a candle spider from the table and its fragile liquid started flowing on my chest.

I was taken aback by this and thus the pain was multiplied, like the Lord’s fish and breads.

“The candle of my life may start to flicker…” I thought.

China and Russia in the 19th century were enough for France.

The candle penetrated my body and became one with it. Finally I ensured Saccharin and I caused orgasms to Tsung Li with my candle’s simulator.

After the party was over, I gave them my painting which I had made with my brother’s organs. I cut it in two. Fair judgment and Solomonean. Since they could not admire the brother who was judged by Minos and Rhadamanthus, I gave them my recreated other self from a striker cloak.

I know you will wonder why I killed my brother.

I stop whatever suits me. I kill what I admire to stop it from surpassing me. I want to be one of a kind! Spherical…

When the chariot of Phaeton comes outside the emblem of my Lancasters, I observe any change that needs to be fixed in the sink since I am a Mercedes of many rules which exhausts its strength.

I give birth to the Shell-born in copies. Nutritious over the lips, to stop the smoker’s cough… Anti-wrinkle under and next to the eyes so as to eliminate the goose’s foot. Finally on the cheeks to prevent the spots of the laughters…

I exercise to serve the son of Hera. I will bathe with wrinkles of Akhaimenes and I will wear colourful clothes so as to be a living canvas… I was always a fan of the image breakers…

Images express something static. On the contrary, I am an idea-planet at the shadows of values. I do not contradict.

Painting is an art of images. I take its logos and give meaning to them via the roles I perform.

My position in art is the moving power. I have everyday friends and fabulous riches. I just hold a problem in my hand like an heirloom: I do not incubate anyone.

That is why I use the method of three to others, so as to feel I am doing something creative.

You see it’s the lack of values… I can bear anything I want and give birth to anything I do not want. I am an impure scum that I cannot be punished by any law, human or divine. I vent my spleen and I take the lives of others…

I am a historic person and universal like the followers of Church. The country that helps me to me is very near-sighted. I acquire everything with any natural cost. I will go to any place of the earth if I like it and without meeting embankments on my Via Appia.

I am your God on earth. I am your worshipped calf since you do not have the proper self knowledge.

Louis, I am the indoor inmate at your school. Sometimes though, I walk on your intestines like the sparkles from the friction of the ignescent stone.

The invisible man who commits tortures… And then becomes visible to many… He always seems pure though…

Like you and I…

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 198

Louis Martineux to Damien Adaleux

1-5-2000, Paris

 Dear Damien,

Lucy had invited all the guys to her house to see extra scenes from the “Deep Throat” on television.

I, Antoine, George, Jean, Fernando, Henry, Robert, Jacques, Lorraine, Dominique, Francois, Cornelius from the Netherlands, Ivan from Serbia and Hakim from Kosovo.

Europe of the Fifteen at her feet and looking to milk her cow.

Agrippina’s reincarnation with a transparent night gown. She coiled her body on her hunkers in front of the television and while half unconscious she asked for an Asclepius.

Antoine was kissing her left ear and I was the right’s driver. Jean and George’s tongues were like reptilian eggs on Easter bread in her mouth. Henry and Fernando excelled at the anarchic and rightist party of her female hill. Louis was asking for a prediction from Dodona’s oracle. Jacques was playing her right hand’s fingers with his tongue like the piano’s keys. Lorraine was flaming those of her left hand like a harmonica. Dominique was preoccupied with the Alexandrian lips of the Foreign Office. Francois, with those of Home Department and with the trunk of the hateful rain. Cornelius was looking to bombard her Achilles heel that would not leave the turtle knowing the danger and the bombarding. Hakim was licking her left foot’s toes like he was eating bread without sponge cake. Ivan was kissing her right foot, since he did not know what her left one was doing, like a prisoner in Hague does to his fiancé behind the bars.

Sighs of repentance were penetrating our ears like the echoes of an electric guitar do to the criminals sentenced for life. He was the Yliki of our own sighs and Ms Basilica was choked by our feathers because she preferred our company to that of Ali Pasha.

Our Scandinavian migratory birds landed on a warmer place not to freeze her with the snow we had on our wings but to clamp the nerve of her immaculate waters, so as we could continue our flight to Tanganyika and whoever was not down with the Thai flu could leave.

Every time a bird was entering her lake’s wet surges, she was calling its name. Ducks, swans, quails…

Zoo parades. They were not getting wet but just tasting her curing waters. They were throwing her milk, honey and candies without doing the thing they wanted even though it was offered to them.

Tantalus’s doubles or imitators? On her body unfinished life’s vomits were flowing. These children would find their father only by IVF.

Our tongues had become brushes to create a copy of “Sleeping Aphrodite” with the dissolved fruits. On the first level there would be the twelve French and her. On the second one, the immigrants’ Unholy Triad and the proper Punishment.

The man from Kosovo, though sixteen years old, was like a tied-up rabbit accepting the Dutch’s stinger on the bolt hole of his hills and the Serbian’s Kalashnikov.

This soon changed since the racist Serbian took the place of the Kosovar rebel. Crimes are always committed from both sides in civil wars and you could commit them or me if we had the bad luck to be Serbians or Albanians.

The Serbian’s body was a court of law and a purgatory for the victims of a war of lust. According to their opinion he should be on trial in Pristine or Hague.

A court of law with subtle blames and innocent people or guilty. The Balance of Justice leaned towards the south of the Balkans. The other one was leaning towards the north furious with the Dutch.

The Serbian’s stomach was a place full of dehydrated munitions. He had to pay because he had molested the Kosovar without asking for the Dutch’s opinion.

I always liked Dirk Bouts and his Madonnas who like tulips were keeping their fluffy breasts to the eternal Kichle for the babies’ milk.

They were injecting vitamin D to the Serbian to boost his bones-guards of the racist leaders (1992-1995). A huge baby that had to be shrank because another one asserts its autonomy with its wealthy powers.

The Kosovar had ridden the Serbian. Four roses and two colourless glassworks had been created so as the demand of the political rights of the mutineers could be broken with an arrow. This was not the first time that something like this happened. Richelieu preceded centuries ago.

The Dutch, with the spirit of an ambiguous innovator, observes the real power.

His Swedish glasswork either broke with his solid pipe and when he thought it was to be broken he continued his course to the Voiotian so as to taste the sense of danger or because he was overwhelmed by boredom brought by the human interaction and the different should be finally chosen since something like this was not in a panoramic place.

That scene reminded me of Rubens’s triptych for the Descent from the Cross.

Same taste in another experience’s body. After all, the Gadarene Demon had been reincarnated into all the swines since they had the same metrical multidimensional phonology.

While our twelve stars were moving on your girlfriend’s mouth in the most frantic party, the Kosovar’s glass and blood were falling on the Serbian’s warehouse.

Needless to say that I sent her the letter your Chinese and Russian gave to me in a form of love letter.

It seems that the Russian Revolution made her breathe fresh oxygen and she decided, as revenge to your writings, to welcome your mates as a trophy.

Leave her in space like a Halley while you can! It is the best advice I can give you!

I did not want to eat what you daily ate out of zeal or curiosity…

I just wanted to show you that our friendship means more than all those Lolitas!

You are obliged not to these peacocks but to your friends and you should give them your energy and time! It diminishes your status as a man!

Girls have us on their hands like a string of beads. The “others” are for our diet. This seems to be somebody “else”.

It is beneath you to pull Santa’s sleighs!

You have to break up with her!

Can’t you see that she is poking her nose into our business?

She wants you to leave us… How long will you tolerate your Ptolemaic literature with her tongue as broom trying to take us away from you? Can’t you see she is a common person who pretends to be a Marquise?

She is Penelope’s tumour.

Do you remember when we were smoking the pipe of Aristophanes and she reacted telling you: “Your words are a disgrace… Your speech is vulgar…”

You were right to reply: “You never smoked the pipe of Nicias with me! Why are you so annoyed then?”

You silenced the slut, since you cannot seal her mouth with a normal way!

Since we respect you and we care about you, we did what you cannot do…

This silk breeder eats your intestines… You belong to me and we belong to you for a long time.

Last night, the twelve of us beat an old homeless man to death at the banks of Seine. He was filth for our city’s reputation… He was also detrimental to tourism… We threw him to the river’s bottom with my yacht so as that piece of trash could not be seen anywhere…

An immoral piece of art by a dubious, almost bankrupt artist…

One solution is possible. Either you break up with her or you will find her floating on river Styx. There is no middle solution.

Remember your glorious past… Unless you want us to give you the baton and like Othello it will surrender to her arms.

The decision is yours but we demand your answer soon…

Yours,

Louis Martineux

  LETTER 200

Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont

5-5-2000, Paris

 Dear Claire,

I am hanged now to the canyon of Samaria. Damien charms all the ladies but he always comes back to me.

I was writing a letter to my friend Simon in my office in the middle of the night. I heard an eerie creak from the window. I thought the pomegranate’s branches were the 1x1 that were frontiersmen with my balcony at the garden.

The Mistral was furious and from my window’s spinning wheel oxygen was being stolen.

Damien was at my balcony like an upset monkey. On his belt there were the faces of Isis and Osiris, vivid and with hieroglyphs.

He was attracted to Tutankhamun’s tomb and the Hellenistic land of the Pharaohs. But I could never imagine he could worship other deities apart from his own “ego”.

His acrylic shirt and his body showed even his most profane mistakes.

His nose had been pierced with an earring from selenite and opal. The bad stone’s moderator… He told me that, like an Olympic Champion, he had passed the fences and the dogs had slept like the Northern Star of the sea due to barbiturates… Then he reached my balcony from the ivy and came to my window like a glass breaker.

All this time, like Alcestis, I was writing a novel for him about an immigrant from abroad. More specifically? From Russia. Thus I made a few comments and I studied sociology.

When I read it to him, Damien was looking at me like a puzzled Eskimo.

“Are you still occupied with these fairytales for little children? They can’t bother a Rito!”

The size of Eridanus keeps growing when he falls on our neighbourhood.    

It still looks like a particle when it settles like dust away from us. His eyes had lost the sea’s foam. He was spreading his asphalt, which was in dehiscence, on me.

I think I sometimes used the divisions of the air bombers to make him feel like a naught. Maybe because I wanted his solid wing to get wounded and his ashes to be thrown to the Greek open-sea, like the famous Greek singer’s.

We were an unknown champion’s ramp that could easily turn to the left like me or to the right like him. We had never met in the centre.

I was not Scylla but Charybdis whispered something in my ear and pushed me to the bed like a police officer pushes the burglar to the cell. He was holding his lips like a big catastrophe was about to come.

He made my garter his helmet and he tied my hands so as I could not resist to my excavation’s rubbish dump. I kicked his balls like a true Artemisia and he was howling like a wolf for hours. The anti-genetic ways of pleasure were at their peak for everyone apart from this happy stub. I would never let him brag to his friends and teachers for the innovation he wanted tom make. I had a reputation that could not be disturbed. My damaged honour had to be restored with a marriage. Anything else would be a painful defeat.

“I want a child to be born from your heart…” he had told me with his face beet red.

“Unfortunately this cannot happen. Metropolis is bleeding due to your apostasy…”

He was Ho Chi Minh and I was his Indochina’s cry.

It is weird not to give birth when you are bleeding. The unborn children will give you their message. They die not only in your imagination but in your calyx too.

Every new moon you commit a crime: “You have to give birth when you carry a child”. Your body’s ten rules…

Your biped will utter it, society, soul… But Voltaire’s Priestess tells you to become the Murderer of your personal pronoun in nominative case and in your first singular…

“We are breaking up for good today!” he told me with the thunder of Zeus and he turned to leave while he began zipping his fly.

“I will say Everything to your father’s brain!” I told him in a blackmailing tone.

“If you do this, I will tell your father that your first cousin became Porphyrion at the age of nine. You were not Sekhmet to avoid him and you hadn’t even seduced a Kou like me.!” That was his response to the glove’s fall.

Like one of the Vestales, I begged him on my knees not to do it. If my cousin knew this, he would go to Hades and my father would end in High Court.

I would lose the rod and sandals of Hermes, my wealth and my belongings. I could not stand this social imputation.

Relieved from my unhealed wound he told me like Cassander: “We will break up. You only make me pity you! Do not cry… You are cheap like the paper you use to write… If you go on like this, my fraternity will deal with you… You irritate me…”

His final words fell like razors on my body and not penetrate mandragor’s tricks.

I called Otus and not Efialtes that I was going through that moment-one of the two guards of the External Gate-and begged him to take Damien with my father’s car, like a birthday gift with a galactic ribbon.

I do not want my enemies to respect me; only to fear of me. I must find out who told Damien to break up with me so as my plain but like a swordfish nail will properly deal with him.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 201  

  Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin

6-5-2000, Paris

 Dear Lucy,

We had to take different roads in life. If that did not happen I would transform your heart into sugar while you were sleeping.

I cannot control what I feel. Don’t ask why. It is buried deep inside my heart. The explanation we give to the facts does not have a meaning so as to make them different from the phenomena. Our replies to them are simpler than we think.

This circle is over. Another lottery will be erected now so another one will begin. The nozzle in his heart does not have any more space for us. Our hearts are the pulpits of the ancient Gods that slowly abandon this world.

When we do not admit it, we are the outfalls of ourselves.

I want to be bifid like Nature. “Whys are not bifilar. I do not prefer them. They are the roads that Anchorites follow before the leader dies and many of them quit. Few managed to see the beams of the grassy sun and not get blind like Semele. Without naming the details I settle with Cornwall…

We will never be born on our own. We are looking for a protective nine month shield in our whole life…

The temple is a substitute of that Hera in Italy, Alexander’s sister or Bellerefonte in your arms…

Your place broke in a needle at the blisters of life and bodiless descended with her into the void.

What we have, passed us by without our will…

We never betray the one who has betrayed us…

I do not have a safer advice to give you.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 230

  Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont

10-10-2000, Paris

 Dear Claire,

I managed to find my immolator in the school of Civil Sciences. I must be though an adjusting rubber to his mood that has the torch to know a Student of Letters. He is the toad-owl who will give the right shoe and become a prince in the carriage with pumpkins if he receives the proper kiss.

Like Alcamenes I will have to give the proper Pentelic shape to the marble owl from Paros. The work of Chalepas is an active procedure.

Phidias is the forerunner and the sculpture in any kind of transformations and corrections, a vulnerable God.

I will suck all his pollen like a bee until he withers.

A continuous work, detained like the cobra by her fakir.

As always I am a skillful archer.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 240

  Lucy Sanguin to Guillaume Papon

25-10-2000, Paris

 Dear Guillaume,

I am on the brink of a precipice… Who will sing to push it away? My father refuses to see Damien. I do not know the christogramme.

He never introduced me to his Girondins. I had introduced him though to all my Sans Culottes in a letter of mine sometime ago… A meaningless discrimination… His shareholders believe that my aerial has not been glued to their television.

I must have been a little star in their space. Perhaps they did not like me controlling Damien, like a Bodhidharma who marks his student, not with granite punishments or expulsions but with recommendation of what he himself would have done. Instead, Damien took me out of his life because he is always in favour of his disobedient classmate’s jokes. They were not right to me. I always thought that jokes against Melians are sent by Cleon but are never delivered. A joke made in asphalt by professional clowns.

He told me in an undisguised tone: “We are breaking up. I do not know how to assume responsibilities.”

Thus I ended up an aneamic, anorexic, sensitive girl. Atlas’s rock which everybody was staring at with surprise but avoided to endure that burden. Maybe because the sky has an ace up his sleeve. Maybe because the end of the dinosaurs came from him. Maybe because the sky does not touch us until we feel he has to pass the need.

Struts in the sky without always noticing it.

I am on the edge of a table like a Bohemian porcelain between two men’s ends while playing football not caring whether I will fall or not. This nice zit must be about to break.

Perhaps they do not like my Diogenes nature which has sperms of stoicism so as not to get into Judaism. If the nerves of my left hemisphere die this can happen with sensitivity.

I just offer them what they fear the most: a woman whose heart will not be lively like a fish.

His friends sabotaged his duties. They confiscated his mobile or immobile fortune for an honoured bill I had received from their Bank. Every month they demanded an increasing interest. This happy laughter will be redeemed expensively.

My cold plate’s hour glasses are contrary, counting conversely like a time bomb in a huge building that nobody knows when it is going to blast or where it is hidden.

A meaningless half measure if the employees in the sky-scraper become dromedaries a minute before the explosion and are informed with a call.

Unsigned moves of work. Guillaume, can you make the trigger bend so if I buy a gun you will be able to kill me?

I do not care if I live or not. I do not even care if I am an existing person. I do not think it is worth it to capture these bums. Not that I can’t. The world’s darkness won’t change with a dot defeat of the ruined attitudes.

I and a Moroccan friend of mine, Hassan, were planning my parents’ murder every time we embraced. “To death Ceausescu couple, my life’s dominant tyrants!” I exclaimed and with my hand like a spear held their picture like Samael’s Column of Stoning.

I had to play piano for all the generals at their symposia to make them express their flying feelings like an intruding gadfly attracted by light (even though she experiences darkness uninvited and sits on whatever food she wants). Thankfully these inspirations do not last long.

Damien was persistently asking me to bolt his neck with my nails. My teeth aren’t as ground as my nails. After all, he asks for this requital so as his blood-privilege of women-leaves.

When I was little, I pretended to be Artemis and my cousin was Actaeon when I was offended. A myth that occasionally alters its details…

I was not the daughter of Leto. I had just welcomed her face in a Marlow game that had been prepared by others.

Damien knows and I was blackmailed by him. At memory’s adolescence the father accommodated my impurity in our house and I asked for help from the imitator of Freud. You must never reveal your aces of spade when the solitaire is distributed.

He did not stay long and the Awe of the Possible Revelation disappeared.

Guillaume you are an amazing story-teller. I will send you a kiss on your cheek for the golden elephant which I have received as a gift.

A certain lucky charm…

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

 LETTER 270

 Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux

12-1-2001, Paris

 Dear Louis,

I embroider her with citrus! While she was visiting a doctor, probably Hippocrates and not Asclepius, she fell off the stairs which she had moulded with her imagination like Nils Holgersson, fearing of the monsters which live in heaven… For a month and even more, I also thought that maybe my own face had been touched too.

I had to assume responsibilities since I was a man.

I had broken up with the living Lucy. Not the dead one that the functions of the Psychopomp were almost a horizontal line.

I had to descend to Hades with my lyre as a rose and bring her back to earth by kissing her on the forehead.

I do not simply despise her breath but also her involuntary exhalation.

She opened her haze infused eyes when she felt me, seeing not only the dew around but me too.

I ended up being a computer guided by her mouse-hand.

A few days later we were both at her room. There were no squares or rhombi… Only curves and enormous dots.

My hand was creating every acutangular of hers while she was alive and writhing with the combustion of corn seeds from her oil in the casserole.

Africa and Asia stopped being united in one body after the opening of the Suez Canal in the 19th century.

I had the exact same refreshing sense at the beginning of the 21st century, when I split her two continents’ secrets of millennia that existed under the civilizations of Zarathustra and the Pharaohs.

Observer of a natural technological miracle, a colonialist-successor of the French and the British who with illegal mediums was draining a country mercilessly captured.

Her nails on my back deleted Utah’s alphabet.

This parallel demonstration of power and obedience did not live up to my expectations.

A diamond drill landed like a lightning on my European pelvis. I continued my erotic excavation.

I was wondering whether I was looking for quarrymen in a mine of South Africa so as my procedures will have been finished in Suez where I had been charting and excavating.

Whatever is pale is not anthrax… In my unguarded drill I felt her rubies rolling on the juvenile wheel of my moon. A necessary humidity for my workers’ tools since hot wind and fever reduce the performance and the speed while working.

My Bengal Gulf was utopian for a draft so risky.

I wanted to promote my interests in this area but also reign by dividing them. Only this is how I win my rivals since I do not have a Turkish embassy or elevated throne to impose myself on the barbarian guests. Cry is always a means of intimidation…Nile was making the fields of Africa seem golden and Euphrates those of Middle East. My Mississippi was a kind of litany to make me transform into a rainmaker.

Sahara was the area-bond that had to be crossed so as the dangers that were threatening me would be processed and the undertaking would be balanced. The spasms proved the euphoric of my thoughts.

But when I went to her own ear like a vampire, she said while touching my shoulders with a sensual voice: “Guillaume, you are such a skillful lover!”

I may have been baptized by my parents with as many names as the earth’s gentians. They gave me the name Damien by chance. Naming is for the human beings a state of emergency like the skin or intestines are for the human body.

A man’s brain has the tendency to categorize human beings. “He is a bum”. “He is a rival in a love affair”. “He is a skillful lover”.

In this case though, to my astonishment, my name did not coincide with that category.

I felt like an actor when he does not hear his name-even though nominated for an Oscar- trying to realize what exactly had happened to him.

I felt like a Norwegian canoeist at the fiords. Passages everywhere without seeing any destination.

My imaginative assignments at the Pyramid of Giza were intercepted with the name “Guillaume”.

After all, Iacchus is the man’s Nature unless he eliminates all of her and directs it to his Persian caravan. The subordinates gradually but progressively left for Cairo for our own Ambassador.

I dressed like a clap, like a Casanova who is scared of his big brother’s lost honour. It felt like Golgotha until I left from her house in my Citroen.

A thought was always on my mind: “Who is this Guillaume at last?”

Also, how could I handle this situation for my own benefit in the best possible way?

But my blood was boiling in my veins like a chicken does in a pressure cooker. I had crossed every permissible boundary of my driving.

When I got home I phoned Louis and told him to find a few handsome men so as I could throw my anger on whoever I found.

It did not take long for them, who would be getting well paid, to arrive.

It was Sergey from Russia, Martin from Germany and Janus from Poland.

While they were unfolding their fibres like the Three Ladies in Charleston, I was drinking a whole bottle of whiskey like a true Bacchus wondering who will pull my leash, who will unfold it and who will cut it in the end.

I gave the German and the Russian a bottle of cenotaph. I ordered them after they had drunk in those two seats to give birth to chopped echidnas of the earth. They obeyed happily.

I ordered to empty their summary on the back blessed by the Pope with the craters of the Polish. Perhaps I wanted to cover the chasms of the earth with their antidotes. I never wished to see lava in others. Only to feel it on my feathers.

I wanted to make the land fertile since sometimes fallow is not enough. I need willing and loyal tools to better the quality of production.

I ordered both of them to lick his back with their mouths so as the torrid board to have a title: “The Colonization of the 20th century in the European Land.”

With the handcuffs on my bedside table they tied the hands of the Polish man on the ends of the pillar-like bed. The first level was completely absent. The diachronic on the second one had transformed into a temporary one.

The Russian and the German and the third Roman soldier were whipping him without sadness and I was the informer of the whippings.

On the throne the neutral judge-Christ.

“The whipping of Christ” of Piero della Francesca had once greatly impressed me.

This time though, the painter Jesus preferred to put his Polish ideal type in the place of himself. For every time bomb I gave them one euro.

They will dismember Poland so as to split it in two. The German was hitting the west part and the Russian the east one.

What if though I was Montefeltro on the imaginary first level and my assassins were Lucy and Guillaume?

The Polish man was spitting on their faces when that was allowed.

The Germans’ Protestantism and the Russians’ Orthodox Christianity were like an agent with the lighters on his wounds since he suffered complete burns…

Blood was chipping his body like the crossing rivers were doing to Germany and Russia.

His palate was burnt by their two cigars that had a reversed course than the expected.

I had to give a bottle from the sea battle of Arginousses to the collection of the dead.

I sealed the nozzle with a message to an unknown recipient that the paper included so as a few days later the English Channel could be supplied.

It was not enough for me that the bottle came close to the vulgarity of war. I wanted to be a protagonist at the battle of Pydna.

He lit my cigar so as to get third degree burns. It was a matter of time or natural specs for these three seats of fire to be damped down.

In the huge fires the villagers pray for rain that never comes. The same happened with our little Polish. We sprinkled his land with water from Epiphany and we hallowed everything so as the impure creatures would be released to the fields.

Unique archetype of a religion you would say but as alive as my vision!

Three debauched bishops we were who banished his goblins so as to admire them in all their glory.

Like another Napoleon I was charmed by the one pretending to be my Maria Valefska.

I was as competitive as the other local super powers which were fighting in Berlin for who will finish first or simultaneously.

When my vases-thoughts emigrated to Guillaume and emptied the place, I had to think of a plan.

The Polish would become Guillaume’s wax doll. A role reversal…

I always prefer natural ingredients to artificial ones when it comes to my art.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 300

  Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont

10-8-2001, Paris

 Dear Claire,

My Parthian arrow finally managed to make the apple over Damien’s head mosaic.

He is simmering inside. It is not enough for me. The spirituality and the end of omnipotence in Guillaume’s envious eyes will stop.

The cause of feelings is the most successful indicator of results.

I have the golden larnaxes of Vergina in front of me. Should I not take advantage of their discovery by their over exposure to the audience of the Museum d’Orsay? Lots of dollars will flow…

The hooks will be presented as golden pagoda… Guillaume was manna from heaven… Damien was Daniel for the lions.

Men are beings which you can play with, like a harp, if you know their Achilles’ heel. Achilles was a man and Thetis the mother that gave birth to the man…

Women know men’s secrets better than themselves.

Paris or Menelaus? I haven’t decided yet… The verdict will come a few seconds before the winner’s confirmation.

To tell the truth, I would like Damien for my lover and Guillaume for husband-intellectual… Women’s supremacy? When we are pregnant it is only us that know who the father of the kid is…

Guillaume is the perfect victim for me to bring Damien’s dead torch back to life.

Guillaume will offer me money and Damien emotional assurance…

No Boeing of my interests will be misled or bleed from the pilot’s cabin at the Bermuda Triangle.

I feel a bog in my soul that has swollen up like dough.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 310

 Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

10-8-2001, Paris

 Dear Damien,

You received your degree in gynecology and obstetrics over a night. You are a jumper with awful performances. On the contrary, he is the fascinating Fersen of his queen.

He speaks thirteen languages and has a diploma in Political Science. How do you lead your life?

He is doing his doctorate in the Balkan civil wars. His father is Welsh.

Metropolis is getting its revenge for 1776. I expect the Twentieth Century to outlaw your memory.

He wrote to me that you are a heterozygous pathetic son of new born twins and that your hair has become turf from every kind of opium.

He asked me to reunite because you needed me. I showed him lots of your drafts and he said you are a new promising Ensor. He also assigned you a new poetic composure that has been attached to my letter. (1)

I am his heart’s golden intersection and he comes into my cave’s womb like Host.

In his eyes there is an acclivitous road paved with Calycotome villosa as satellites. In yours I see the declivitous with the garlands of Saint Xenon.

He is the philosopher who shows the sky of the Athenian School with his hand and you are its marble ornaments.

He is Saint George and you are the ideal winged dragon. I am Andromeda tied on the rocks with your chains…

He comes from the sign of Boo, you from the sign of Oph and I from the big Dog… A true starry empyrean.

I do not know whether I have to choose Julius Caesar or Marcus Antonius. I feel his mind is a labyrinth and I have to find the end of the strand! But how can I come out once I come in?

He has the eyes of a Byzantine sea eagle and I am the Empress Zoe if the head is not bowed. His heart offers me a lion cub’s tail. His chest a garden that you will never have. There is a kangaroo feeling in his Hermes for the weird names he has given his children. His body is a tropical of testosterone. When you give him a plate with food he carries the whole world in his hands. He is an investor actor of others that understands French Revolution and the ways it affected Europe.

He will be the triumphant.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 338

   Damien Adaleux to Juan Lamouz

5-10-2001, Paris

 Dear Juan,

It would be dishonest of me to claim that I’m not a maniac these days.

Surprise is more preferable than block. I decided to approach the ideal husband so as to sink his ships in Actium along with her who belonged to the South of the empress which I will enfilade.

She is the South and I am the North. I missed the West and East to make a Latin or Greek crucifix.

I steered myself in his mind’s Marseilles with a letter. Place of meeting?

My house of course… The palace of my Parisian Rome…

After all, the cathedra of the Popes moved for many years from Vatican to Avignon in France.

I have the Infallibility and I do not plan to give it away to others.

As her Pope, I had to find a way to eliminate my illegal enemy since I will have to return to my Holy Cathedra one day.

Spiritualized… I do not disagree… Of a humble origin though and a shaking morality… Son of a fallen family… All his wealth was lost in the altar of the New City’s Lion.

My fingers became chords in an Apollonian lyre when I impressed the notes he needed on the score…

The contract he signed with his soul’s blood had one condition on the numbered paper of absolution. He would do whatever I commanded.

He was not given thirty pieces of silver… One million euro was a start… I always believed that all people have a price…

The volume, the weight and the quality determine the value of the products. Transmutation brings the data’s rapid change.

I, an ambassador of the Eternal Flowing… The Great Teacher of Imputation and Fallacy…

My manuscripts are illegitimate or forged I dare say. The compass that crosses them is doubt. Only then they are transformed into originality.

Whatever is visible does not exist, but is. Whatever is is visible but I doubt it exists. Whatever exists is not visible but it may be.

Whatever is dictated to him, he will write it and do it.

My Cleopatra will be unwillingly bitten by my megaphone.

My hand is a snake of infinitesimal calculus.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 350

  Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

20-10-2001, Paris

 Dear Damien,

Guillaume is throwing down the glove. He told me that you cannot make a square in chess with me, Louis and Jean Pierre.

When the cross evolves from a baboon to a person it will become the fifth terminus in row on the five tangential spots of the circle. Guillaume, without touching your band, claims that Aeolus took the two plane tree’s leaves on which you stand at his branch. He says that the one plies in Gibraltar and the other in the land of Aeetes.

He also saw that I laid out your derivative. Your true father wrote to me that he does not have your surname. Apart from everything else he told me the divine words that you chew LSD like Pythia. He mentioned that you are a conscious Van Gogh as if he knows you from the future continuous.

He must be a native Calchas. How can he know all these things without having his Canis Majoris on your area? I expect your reply.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 360      

   Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron

26-10-2001, Paris

 Dear Sophie,

I became the statue of Milos. Guillaume asked for our hands to be united. His word is a Californian ghost. In my room I am Teresa from Avila. I do not drink. I do not eat. I do not speak. I only wet my sheet. Without explanation. I cry over nothing. Is it possible for a Tristan to neglect his Isolde and have a positive sign when he sends her to death?

Two equitant layers of nicotine under my eyes and next to them the feet of a duck.

Ho can this youth go together with its deterioration? Nobody calls me anymore. Who is responsible for my misery and for shutting out my friends? Who?

I miss Damien now. Only he knows how to love me for who I truly am…

We are made from the same material. Cherries on a birthday cake and all the banqueters are poisoned. We do not care to ruin the lives of others. We just use them to hurt each other.

But this cannot really happen. You cannot shoot life. Nor give breath to death.

We are both fire-proof. How can your liver be appreciated by your belly? Everyone was betrayed but ourselves…

Babylon’s pyramid-like gardens! Do you know which our previous reincarnation was? Pharisees, Jewish cantonal judges at God’s crucifixion, a responsibility totally ours.

In 1330 we were reborn as fleas on mice and we exterminated half of Europe’s population with the bubonic and pneumonic plague.

In another life we were guillotines for the decapitation of royal heads but also for the elimination of the people of Revolutionary France.

We are the idea of Typhus and Anomy…

We are Jesus Christ’s miracles! Nothing would be possible without Him!

He gave us a fertile land and our privileges! A better generation than our own sad one will come!

We are not all God’s creatures… Do our mushrooms cause you any problems?

Sophie, when you hurt others you benefit yourself.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 400

 Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux  

12-1-2002, Paris

 Dear Louis,

The sun’s coronation brought my empire’s rise. Lucy came like the moon in vertigo. I waited for her like a lion waits for the unconscious deer.

I kissed her forehead like the living bury the dead in mausoleums.

In the half lit living room, the electrocution of my kisses penetrated her body’s fire-flies. A new light was sparkling in the half opened door of my room.

A cage with the mystery’s decoder as bait. She laid her red raincoat on the table ready for the undetermined ritual. My hands were hotel keepers in my pants’ pockets having the humidity of the night…

I had chosen a privileged death for her amongst myriads that were out there.

Her hearing on the separative line between lying and truth was stimulating to me, giving it a small push like when we close our house’s door to the canary which came for the locals with bait.

I blocked the door with the keys of Saint Peter and I unlocked my darkest appetites.

The fox that all these years showed me she would be sentenced to death in our arms.

Every small or big Sunday would be drafted on her body by me. She would be paid up for her affair with Guillaume with an increased bank rate.

I stumbled and slightly hit my leg.

She tried to elevate her dignity. She asked for the reason of my action. She had not realized that Louis and Jean Pierre were carved on two chairs in the empty space for painting. One in Japan and the other in America were mobile only with the Floridian asianism.

When she realized it she became a sun with clouds in front of me. She fell down, kissed and cried on my knees. The weaned water of the Repentant Sinner…

I felt like a little God. Every Jehovah though must be affable for his crucifix. I did not intend to quit from the grass. I should not only be part of a miracle but also be the miracle. Nobody had the right to steal my Resurrection.

After all, her tears did not clean my octopuses but only my dusty shoes. Abraham’s sacrifice did not matter at all.

She kept apologizing to me for the shadows she had taken off my body saying that to convey somebody else’s words was one of her most provocative mistakes…

I acted with the Viking executioner’s instinct. I pulled her hair like Neanderthal and threw her roughly on the bed. How could she believe in Thoth’s miracles if she did not take part herself?

They taught us that believing in our God is a universal value. How are you going to teach his religion if you do not suffer his own tortures? But you have the right to steal the name of an anonymous God and be written in the holy incidents of life. Every one of us can become God. Just as long as somebody has the guts to accept the fact that this right belongs to all people until someday it is taken from them. I do not disagree. Bitter acceptance… Necessary for Mother Earth…

I threatened her that if she does not obey like a scout to my wishes I will send her loved one to the Underworld since I will reveal him her dual Aristotelian and her numerous lovers by their names and addresses.

I keep my promises. Fear had become a satellite over her head while Charon was threatening her loved one. I was a mason of the universe and at the same time a God-lamb.

I would once again sacrifice my soul to save the world.

Salvator Mundi above our heads… And us four like guards in hypnosis.

We would face the light of dawn like a pearl and with chameleons discs in the sky as a sign.

I always appreciated Piero della Francesca as a fresco artist.

A vertical sober power which does not doubt its value… Almost like Poussin’s… I am attracted by the monumental… How could I be deified without recruiting painters and religious images or students like Louis and Jean Pierre?

The third cockscomb was blackmail’s four-leaf clover. Of a practical nature I would say…

I would describe details to her Saturn from her rape by her cousin.

Her eyes acquired a tempest like before we were arrested by Efialtes.

Louis and Jean Pierre rose from their chairs and with human bodies stood on the left and right side of the bed for the Rightful Judgment.

Her hands became aeroplanes and hit the Twin Towers. These had collapsed from over heating.

Lots of corpses were flattening her little town. New York became Jerusalem and her mouth became a dump. I should have been a worthy descendant of Innocent the Third at Holy Land.

The remnants of the Birth and the temple of the Resurrection and Golgotha lied heavy on me. I had to reconstruct them with a crusade of dogmatic style and raise my Holy Crucifix.

As king of England, the conquest of Cyprus was a distractive plan.

The Mother of all Nations had received all the believers in her papal mitre while on her knees at the remnants of the Twin Towers. The constructive repairs lasted long.

I preferred to dig her ground so as to steal the cloak under the Altar.

Her papal mitre became river Jordan and I received the fire’s baptism after the flood.

The other two were surrounding me like animals in the barn and she was John the Baptist.

Perhaps we were the three magicians who offered her gifts… A female Jesus! My right side of the left heel… After all, gods cannot be confined in waterproof cases or genders.

I felt the shakes of her buttresses in the cathedral of Reims. I hid in her basements to escape from the outer bombarding that shook my faith and my lion head.

That church was antiseismic. If she resisted like it happened in Paris when conquered by the Germans, she would transform into an African-American fairy.

Knowing though the difficult position I was in, she did not resist at all.

This unconditional faith without precautions could add new fans to those already existing.

I do not pose any new demand for the time being.

Our bodies’ unity was the sumptuous feast of the Christian liturgy.

The friction of the bodies with other believers announcing during liturgy causes cacophony and lighters in the soul that you have as kindling under your clothes. I now saw Louis and Jean Pierre more competitively. But differently too…

Who would take the gold, the silver or the bronze medal in her body? Medal is not enough. Our performances mattered as well.

Who would throw his child further to the hymen which was taking various inclinations?

It seemed like your ectoplasm was rolling on your bathing suit. Nails that were trying to get over each other.

The balloon was about to break. Her look was not much different than that of Catherine the Great. At some point I felt like I saw goddess Astarte.

Thankfully, I quickly baptized her Unholy Altar with toothpaste so as she could write a New Testament.

The other two baptized her and baptized themselves with lather.

The Big Catastrophe always comes from a clarification of calculations. The need for catharsis even stronger…

After this hieratic paroxysm-Louis a catholic and Jean Pierre a protestant- I can claim that Christ’s church endured the reprisal towards the Catholics and the slaughter of the Huguenots without a grumble.

It was a religious cry of intercourse.

With myself beaten by the waves every time Guillaume pretended to be me and projected my most macabre thoughts on Lucy as if they were his.

Our bodies were like seaweeds on our feet carried away by currents of indefinite direction.

We thought touch was an anonymous identity of the flesh, knowing the texture and not her origin. I did not care at all about her details.

The feeling that we were a portion of a New Year’s pie whose levels we had tasted before and not at her completeness which was enough…

It seemed I took my revenge from Guillaume like an angel-avenger, but in reality I had revenged Lucy who was unaware of her breakdown.

A double triumph. I would not have the temples of Rome dead like Augustus. Now I was not only an Emperor but a God too.

This double quality assures you immortality. Why not a vast arrogance like the desert’s grains?

The torture was completed at the same time with the miracle. Combine business with pleasure.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

   LETTER 480

  Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux

4-11-2002, Paris

 Dear Damien,

Guillaume described to me what happened that January sunset with every detail as if he was a witness.

He had called me Mother Teresa and I was so furious that I wanted to erect his stamen and make his hippopotamus emerge.

He wrote to me saying that he will be citizen of your Rome if you obey the following Ten Commandments: 1) you must have sexual intercourse of deconstruction with your Holy one and Louis as your accomplice, 2) you must have sexual intercourse of masons with your “Lucrezia Borgia”, 3) you must rape Abel for his sacrifice, 4) you must become subject and object of a sentence at the same time with your friend Jean Pierre joining too, 5) you must express your love with actions in Lenin’s Mausoleum, 6) you must taste all kinds of addictions with wine and lamb over night, 7) you must be a child molester in Thailand, 8) you must make a woman fall for you head over heels and then break up with her so as she become depressed, 9) you must truly love a boy by kissing it on the mouth, like a lion, and your feeling should be bottled, 10) after you do all these things, you must invite him home to show him in Trilogy (Birth, Peak and Decay) your recorded achievements.

The Ninth Commandment is as impossible as to turn your Creator into Isaac. He specifically told me that only when Christ becomes king of hell will you have pure human feelings and that you are unable to do many things.

He says you were born with lots of “must” and you maintain a proper fame in society like a virtuoso.

He wrote to me that he already knew what kind of hideous actions you will do.

Thus, freedom of will is a rank lie which some people infuse in human beings’ souls so as to tame the caged beasts and keep them from being released and devour them. He told me he dared you to make me realize that you were not the best from those three in the box!

I was the satirical drama and you were the three tragedies. He claims he had won the first prize in the Great Spiritual Dionysia.

He underlined that it is impossible he had contributed in your soul’s rotting; this had happened long ago…

Is he the man of my life? I don’t know… I am sending you Guillaume’s letters so as you can gain Poseidon in your Aphrodite like the Great Wall of China which has been mildewed. I confess that Guillaume has a greater impact on my thought than your sphere of influence.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  LETTER 520      

 Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux

4-2-2003, Paris

 Dear Louis,

The eighth miracle of the world! Myself! Guillaume succumbed to my money and I persuaded him to break up with my Assam!

My Babylonian communist queen of Star Wars got trapped in the scheme I had planned.

In the corner of the Eternal Geometer, the greatest rival, I dropped his Saturnalia. I took advantage of the situation of Luck and Need.

Poor her! She thinks that her father does not know what her cousin did to her when she was little… She deludes herself… An adulteress with a leaden parental signature… A callous hand holding the lantern. Ignorance is defeat’s best student.

Guillaume was a gift from God. He helped to make her humble-loyal. I fired him when he started having feelings for her. I managed to poison their relationship.

This fortune-hunter, though, must be displaced. I am the culprit… I will make sure she never finds out…

Let her live with her Chimeras! Let the cast of the non-emancipated be away from me. I must have been a Hindu prince in a previous reincarnation.

I believe in Milk of Curable Spurious of Greek Pensive Joy and Sadness and in His good grace. All pathetic people must thank him like Lucy and I in the Olympic Stadium.

How can you appreciate health without sickness? How can you admire the pigeon if you do not separate it from the bat? How can you separate the dump from the beach?

I do not allow anyone to interfere with my private life and decry it as if we have been friends for years.

I am an important person of society. I am not just somebody…

Judgments or prophecies about my name are unacceptable. I am on the peak of my decay. Did anybody ask to be saved by him?

I do not ask for redemption. The county’s nature and my beauty’s charm are gables on my Evening star.

Nobody can count though the size of worms I have inside me with decimal numbers.

I can walk on the sea’s storm and lead you to the Promise Land through it. Christ blesses people like me! Sinners of the world blessed by Christ! My father and I had the Star of David on the ring.

I would not be a Christian if he didn’t lavishly give me privileges. I would search for another boss.

I am a lamb in the sheepfold for whoever makes the most beneficial offer.

Don’t forget! Christ once had a traitor for his student! It seemed he loved traitors and rotten figs very much!

Lucy gives me her scarf knowing I corrupt her so as she can benefit me. The other guy offered her everything and she led him to disaster.

I will not say any more details. I am a discreet person.

Unfortunately, Lucy can only understand about him what she feels.

Since you understand you can take anything and make peace with others.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

  LETTER 550  

 Damien Adaleux to George Labrousse

25-4-2003, Paris

 Dear George,

I am sending you a photocopy of Lucy’s letter. Guillaume’s family is about to be broke. I decided to get rid of him with the cleverest way.

Her father is a puritan. I sent him letters I had that he had sent to Lucy with totally sexual content to seem on one hand catechetical and nice and on the other hand to threaten him and leave her alone.

Complaints and lawsuits were thrown into the downpour. Kill two birds with one stone! Christ’s miracles are nothing compared to mine… Why does everyone admire an invisible God? Why don’t they admire me that I live amongst them? Why should I be deified after my death? I have grape fruit ideas. Like Christ got past Old Testament, I will get past New one. I must be the third in succession. The poor man of God thought he could mess with us Patricians without dealing with the expected consequences.

Where to find money to give to a broke man for court battles? He retreated like a vulture with a wounded wing… Everyone at his place and all of us in our nest…

I am the surgeon and the dissector of the human soul.

My scalpel can estimate sections accurately and cure or butcher. This will depend on my interests or mood.

Us members of high society we use people and situations for our games in order not to be bored. Their right place is in the garbage bins.

I am the state and whoever acts against me will have the end of Fouquier-Tinville.

I want all objects in order and cared for. I want others to be the pawns and I do not want to receive sudden incidents.

That person of divided morality should be away from Lucy. I just helped her father for truth to come out. My ascetic truth…

I am the black sun with its halo. Admire me!

I was honoured by August 11th 1999…

The beams still exist in the darkness. A nature’s miracle…

I know everybody’s weaknesses and I move depending on them.

Even if I chopped her, she would glorify my name during the cut because she forgives everything I do.

I like to step on her foot just to see her kick me. Guillaume swore at her once and she refused to see him again.

He was not blessed with my virtues! I am an amazing lover, painter, sculptor, poet, novelist, composer, lyricist, singer, great hypocrite, band member, founder, director, dancer, journalist, athlete, blogger, hacker, video artist and Lucifer’s admirer and hunter…

The catalogue of new is incomplete. The gift of my persuasion has been spared.

Be sure that since I am good looking, even if I eliminated half of the earth’s population, judges would find mitigating factors and dismiss me.

I have the looks of Bush Jr. God willing I commit crimes without doubt and guilt.

Whoever died by the hand of American Presidents are anonymous. Everyone you know I killed had a surname and a name.

I wish I had the power to exterminate all the earth’s population! For the extra terrestrial civilizations of space! We are the greatest threat, not them…

Greater proof is that the worst kind of man is man, is myself and my memoirs.

For the time being, I enjoy my victory over Iraq and Serbia.

I am the Capitalist of the Round Evil.

I like smashing with my boot everyone that does not belong to my tastes like a cockroach.

I am sure I will get everything I deserve and that I will enjoy everything I deserve for a long time.

All girls must follow Lucy’s example. Treat everything that matters like it is a garbage bin and make a statue for everything that is garbage.

Only such women should exist so as everything I stand for can triumph.

Why then carry a cross on your shoulder while I and my friends achieve everything without labour but with our cheap soul?

You succeed with corruption and immorality. If you look at Sistine Chapel, God gives breath to the creature with his hand.

Whatever the painting is, this is what its Creator is too. Are you something different from what you excrete?

We are our actions and our thoughts. Not the ideas… These belong to Heaven and to the dead so as we Gods can resurrect them and make them owe us dinners.

We kill them and we resurrect them. What is simpler than that?

This way we seem important hunting dogs.

Yours,

Damien Adaleux

LETTER 720

Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron

10-8-2008, Paris

 Dear Sophie,

What would the revolution of the Franks be without the enlightened nobles of the Tennis Court? Ganges does not flow backwards. The New French Revolution is a fact.

Pierre revealed everything to me. The king must be transferred to Kerameikos from Versailles. I am tired of waiting for him in Trianon’s circle to promise he will multiply the few ignorant pieces of bread.

I possess all his letters to Jeremy. The clones of his letters are in the hands of his own ministers. Much more so, his revolutionaries.

The scene of the phallus’s fall, which was described in a letter of his to César, is everywhere in the circles of high society. Definitely a Menander’s scene.

Our Louis became Paradise’s Adam!

The libels that circulate against him have no precedent.

Before I do those actions though, I avenged him in a different tone.

I invited him to an exotic dinner. I, he and Louis who had demanded we broke up. The place of meeting was an unknown to them apartment of immigrants in the capital.

The house belonged to an anarchist friend of mine whom I had met in Sorbonne. I had taken its keys so as our king and his Kalon could be locked up in Korydallos.

I was the virgin of Leucippus between Castor and Polydeuces.

Why experience Paradise alone when you can embrace Hell with someone else?

If you do not throw the seed for the almond tree to grow and get bigger with your mouth’s liquid, how can she produce blooms and leaves?

How am I going to imitate Dryope? An offering of green blood should be made.

An angelic knife came out of my bag. Their shirts fell on the dusty marble ground like revolutionary nurses, highlighting the muddy memories that somebody can have from a life without golden coins.

A life stung by a sting. I drew a heart on their shaven by arson chests.

Maybe because I wanted not to reforest but to found a New Civilization.

A Gothic civilization… Or maybe because their hairs were not from chlorophyll.

I wanted red trees and rivers, like the soul’s flames. I gave a lighter tone to their contentious chests with my tongue. To be exact, a rosy one like life is not.

I drew Damien our relationship’s sunset without him having any premonitions about it.

Their clothing scissors and their intermittent cardboards had been taken away without any hesitation.

I had taken the position of a tiger on the half-weathered, dusty bed.

My flexibility was like an erection that offered Louis various expressions depending on the displacements of Damien’s head: one time at the temple that was on my two hills and other times on the reversed side of earth.

Damien was cleaning the path that led from Omar’s temple to my Vatican.

His mouth was a Spanish sea. From his tongue’s religion to its heresy or its intention, so as I get troubled for which path to follow and taste virtue’s garden.

His waves were about to swallow the two most sacred cities of Christians. A subsea earthquake in the Cretan Sea of a magnitude of Pharaoh’s ten wounds was coming to drown all Christians.

Jews and Muslims of those areas. I felt the lack of land like the castaway fighting with the waves.

I was melting too… I was almost absorbed by his liquid, magic wand and I was about to drown with my guards of ancient cities, like Atlantis.

The culprit was the collision of the African slab with Greece. Or better the collision of interests of Sickness and Power.

All believers would get drowned from the comet Louis would throw on earth. Rome and Jerusalem would be of the sea now… Instead, their immoralities in continuous tense.

At some point my mouth became Bagdad constantly bringing missiles and bombs of Louis.

My teeth were collateral damage asking for their toothpaste.

Maybe Damien thought that having a father from America means he can blame others for the mistakes he makes.

I am afraid this cannot happen this time… The American guy and his friend may have eliminated cities and killed non-combatant with biological weapons but time had come for: “The payment of the tax.”

Christ was absent in the middle of the composition.  The arrangement of the fantasies was circular. Damien gave knife and will receive more knives.

I converted to Judaism. Suddenly the Door opened. It was not Christ… They were my ten Seraph Labradors.

“Peter” and “John” were upset for the tax their God had to pay to the Tax-collector’s temple.

They froze with mechanical procedures. Their hands were Gordian as it is common before the time of the guillotine comes.

Those two thieves with the big teeth and the long ears… They were screaming… They were yammering… And I in the middle waiting for the end.

I was the Elevated Christ of Antonello da Messina to initiate heaven.

They became ancient Minoans by a razor with forest’s strip to remind to everyone that there is always hope in Sahara and to straighten the sail in the reprisal. They were mercilessly whipping them with stock whips for forty minutes.

Their condemnation was guilt. The ten jurors declared it with judicial and religious conditions without a chance of appeal or absolution.

Acropolis was a holy place to the Alkmeonides.

I decided to send their microphones with a scalpel to the guillotine to silence them.

Prices were a little atrocity in two plates with tomato and acorns.

I devoured the fish so as they will not thrive anywhere else.

We left them half-unconscious in the lake of Bartholomew.

I was later informed that their disability was spreading like a cancer in hands and feet.

They remained deficient. Unfortunately not in the head. But this was not enough for me. I had arrested all his friends at the port.

I sent all his letters with his hideous crimes to the tabloids.

The government collapsed. Damien and his father asked Russia for refuge so as not to go to prison.

It is too late for Guillaume though. I heard he committed suicide.

I will go to his grave tomorrow to leave an orchid knowing that sooner or later Brick-Fielder will blow her dried leaves to the four points of the horizon.

Yours,

Lucy Sanguin

  THE END

[thingsonmyclipboard]

Kelley was an introvert saw repression as the enemy of sanity. He sought out and even embraced life’s darkness; a Poet Apostate who criticized “normative” values, systems of authority and consumer culture. As critics have pointed out his early use of stuffed animals was intended to “drive a wedge between sentimentality and childhood.” His savage critiques appealed to the jaded appetites of some of the art world’s leading collectors.

Kinkade and Kelley were the yin and yang of American art, one favored by conservative “red” America, the other by “blue.” Kinkade’s work was sold in shopping malls, at the Disney Store and on eBay, while Kelley’s was shown in elite galleries and contemporary art museums.

Yet, despite their differences, they both had a deep interest in the same subject matter: the revisiting of their childhood traumas as portrayed in the image of “home.”

Before his death by suicide in early February, Kelley was working on “Mobile Homeland,” an installation that was intended to recreate his childhood home in Detroit. In his final interview Kelly told Tulsa Kinney of Artillery Magazine that the subject was …” almost too fraught with psychology and dysfunction…things that could easily feel like an emotional burden.”

Home, as seen through a child’s eyes, was a subject that Kelley had dealt with before. In his 1995 installation “We Communicate” Kelly wrote texts for a set of children’s paintings that commented on the psychological underpinnings of each image. One of his commentaries says quite a bit about what he thought a painted image of a house could communicate:

“The house is a crudely scrawled heap surrounded by dark messy slashes of color. The surrounding shading produces an atmosphere that screams with anxiety. No German Expressionist has depicted the black torture of the soul better. Although Elaine is obviously an unhappy child, she is, at least, able to express this state of mind openly and need not hide behind the mask of socialization. She need not pretend to be a ‘good girl.’ The adult world of rules and order, symbolized by the house, is sinking back into an infantile fecal mound that Elaine has the capacity to control.”

Clearly, what Kelley had to say about the child’s way of coping — she was in control because she didn’t repress or pretend — is also an manifesto of his own social and personal ethos. “His subversive critique,” wrote George Melrod after Kelley’s death, “was not just aimed outward toward society at large, but seemingly inward at himself.”

By contrast, one of Kinkade’s signature images, “The Christmas Cottage,” is a sentimentalized image of the artist’s childhood home; Kinkade reportedly launched his artistic career to save it after he learned that his mother could no longer afford the mortgage. It has been stated that one in twenty homes in America is decorated with some kind of Kinkade print. You have to wonder: how many homes had “The Christmas Cottage” hanging over the fireplace when Countrywide posted the foreclosure papers on the front door?

The cottage, which glows as if it had swallowed the Star of Bethlehem, exudes a luminescent fairy tale vibe that Kinkade used as his shield against his life’s disappointments. By painting fairy tales, Kinkade was attempting to achieve what Bruno Bettelheim posited was a “…happy outcome, which the child cannot imagine on his own.” Kelley would have called Kinkade’s approach “denial.” Indeed, Kinkade expertly sugar-coated the subject matter of every one of his mass-reproduced images. No wonder one critic called them “visual Prozac.”

Kinkade reportedly died of “natural causes,” which I assume is a sugar-coating of the actual factors. The artist’s public outbursts — he once reportedly urinated on a Winnie the Pooh figure at the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim while saying “This one’s for you, Walt.” — and his 2010 arrest for drunk driving suggest that the man’s demons were doing everything they could to burst out.

Kelley, by taking his own life, was characteristically honest. His suicide was his admission of unhappiness, a problem that he had discussed openly in his key works. At the time of his death Kelley was reportedly depressed after a breakup with his girlfriend.

Mike Kelley died “critically acclaimed.” Thomas Kinkade died “popular.” As Leonard Koscianski pointed out on Facebook, they both had their constituencies. They both had considerable public and financial success.

“Mike Kelley,” comments Leonard Koscianski, “made very high priced works that ridiculed middle class sentiment. His works were so expensive that they could never be owned by the middle class he disparaged.” His hanging mixed-media installation, “Deodorized Central Mass with Satellites,” sold at auction for just over $2.7 million dollars in 2006. Kelley, who had once addressed cultural consumerism with a fetishistic phallic candle display called “The Wages of Sin” was represented, at the time of his death, by the world’s most powerful contemporary art dealer, Larry Gagosian.

Kinkade’s art and the product line that grew from it was so successful that his art company was publicly traded on the New York Stock Exchange, and at one point had a market capitalization of $350 million (the total value of the stock) based on annual sales of $250 million. Kinkade, who described the art world as “a very small pond…a very inbred pond,” left behind a net worth that is in dispute. One source says “$70 million” another says the artist, who had faced lawsuits by the owners of Kinkade gallery franchises, died “piss-poor.” At the time of his death, Kinkade and his wife Nanette had been separated for more than a year.

Kelley’s bracingly strange and searchingly intellectual art appealed to America’s 1%. Kincade’s hyper-sincerity, and his celebration of Christ, baseball, and glowing cottages made him the favorite artist of America’s 99%. They were two American artists who, in their striking divergence, tell the story of a nation whose center seems ready to tear apart. Stress makes people look for extreme solutions, both in life and art.

Ultimately, both men seem to have suffered in catering to the almost schizophrenically divided tastes of American society. In public they both maintained powerful identities — a bad boy and a good boy — while in private each one got a bit lost trying to find his way “home” to private peace and reconciliation with his childhood experiences. It might be said — in psychoanalytic terms — that both Kelley and Kinkade ultimately failed to sublimate their impulses and idealizations into workable connections with the world.

Let’s hope, for Kinkade’s sake, that he is safely at home in Heaven. It would have to be a light-filled, cotton candy heaven where a compassionate Christ is present. In Kelley’s case, it is tougher to speculate on where his final home might be and who might comfort him. When Tulsa Kinney asked Kelley, during his final interview, if he ever believed in Heaven and Hell, he responded plainly:

‘No. I never believed in anything.’

________________________

To those who have never believed in anything consider placing your faith alone in the Christ who came to earth and lived a perfect life then died for your sins.

Our views below concerning how to go to heaven (this material is from Campus Crusade for Christ).

Just as there are physical laws that govern

the physical universe, so are there spiritual laws that govern your relationship with God.

God loves you and offers a wonderful plan for your life.

God’s Love “God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16, NIV).

God’s Plan [Christ speaking] “I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly” [that it might be full and meaningful] (John 10:10).

Why is it that most people are not experiencing that abundant life?

Because…

Man is sinful and separated from God. Therefore, he cannot know and experience God’s love and plan for his life.

Man is Sinful “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

Man was created to have fellowship with God; but, because of his own stubborn self-will, he chose to go his own independent way and fellowship with God was broken. This self-will, characterized by an attitude of active rebellion or passive indifference, is an evidence of what the Bible calls sin.

Man Is Separated “The wages of sin is death” [spiritual separation from God] (Romans 6:23).

This diagram illustrates that God isholy and man is sinful. A great gulf separates the two. The arrows illustrate that man is continually trying to reach God and the abundant life through his own efforts, such as a good life, philosophy, or religion

-but he inevitably fails.The third law explains the only way to bridge this gulf…

Jesus Christ is God’s only provision for man’s sin. Through Him you can know and experience God’s love and plan for your life.

He Died In Our Place “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

He Rose from the Dead “Christ died for our sins… He was buried… He was raised on the third day, according to the Scriptures… He appeared to Peter, then to the twelve. After that He appeared to more than five hundred…” (1 Corinthians 15:3-6).

He Is the Only Way to God “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life, no one comes to the Father but through Me’” (John 14:6).

This diagram illustrates that God has bridged the gulf that separates us from Him by sending His Son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross in our place to pay the penalty for our sins.It is not enough just to know these three laws…

We must individually receive Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord; then we can know and experience God’s love and plan for our lives.

We Must Receive Christ “As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name” (John 1:12).

We Receive Christ Through Faith “By grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as result of works that no one should boast” (Ephesians 2:8,9).

When We Receive Christ, We Experience a New Birth (Read John 3:1-8.)

We Receive Christ Through Personal Invitation [Christ speaking] “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him” (Revelation 3:20).

Receiving Christ involves turning to God from self (repentance) and trusting Christ to come into our lives to forgive our sins and to make us what He wants us to be. Just to agree intellectually that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that He died on the cross for our sins is not enough. Nor is it enough to have an emotional experience. We receive Jesus Christ by faith, as an act of the will.

These two circles represent two kinds of lives:

Self-Directed Life

S-Self is on the throne

-Christ is outside the life

-Interests are directed by self, often

resulting in discord and frustrationChrist-Directed Life

-Christ is in the life and on the throne

S-Self is yielding to Christ,

resulting in harmony with God’s plan

-Interests are directed by Christ,

resulting in harmony with God’s plan

Which circle best represents your life? Which circle would you like to have represent your life?

The following explains how you can receive Christ:

You Can Receive Christ Right Now by Faith Through Prayer (Prayer is talking with God)

God knows your heart and is not so concerned with your words as He is with the attitude of your heart. The following is a suggested prayer:

Lord Jesus, I need You. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. I open the door of my life and receive You as my Savior and Lord. Thank You for forgiving my sins and giving me eternal life. Take control of the throne of my life. Make me the kind of person You want me to be.

Does this prayer express the desire of your heart? If it does, I invite you to pray this prayer right now, and Christ will come into your life, as He promised.

Now that you have received Christ

[christianlivingtoday-blog]

Eight Common Mistakes of People Who Forget

1. PEOPLE WHO FORGET DISHONOUR FOUNDERS AND FATHERS.

And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without.

Genesis 9:22

One of the commonest occurrences is the forgetting of the contribution of fathers and founders. Our Lord Jesus knew that He would be forgotten by the church, so He instituted the ritual of Holy Communion so that we would remember Him.

Recently, I was preaching to the leaders of student churches at the university. I called for the leader of a particular church. The leader stepped forward and I asked, “Do you know that I started the church you are pastoring?”

This pastor looked surprised and answered, “No, I never knew.”

So I informed him about how I spent two and a half years of my university life praying, fasting and preaching till his church was established.

This Christian leader had no idea how I had been maligned and criticized for establishing his church. But such is the lot of fathers and founders. Their contribution is often forgotten. Unfortunately, in so doing, many set aside the ideals and vision the founders had.

One day, a brother who had set up a mass choir returned to his university campus to pay a visit. He was greeted at the door by an usher who, obviously, did not know that he was talking to one of the founders of what he was enjoying and managing. He was treated as a common stranger and ushered unceremoniously to the very back of the hall. Such is the lot of the founder!

Many churches do not remember their founders. The memory of the founder dims as the years go by. His name is pushed away and anything that reminds them of him is erased. New pastors want to remove the concept of the “Founder’s Day”. The new pastor wants the picture of the founder taken away.

The current pastor loves to be seen as the luminary who achieved everything on his own. Such people have forgotten the work that the founder did for the church to come into existence.

The work of a founder and the apostle is the most difficult job of all.

Paul said of founders:

I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men

1 Corinthians 4:9

The founder’s work is buried in the ground and many do not see it. Many founders are scarred and wounded individuals. They receive the largest amount of criticism and the least amount of appreciation.

The families of apostles and founders are not exempted from this treatment. They are often set aside and forgotten. The family may have paid an equally high price for the founder to lay the foundation he did.

Upon the death of founders and apostles, many are moved with compassion for their families and declare that they will set up foundations and trust funds for them.

Sadly, with the passage of time, the passion for setting up these foundations and mobilizing the money that is needed fades away. The family of the founder is left to fend for itself and to fight for survival.

The Forgotten Founder

I remember one founder who died and left behind little children and a pregnant wife. He also left behind a thriving ministry with many large churches.

Years after the death of her husband, she was without sustenance and help from the church he had founded.

In desperation, his wife remarried.

One day, I asked, "Who did the founder's wife eventually get married to?"

I must admit that I was stunned by the answer. I was told that this great founder's wife had married one of her husband's servants.

I thought to myself, "She must have been desperate."

I remembered one of the churches of this great founder that I had preached in. It was large and prosperous. I wondered if these large churches could not take care of this widow. Such is the lot of founders - so easily forgotten and so easily dismissed from memory.

The Forgotten Ideals

Perhaps it is even more painful when the founder's ideals are set aside. I once read about a great founder and found no comparison between what he believed in and what the church he had founded was practising.

I visited the grave of this great founder and was taken on a tour of the founder's home by the caretaker. One of the last comments the caretaker made was indeed very sad.

He said, "This great founder would be very sad if he rose from the dead today.”

"Why?" I asked.

He continued, "Most of the vices he fought against are the ones that currently plague the church he founded."

Sadly, the founder's ideals had been set aside. Even though this founder's name is certainly not forgotten, his ideals and vision have been set aside.

The danger of all this is that the curse of dishonouring fathers will follow the current leaders.

Ham Forgot

It is an important principle to honour fathers. Ham, the black son of Noah, broke this principle and dishonoured his father. It is the curse that followed that governs large sections of the world's population.

Across the world, the inability of the black man to rise above the state of servanthood can only be explained by a curse. Others may differ in their view and I can handle that, but I find it difficult to explain the state of Africa and black people, in general, except by interpreting it as the curse of Ham. This severe curse came about when a young man forgot the contribution his father had made to his existence.

And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without.

Genesis 9:22

Ham forgot that it was his father, Noah, who heard from God and obeyed the call.

Ham forgot that he did not know God well enough to hear the voice that commanded to build an ark.

Ham forgot that if his father had not built the ark he would have drowned along with the rest of the world.

By faith Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his house; by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith.

Hebrews 11:7

Ham forgot that God had judged Noah to be a righteous man. “But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord” (Genesis 6:8). Ham forgot that he was alive only because of his “drunken” father whom God found righteous.

Ham forgot that every man of God has a right to be naked in his own tent.

Ham forgot that he himself was, sometimes, naked in his own tent.

He forgot too many things and he paid dearly for his lack of remembrance.

Today, the black man can scarcely rise out of the waters of worldwide despisement.

2. PEOPLE WHO FORGET BECOME DISOBEDIENT.

Jeroboam was chosen by the Lord to replace Solomon. Jeroboam, a “nobody”, was picked to replace the ruling lineage of David and Solomon; the two greatest kings of Israel. This honour was done to Jeroboam because Solomon had gone after idols and worshipped false gods.

And Ahijah caught the new garment that was on him, and rent it in twelve pieces:

And he said to JEROBOAM, Take thee ten pieces: for thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel, Behold, I will rend the kingdom out of the hand of Solomon, and will give ten tribes to thee:

(But he shall have one tribe for my servant David's sake, and for Jerusalem's sake, the city which I have chosen out of all the tribes of Israel:)

Because that they have forsaken me, and have worshipped Ashtoreth the goddess of the Zidonians, Chemosh the god of the Moabites, and Milcom the god of the children of Ammon, and have not walked in my ways, to do that which is right in mine eyes, and to keep my statutes and my judgments, as did David his father.

1 Kings 11:30-33

Somehow, when Jeroboam became the king, he forgot why he was chosen in the first place. He forgot why God had chosen him as the replacement of the lineage of David and Solomon.

He forgot the most important thing and disobeyed the Lord in exactly the same way Solomon had. Notice the passages, which reveal both the privileged calling of Jeroboam and the subsequent repetition by Jeroboam of Solomon's sins.

And JEROBOAM said in his heart, now shall the kingdom return to the house of David: If this people go up to do sacrifice in the house of the Lord at Jerusalem, then shall the heart of this people turn again unto their lord, even unto Rehoboam king of Judah, and they shall kill me, and go again to Rehoboam king of Judah.

Whereupon the king took counsel, and made two calves of gold, and said unto them, It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem: behold thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.

And he set the one in Bethel, and the other put he in Dan.

And this thing became a sin: for the people went to worship before the one, even unto Dan.

And he made an house of high places, and made priests of the lowest of the people, which were not of the sons of Levi.

And Jeroboam ordained a feast in the eighth month, on the fifteenth day of the month, like unto the feast that is in Judah, and he offered upon the altar. So did he in Bethel, sacrificing unto the calves that he had made: and he placed in Bethel the priests of the high places which he had made.

1 Kings 12:26-32

Will You Remember God?

Sometimes, you wonder if Christians can stand to be blessed. Can they ever handle the blessings that God has? I remember a Christian brother who was elevated to the high offices of government. The Lord blessed him with prosperity and power.

My first contact with him was several years before when we had a crusade in one of the cities of Ghana. We had to relate with him because he was the president of the Scripture Union fellowship of that town. We had to borrow some equipment from him. I remember how he came for the crusade and I remember his attitude. We felt like immature zealots in his presence. We wilted under his strict, moral, Christian eyes!

Years later, whilst watching television, I noticed that he had been promoted to one of the highest political positions in the country. I said to myself, "Wow, a Christian is deep into politics…! I hope he can stay on course with the Lord." But that was not to be. The years went by and this fellow backslid terribly. It became apparent that he had put aside his faith.

Unfortunately, he also became ill and died suddenly. One day, I spoke to a pastor who ministered to him before he died. This pastor told me how this Christian politician had come to his house in the middle of the night demanding that the gate be opened to him. The Christian politician was now terminally ill and knew he was dying. He had come to see the pastor in the middle of the night because he could not breathe and he could not sleep.

He confessed his sins to the pastor and told him how he had forsaken his Christian wife and gone after other women. He cried and told the pastor how politics had even led him into occultism. Sitting in the pastor's home at one o'clock in the morning, he wept sore and asked for forgiveness for forsaking God. Alas, this man died a few days later. When I heard this story, I marvelled and considered how people forget their Christian commitment when they are elevated in this life.

Such was the story of Jeroboam who was picked from nowhere and elevated to the throne. He forgot the God who had picked him up and placed him on the throne. Unfortunately, Jeroboam disobeyed God at the first opportunity.

Paul declared that he knew how to stay close to God whilst poor and also when rich. This is the secret that Christians seem to lack - how to remember God when they are promoted.

Paul said,

I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.

Philippians 4:12, NASB

3. PEOPLE WHO FORGET BECOME PROUD.

Then David returned to bless his household. And Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David, and said, how glorious was the king of Israel to day, who uncovered himself to day in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one of the vain fellows shamelessly uncovereth himself!

And David said unto Michal, It was before the LORD, which chose me before thy father, and before all his house, to appoint me ruler over the people of the LORD, over Israel: therefore will I play before the LORD.

2 Samuel 6:20-21

Sadly, many people forget how they came to be in privileged positions. However, this was not one of David's problems. He always remembered where the Lord had lifted him from. He knew that he was a “nobody” picked from looking after sheep and lifted to the throne of Israel. This made him grateful and worshipful even when his kingship was established.

Ousted Politicians

Unfortunately, many Christians forget where they came from.

I have needed help from the government on many occasions. Sadly, these powerful politicians had no time for an insignificant priest like me. Even Christians forget their heritage and place politics above their Christian faith. An interesting development, however, has been the turnaround in attitude by some of these people after leaving office.

Somehow, these politicians seem not to “know” you when they are in power. Yet they become so chummy and friendly when they are out of office and have lost their glory. A true friend is someone who will remember you when he is up there. Sadly, most people forget others when they are blessed.

I have had powerless past politicians ringing me up and chatting with me as though we were the fondest of friends. They called me by my first name and claimed that we were the best of buddies.

When I have met them on flights and in other settings I always got the same response. I have been invited to lunches and dinners by unseated politicians.

I never honoured any of these invitations because I did not regard these people as genuine friends. If they were genuine friends they would remember me when they were in the pomp and splendour of their offices.

God has shown me that there is no need to suck up to pretentious politicians. He will take care of His work with or without their help.

David said moreover, The LORD that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the LORD be with thee.

1 Samuel 17:37

4. PEOPLE WHO FORGET CAN EASILY GET DIVORCED.

Unfortunately, many people forget the words they spoke to each other during their marriage ceremony.

“Till death us do part,” they say boldly.

They declare, “For better or for worse.”

Others vow, “In prosperity and in adversity we shall live together.”

Many pronounce, “Many waters cannot quench our love. Neither can the floods drown our devotion.”

They assert, “If any man will break up this union, it will be Satan.”

Yet many of us try to break up this union. We have forgotten that we said that it would be Satan who would attempt to break up the union. Does this mean that if you try to break up your marriage you are Satan? Forgive!

Forgetting what you have said can go against you greatly. Most couples do not remember what they said to each other. Many wives forget how they proclaimed, “From this day forward, I shall love you and I shall give myself to you.” Years later, when they are in bed with their husbands, they forget how they said, “I shall give myself to you.”

Now, they do not give themselves to their husbands.

When they exchange rings, they say, “Let this ring be a symbol of our love for eternity.” Unfortunately, the ring has become a symbol of sadness, bondage and quarrels.

One of the main reasons for divorce is forgetting what we said to each other. Most of the time the promises are made in our youth. By our middle age, we have forgotten what we said in our youth.

God is against those who do not remember what they said in their youth. The Bible refers to the wife as the “wife of your youth”. In other words, she is the woman you liked when you were young, zealous and full of love. The Scripture urges you to remember the words of your covenant.

Yet you say, “For what reason?” Because the LORD has been a witness between you and the wife of your youth, against whom you have dealt treacherously, though she is your companion and your wife by covenant.

But not one has done so who has a remnant of the Spirit. And what did that one do while he was seeking a godly offspring? Take heed then to your spirit, and let no one deal treacherously against the wife of your youth.

For I hate divorce, says the LORD, the God of Israel, "and him who covers his garment with wrong," says the LORD of hosts. "So take heed to your spirit, that you do not deal treacherously."

Malachi 2:14-16, NASB

5. PEOPLE WHO FORGET BECOME PRESUMPTUOUS.

And Moses said unto Korah, Hear, I pray you, ye sons of Levi:

SEEMETH IT BUT A SMALL THING UNTO YOU, THAT THE GOD OF ISRAEL HATH SEPARATED YOU FROM THE CONGREGATION OF ISRAEL, TO BRING YOU NEAR to himself to do the service of the tabernacle of the LORD, and to stand before the congregation to minister unto them?

Numbers 16:8-9

The rebellion of Korah is of particular note because Moses rebuked Korah for his presumption. Presumption is “the arrogant assumption of privilege”. When a person becomes presumptuous, he is too confident in a way that shows a lack of respect.

When people are fortunate to occupy certain positions, they often do not realize what a privilege they have. Moses recognized this sin in Korah.

Korah had the privilege of being a Levite and a leader of the congregation. Yet he spoke the rudest words to Moses, the servant of God.

They assembled together against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, "You have gone far enough, for all the congregation are holy, every one of them, and the Lord is in their midst; so why do you exalt yourselves above the assembly of the Lord?

Numbers 16:3, NASB

Moses asked him whether he did not cherish the honoured position of a leader. He asked him, "Seemeth it a small thing to you?" I realize how people consider privileges as small things. They take them for granted and speak rudely to people who are way above them. This rude speaking is the cardinal sign of the presumptive spirit.

The Confident Pastor

Years ago, I noticed a brother who had the potential for being in the ministry. His pastor did not recognize his calling, but I did. In fact, his pastor told me personally that he was amazed that I could think of making somebody like that into a pastor. But I gave him an opportunity to be in the ministry. Then I trained him and appointed him as a pastor.

After some years, this brother became established in the ministry. Then one day, he dropped a bombshell and told us that he was leaving. He left our church, planted a church nearby, persistently invited our church members to leave us and join him; and virtually built his church by dividing ours. Soon, his new church consisted of many of our former members who had “migrated” to his new church. As you can imagine, this led to some conflict.

I had several exchanges with this fellow, some of which were not pleasant. One day, during one of our exchanges, he pointed out to me that what I was complaining about was unavoidable and that he could not help it if our church members were being attracted to his new church (which he had planted not far from ours). In other words, I needed to cure my insecurities!

This dear pastor pointed out to me that I myself had planted churches all over the place without apparent regard for their closeness to other churches. He also pointed out to me that I had started churches with people who were members of other churches.

He went on and put a direct question to me, "Why do you contradict yourself?"

Then he advised me to come to terms with the realities of pastors leaving my church; otherwise I would fight with everyone that ever left.

I was amazed as he continued, "You appointed me as a pastor and I honoured that appointment with my sweat and money. I owe you nothing further.” He finally warned me saying, "I hold you personally responsible for anything that happens to my marriage."

He Forgot but I Remembered

I thought over these sayings for a long time. I considered how prosperous and wealthy he had become over the years and how he confidently rebuked and advised me today.

But I also remembered how years ago this brother (who was now rebuking me) was an impoverished, illegal immigrant who could not afford his own lunch. Now it seemed a small thing to him to have been lifted from his former state to where he currently was.

He could not remember his starting point; that is why he spoke confidently and in a way that showed a lack of respect (presumption).

You see, we all start from humble beginnings. I started my life and ministry from a very low point. What matters is not how low your starting point was. What matters is how well you can remember your lowly starting point! I realized that this brother had forgotten that he might never have become a pastor if he had not met me.

Perhaps, he had forgotten how I encouraged him to go into the ministry.

It seems he had forgotten how I chose him and sent him to a particular country, which he knew not.

He had forgotten that he would never have had the wife he had if I had not told her to marry him.

I remembered when his wife asked me about him. She did not want to marry, and especially she did not want to marry him.

But I convinced her and told her that he was a good person. Before he married her, I had such authority over his wife and she would have done anything I told her. In those days, the words and advice I gave to her were like the oracles of God. Whatever I said was what mattered.

Through his marriage which I sponsored, this brother had now become a member of a well-known family and enjoyed the privileges, financial wealth and inheritance of that family.

It seemed that all these had been forgotten by this brother who now said he owed me nothing!

Perhaps I would have to join Paul in saying, “I do not say to thee how thou owest unto me even thine own self besides.” This brother said that he owed me nothing. But Paul said to Philemon that he owed him his very life.

I Paul have written it with mine own hand, I will repay it: albeit I do not say to thee how THOU OWEST UNTO ME EVEN THINE OWN SELF besides.

Philemon 19

It is always interesting to watch the sons of Korah rebuke their fathers. They love to put the fathers in their place. It seems a small thing to them. All that their fathers have done for them seems to them like nothing.

It is only because people forget where they were and who they were that they speak great swelling words of arrogance. Please do not repeat these errors. They are written for our example.

And Moses said unto Korah, Hear, I pray you, ye sons of Levi: Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the God of Israel hath separated you from the congregation of Israel, to bring you near to himself to do the service of the tabernacle of the LORD, and to stand before the congregation to minister unto them?

Numbers 16:8-9

6. PEOPLE WHO FORGET BECOME REBELLIOUS.

And Samuel said, When thou wast LITTLE IN THINE OWN SIGHT, wast thou not made the head of the tribes of Israel, and the LORD anointed thee king over Israel?

1 Samuel 15:17

Saul did not remember to obey the Lord when he was lifted up. Samuel reminded him that he was nobody when God called and anointed him. Apparently, he had forgotten how little he was at the beginning.

by Dag Heward-Mills

[graceflorencetaylor]

the gospel.

When I was growing up, unlike most kids, I absolutely loved going to youth group. I mean, some of the kids were a bit awkward, but it wasn’t much different from the average public school experience. And again unlike most kids, I absolutely hated the games.

Most of the people would only come for the games and to chat with their latest crush, however, I tended to avoid social interaction as much as I could, so forced interaction through playing games wasn’t my cup of tea.

However, there was one game I enjoyed: Bigger or Better. 

Basically at the start of the game you are given something simple, like a dime or paper clip, and you go around the town trying to trade it for something bigger or better. With each trade you can either choose to keep the item or continue your search for the best prize. The goal is to return with a bigger or better item than you started out with.

At the start of the game, I remember mocking the idea of getting something worth much when all we had was a paperclip. We set out into the neighborhood going from door to door asking if people had anything bigger or better to trade us for our dime. After an hour, our team returned with nothing but a beat up poster and defeated faces. To our surprise, the other teams had in total collected 3 tv’s, 2 giant teddy bears, and a cello! I was shocked at how their little dime got them so much more.

When I was thinking about this day, it reminded me a lot of the story of the bible.

For those of you who don’t know, the Bible is the story of God providing redemption and life for the entire world.

The story begins in a garden, God created the entire universe and in it he placed the first two humans, Adam and Eve. The bible said that God resided in the garden with them, in an intimate, loving relationship with complete freedom. Adam and Eve spent their days working the land and cultivating the garden that God had formed for them. The only thing that was off limits were two trees, the tree of life, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

God created these boundaries because he knew that love wouldn’t be true unless it had freedom and a choice. Adam and Eve were free to choose to obey the one rule of the garden. The bible says that one day, a snake came to Eve, promising her that eating the fruit would make her more like God. And from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Adam and Eve took a bite of the fruit.

This was the day sin entered the world. Adam and Eve decided to define good and evil for themselves rather than to trust in God’s judgement.

From this point, to protect them from an everlasting life of being stuck in sin, God removed them from the garden, thus breaking the perfect relationship they once held with him.

The rest of the Old Testament tells story after story of God trying to redeem a relationship with his people, yet they continue to reject him and choose their own evil ways. The world was stuck in a cycle of sin and death, unable to find a way out of their own self destruction.

The good thing is, this is not the end of the story.

Around 2,000 years ago, a man named Jesus was born. Yet, He wasn’t just a man, he was the son of God, born to a virgin girl named Mary.

When he grew up in the town of Nazareth, Jesus traveled the ancient world preaching and doing signs and wonders. For the first time in the history of the world, a man lived with no sin. He would tell people about the true heart and love of God, then display this love by praying for the sick, dead, and dying and seeing them healed and brought back to life! Jesus’ life challenged the religious ideals of the day.

We must acknowledge that his way of life was not ordinary, it was radical. The religious leaders were so upset with Jesus’ claims of being the son of God that they put him to death on the cross. The son of God died for you. And he died for me. In Romans 5, the bible says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us”.

But here’s the good news, the gospel is this, three days later, the tomb was empty. Jesus rose from the dead. He conquered death once and for all, so that the entire world might have life.

In John 10:10, Jesus says this, “The thief came to steal, kill, and destroy, but I came so you might have life and have it to the full”.

Isaiah 53 describes the weight and significance of the cross:

Surely he took up our pain

   and bore our suffering,

yet we considered him punished by God,

   stricken by him, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,

   he was crushed for our iniquities;

the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

   and by his wounds we are healed.

We all, like sheep, have gone astray,

   each of us has turned to our own way;

and the Lord has laid on him

   the iniquity of us all.

He took it all for us. He paid the highest price. 

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

God took our sin, our brokenness, our guilt, our shame, and he nailed it to the cross. And in return he gave us something so much bigger and so much better: life abundant.

I didn’t start following Jesus until I got to high school. All throughout middle school, I struggled severely with depression and suicidal thoughts. I would get home from school after being bullied throughout the day, and immediately run to my room to hide from being ridiculed anymore. I would sit in the dark, scrolling through sad, dark tumblr posts for hours, looking for some sort of acceptance and love from the world.

Everyday before school, I would dress my best, spend hours doing my hair and makeup, striving to fit in and feel accepted. I joined every sports team I possibly could so people would think of me as fit, and worked endlessly on homework, trying to get perfect grades.

Nothing was ever good enough. The oppression continued and my grades refused to raise. All I was doing was running myself into the ground. Acceptance was nowhere to be found.

When I reached my freshman year of high school, a kid from my english class invited me to youth group. After initially saying no, the kid wouldn’t shut up. Week after week, I was faced with the same invitation, “Hey Grace, you should come to youth group tonight at 7! I’ll see you there”. After months of avoiding the invite, I finally caved and went. I sat near the back, hiding behind my shame and insecurities as the pastor began to talk about Jesus. Something in my heart shifted that day and I came face to face with the loving presence of God. Tears began to well in my eyes as I heard a story of a girl named Jolene, who struggled with a form of cancer. She had just been diagnosed with two weeks left to live, but she continued to come to youth group because all she wanted to do was sit in the love of Jesus. 

Her story gave me hope.

I ran to the car, with tears streaming down my face as I realized for the first time that God loved me for exactly who I was, not who I was striving to be. That day, I gave my life to Jesus.

He made me a new creation, and I will never be the same. 

In 2 Corinthians 5:17, the bible says:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.

He wants to give you a new life. He wants to take away the weight of sin in your life. With Jesus, life becomes easy. You no longer have to strive for acceptance! Jesus already loves you! That’s why he created you to be exactly who you are! He knows everything about you! There is no point in hiding from him because he already knows it all! So why are you trying to hide?! Come to Jesus! Just come to Jesus and he will take it all away! And the life he gives you in return will be so much better than anything you can ask or imagine!! You don’t need to have it all together! When we come to Jesus, we don’t need to have it all together. That’s why he came.

If the world was already perfect, why would to need a Savior?

Maybe you feel that the life you have to offer him is just a measly dime or paperclip, but to him, that’s enough.

In the gospel of Mark 1:16, the disciples face a similar invitation:

As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him.

Come and follow me.

They left their nets, their old way of life, at once to come to him. That’s what repentance means. To leave it all behind, turn our life around, and follow him.

If we are not willing to give up everything, then we must not be seeing the fullness of the kingdom.

I want to challenge you to open your eyes, He is so much bigger and better than you can even imagine.

The first words Jesus speaks when he begins his ministry are found in Mark 1:15:

“The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!”

For Jesus, life was all about intimacy and relationship to the Father. That is why the kingdom has come near. Through Jesus, God brought back the original plan of intimacy found in the Garden of Eden, where nothing can separate us from his love. The only thing that matters is Jesus. He is the savior of the world.

There’s a quote by C.S. Lewis which says,

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Why are you pleased with your life of sin? The kingdom of God is righteousness, peace, and joy. That life is only found in him. You need to come to Jesus.

He took it all on the cross so you and I could be free.

Will you follow him?

Just like Adam and Eve, we have the freedom to choose. The life he offers is so much bigger, and so muchbetter. He is the way, the truth, the life. Choose Jesus.

[life-in-every-limb]

Last year for Lent I participated in an online book club via WINE (Women in the New Evangelization) in which we read and discussed Walk in Her Sandals.  Our facilitator (Allison Gingras of Reconciled to You) came up with the fun Instagram challenge below.

At first I was content to share a picture but as is my way I quickly had to make it harder for myself by coming up with a quotation for each day as well.  Having done all that work, I thought I would at least share the fruits of my labors in case anyone might find them helpful or enjoyable!

The quotations are attributed, and the pictures are all mine. 

DAY 1         

Word:  Walk     Picture:  Conservatory in Como Park, St. Paul, Minnesota

Excited to start the Lenten journey!

DAY 2     

Word:  Disciple     Picture:  Roof of parking garage in downtown Knoxville

Love this picture of Lorelei with the sign she carried when we marched in solidarity with immigrants and refugees. With our parish church in the background and the sign she is holding, I think this picture says a lot about the demands of discipleship.

DAY 3     

Word:  Grace     Picture:  Cathedral of the Assumption, Louisville, Kentucky

“Do you want the Lord to give you many graces? Visit Him often.” ~ Saint John Bosco  

DAY 4     

Word:  Season     Picture:  Forks of the River Trails in Knoxville, Tennessee

“Love is a fruit in season at all times and within reach of every hand.” ~ Mother Teresa 

DAY 5     

Word:  Open     Picture:  Statue of Mary in my garden

“Let’s not be afraid to receive each day’s surprise. Whether it comes to us as sorrow or as joy. It will open a new place in our hearts . . .” ~ Henri Nouwen

DAY 6     

Word:  King     Picture:  Main Altar, Cathedral of Saint Paul in Minnesota

“This is the calling of Christians: . . . To make this kingdom of Christ a reality, to eliminate hatred and cruelty, to spread throughout the earth the strong and soothing balm of love.” ~ Saint Josemaria.

DAY 7     

Word:  Gift     Picture:  William on his 16th birthday

“If you . . . know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him?” ~ Matthew 7:11. May we all greet God’s gifts with the same delight William showed upon opening this one!  

DAY 8     

Word:  Wait     Picture:  side altar, Cathedral of Saint Paul

Psalm 130:5-6: “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.”

DAY 9     

Word:  Hosanna     Picture:  Sky in front of my house

Isaiah 6:3: “Holy holy holy, Lord God of hosts, Heaven and Earth are full of Your glory!” 

DAY 10     

Word:  Empty     Picture:  Ancient bowl at the Minneapolis Institute of Art

Empty me, Lord, that I may be filled with You. 

DAY  11     

Word:  Abandon     Picture:  Carl Cowan Park in Knoxville, Tennessee

Saint Ignatius Loyola: “Few souls understand what God would accomplish in them if they were to abandon themselves unreservedly to Him and if they would allow His grace to mold them accordingly.” 

DAY 12     

Word:  Heart     Picture:  University of Tennessee Trial Gardens, Knoxville

Psalm 51:10: “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”

DAY 13     

Word:  Cleanse     Picture:  Front porch of our former home

      Psalm 51:2: “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”

DAY 14     

Word:  Love     Picture:  Our mantel at Christmas

1 Corinthians 13:13:  “There are three things that last . . . The greatest of these is love.”

DAY 15     

Word:  Sacrifice     Picture:  Pieta at Cathedral of Saint Paul in Minnesota

Mother Teresa: “A sacrifice to be real must cost, must hurt and must empty ourselves. Give yourself fully to God. He will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in His LOVE than in your weakness.”

DAY 16     

Word:  Saint     Picture:  Chapel of Saint Patrick at Cathedral of Saint Paul

“All hail to Saint Patrick!” ~ Father Frederick Faber

DAY 17     

Word:  Generous     Picture:  Forks of the River Trails in Knoxville

St. Louis de Montfort: “Pray with great confidence, with confidence based upon the goodness and infinite generosity of God and upon the promises of Jesus Christ. God is a spring of living water which flows unceasingly into the hearts of those who pray.” 

DAY 18     

Word:  Trust     Picture:  Lighthouse in Duluth, Minnesota

“I will trust the promise. You will carry me straight to shore.” ~ Rend Collective

DAY 19     

Word:  Good     Picture:  Detail of one of my Christmas decorations

Good Saint Joseph, pray for us! 

DAY 20     

Word:  Victory     Picture:  Bookwalter Cemetery in Knoxville, Tennessee

1 Corinthians 15:55: “Where, O death, is your victory?”

DAY 21     

Word:  Sight     Picture:  Cathedral of the Assumption in Louisville

2 Corinthians 5:7: “We walk by faith and not by sight.”

DAY 22     

Word:  Strength     Picture:  My son Teddy after sweeping the Liftathon

Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Him that gives me strength.”

DAY 23     

Word:  Cross     Picture:  Freedom Baptist Church in Rosedale, Maryland

We adore You, O Christ, and we praise You, because by Your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world.

DAY 24     

Word:  Mary     Picture:  Boticelli painting at the Baltimore Museum of Art

“Never be afraid of loving the Blessed Virgin too much. You can never love her more than Jesus did.”  ~ Saint Maximilian Kolbe

DAY 25     

Word:  Suffering     Picture:  Bookwalter Methodist Cemetery, Knoxville

Lamentations 1:12: “Is it nothing to you, all who pass by? Look around and see. Is any suffering like my suffering?” 

DAY 26     

Word:  Prayer     Picture:  St. Peter’s Catholic Church, Harpers Ferry

“Prayer draws into the soul the Holy Spirit, and raises man to Heaven.” ~ St. Ephraim of Syria 

DAY 27     

Word:  Silence     Picture:  Jefferson Rock in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia

“We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature – trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls.” ~ Mother Teresa 

DAY 28     

Word:  Faithful     Picture:  E. Vedder Painting, Baltimore Museum of Art

“The Sorrowing Soul between Doubt and Faith”   Mother Teresa: “Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.”

DAY 29     

Word:  Petitions     Picture:  Statue at the Baltimore Museum of Art

Saint Thomas Aquinas: “. . . Since she is the Queen of Mercy . . . She cannot refuse your petition.”

DAY 30     

Word:  Watch     Picture:  My son’s kitten, Sawyer

Luke 21:36: “Be always on the watch . . . that you may be able to stand before the Son of Man.”

DAY 31     

Word:  Frozen     Picture:  Saint Francis in my garden

“The sky can never be frozen/because its vastness has chosen/all warmth of our lives as we look above/with unbreakable hearts armoured in love.” ~ Munia Khan 

DAY 32     

Word:  Peace     Picture:  Festival of Nations at Dollywood

“Let there be peace on earth . . .” ~ Sy Miller and Jill Jackson

DAY 33     

Word:  Darkness     Picture:  Jack O’Lantern Spectacular in Louisville

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

DAY 34     

Word:  Sunrise     Picture:  Morning in my front yard

Psalm 65:8: “The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.”

DAY 35     

Word:  Maternity     Picture:  Cathedral of the Assumption, Louisville

G.K. Chesterton: “Mary leads us to Christ, but Christ leads us back to His Mother, for without Mary’s maternity, Jesus would become a mere abstraction to us.”

DAY 36     

Word:  Beginning     Picture:  Pellissippi Greenway,  Knoxville

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” Isaiah 43:16.17.

DAY 37     

Word:  Freedom     Picture:  Cades Cove, Smoky Mountains

“Freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right to do what we ought.” ~ John Paul the Great

DAY 38     

Word:  Spring     Picture:  My summer garden

Saint Therese of Lisieux: “If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.” 

DAY 39     

Word:  Joy     Picture:  Painting by Emily for my father’s birthday

“All the trees in the forest sing for joy.”  Psalm 96:12

Picture 2:  John and I, Christmas Eve 2016

“Joy is prayer; joy is strength: joy is love.” ~ Mother Teresa

  DAY 40     

Word:  Flower     Picture:  Late Summer garden

Saint Jean Vianney: “As a vigilant gardener labors from morning till night to destroy the weeds in his garden, and to ornament it with flowers, so let us labor every day to uproot the vices of our soul and to adorn it with virtues.”

DAY 41     

Word:  Light     Picture:  Cades Cove, Smoky Mountains

“God is light, and in Him there is no darkness.” 1 John 1:5

DAY 42     

Word:  Fire     Picture:  Backyard Christmas tree bonfire

“Go forth and set the world on fire.” ~ Saint Ignatius Loyola

DAY 43     

Word:  Sisters  Picture:  Emily and Lorelei on Election Day 2016

       “Sisters are different flowers from the same garden.” ~ Unknown

DAY 44     

Word:  Room     Picture:  Inn at Woodhaven, Louisville

“When you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father.” Matthew 6:6 

DAY 45     

Word:  Happiness     Picture:  Lorelei with a longed-for Christmas gift

“You pray, you love–that is the happiness of man upon the earth.” ~ Saint Jean Marie Baptist Vianney

DAY 46     

Word:  Drink     Picture:  Teddy during Junior Parents’ Weekend

Ecclesiastes 9:7: “Eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart.”

DAY 47     

Word:  Easter     Picture:  Immaculate Conception Church, Knoxville

John Paul II: “We are the Easter people, and Alleluia is our song.”

Have a blessed Lent!

[hardword-blog]

Am I a Christian, Pastor Timothy Keller?

Am I a Christian, Pastor Timothy Keller? Nicholas Kristof DEC. 23, 2016

What does it mean to be a Christian in the 21st century? Can one be a Christian and yet doubt the virgin birth or the Resurrection? I put these questions to the Rev. Timothy Keller, an evangelical Christian pastor and best-selling author who is among the most prominent evangelical thinkers today. Our conversation has been edited for space and clarity.

KRISTOF: Tim, I deeply admire Jesus and his message, but am also skeptical of themes that have been integral to Christianity — the virgin birth, the Resurrection, the miracles and so on. Since this is the Christmas season, let’s start with the virgin birth. Is that an essential belief, or can I mix and match?

KELLER: If something is truly integral to a body of thought, you can’t remove it without destabilizing the whole thing. A religion can’t be whatever we desire it to be. If I’m a member of the board of Greenpeace and I come out and say climate change is a hoax, they will ask me to resign. I could call them narrow-minded, but they would rightly say that there have to be some boundaries for dissent or you couldn’t have a cohesive, integrated organization. And they’d be right. It’s the same with any religious faith.

KRISTOF: But the earliest accounts of Jesus’ life, like the Gospel of Mark and Paul’s letter to the Galatians, don’t even mention the virgin birth. And the reference in Luke to the virgin birth was written in a different kind of Greek and was probably added later. So isn’t there room for skepticism?

KELLER: If it were simply a legend that could be dismissed, it would damage the fabric of the Christian message. Luc Ferry, looking at the Gospel of John’s account of Jesus’ birth into the world, said this taught that the power behind the whole universe was not just an impersonal cosmic principle but a real person who could be known and loved. That scandalized Greek and Roman philosophers but was revolutionary in the history of human thought. It led to a new emphasis on the importance of the individual person and on love as the supreme virtue, because Jesus was not just a great human being, but the pre-existing Creator God, miraculously come to earth as a human being.

KRISTOF: And the Resurrection? Must it really be taken literally?

KELLER: Jesus’ teaching was not the main point of his mission. He came to save people through his death for sin and his resurrection. So his important ethical teaching only makes sense when you don’t separate it from these historic doctrines. If the Resurrection is a genuine reality, it explains why Jesus can say that the poor and the meek will “inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5). St. Paul said without a real resurrection, Christianity is useless (1 Corinthians 15:19).

KRISTOF: But let me push back. As you know better than I, the Scriptures themselves indicate that the Resurrection wasn’t so clear cut. Mary Magdalene didn’t initially recognize the risen Jesus, nor did some disciples, and the gospels are fuzzy about Jesus’ literal presence — especially Mark, the first gospel to be written. So if you take these passages as meaning that Jesus literally rose from the dead, why the fuzziness?

KELLER: I wouldn’t characterize the New Testament descriptions of the risen Jesus as fuzzy. They are very concrete in their details. Yes, Mary doesn’t recognize Jesus at first, but then she does. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24) also don’t recognize Jesus at first. Their experience was analogous to meeting someone you last saw as a child 20 years ago. Many historians have argued that this has the ring of eyewitness authenticity. If you were making up a story about the Resurrection, would you have imagined that Jesus was altered enough to not be identified immediately but not so much that he couldn’t be recognized after a few moments? As for Mark’s gospel, yes, it ends very abruptly without getting to the Resurrection, but most scholars believe that the last part of the book or scroll was lost to us.

Skeptics should consider another surprising aspect of these accounts. Mary Magdalene is named as the first eyewitness of the risen Christ, and other women are mentioned as the earliest eyewitnesses in the other gospels, too. This was a time in which the testimony of women was not admissible evidence in courts because of their low social status. The early pagan critics of Christianity latched on to this and dismissed the Resurrection as the word of “hysterical females.” If the gospel writers were inventing these narratives, they would never have put women in them. So they didn’t invent them.

The Christian Church is pretty much inexplicable if we don’t believe in a physical resurrection. N.T. Wright has argued in “The Resurrection of the Son of God” that it is difficult to come up with any historically plausible alternate explanation for the birth of the Christian movement. It is hard to account for thousands of Jews virtually overnight worshiping a human being as divine when everything about their religion and culture conditioned them to believe that was not only impossible, but deeply heretical. The best explanation for the change was that many hundreds of them had actually seen Jesus with their own eyes.

KRISTOF: So where does that leave people like me? Am I a Christian? A Jesus follower? A secular Christian? Can I be a Christian while doubting the Resurrection?

KELLER: I wouldn’t draw any conclusion about an individual without talking to him or her at length. But, in general, if you don’t accept the Resurrection or other foundational beliefs as defined by the Apostles’ Creed, I’d say you are on the outside of the boundary.

KRISTOF: Tim, people sometimes say that the answer is faith. But, as a journalist, I’ve found skepticism useful. If I hear something that sounds superstitious, I want eyewitnesses and evidence. That’s the attitude we take toward Islam and Hinduism and Taoism, so why suspend skepticism in our own faith tradition?

KELLER: I agree. We should require evidence and good reasoning, and we should not write off other religions as ‘superstitious’ and then fail to question our more familiar Jewish or Christian faith tradition.

But I don’t want to contrast faith with skepticism so sharply that they are seen to be opposites. They aren’t. I think we all base our lives on both reason and faith. For example, my faith is to some degree based on reasoning that the existence of God makes the most sense of what we see in nature, history and experience. Thomas Nagel recently wrote that the thoroughly materialistic view of nature can’t account for human consciousness, cognition and moral values. That’s part of the reasoning behind my faith. So my faith is based on logic and argument.

In the end, however, no one can demonstrably prove the primary things human beings base their lives on, whether we are talking about the existence of God or the importance of human rights and equality. Nietzsche argued that the humanistic values of most secular people, such as the importance of the individual, human rights and responsibility for the poor, have no place in a completely materialistic universe. He even accused people holding humanistic values as being “covert Christians” because it required a leap of faith to hold to them. We must all live by faith.

KRISTOF: I’ll grudgingly concede your point: My belief in human rights and morality may be more about faith than logic. But is it really analogous to believe in things that seem consistent with science and modernity, like human rights, and those that seem inconsistent, like a virgin birth or resurrection?

KELLER: I don’t see why faith should be seen as inconsistent with science. There is nothing illogical about miracles if a Creator God exists. If a God exists who is big enough to create the universe in all its complexity and vastness, why should a mere miracle be such a mental stretch? To prove that miracles could not happen, you would have to know beyond a doubt that God does not exist. But that is not something anyone can prove.

Science must always assume that an effect has a repeatable, natural cause. That is its methodology. Imagine, then, for the sake of argument that a miracle actually occurred. Science would have no way to confirm a nonrepeatable, supernatural cause. Alvin Plantinga argued that to say that there must be a scientific cause for any apparently miraculous phenomenon is like insisting that your lost keys must be under the streetlight because that’s the only place you can see.

KRISTOF: Can I ask: Do you ever have doubts? Do most people of faith struggle at times over these kinds of questions?

KELLER: Yes and yes. In the Bible, the Book of Jude (Chapter 1, verse 22) tells Christians to “be merciful to those who doubt.” We should not encourage people to simply stifle all doubts. Doubts force us to think things out and re-examine our reasons, and that can, in the end, lead to stronger faith.

I’d also encourage doubters of religious teachings to doubt the faith assumptions that often drive their skepticism. While Christians should be open to questioning their faith assumptions, I would hope that secular skeptics would also question their own. Neither statement — “There is no supernatural reality beyond this world” and “There is a transcendent reality beyond this material world” — can be proven empirically, nor is either self-evident to most people. So they both entail faith. Secular people should be as open to questions and doubts about their positions as religious people.

KRISTOF: What I admire most about Christianity is the amazing good work it inspires people to do around the world. But I’m troubled by the evangelical notion that people go to heaven only if they have a direct relationship with Jesus. Doesn’t that imply that billions of people — Buddhists, Jews, Muslims, Hindus — are consigned to hell because they grew up in non­Christian families around the world? That Gandhi is in hell?

KELLER: The Bible makes categorical statements that you can’t be saved except through faith in Jesus (John 14:6; Acts 4:11-12). I’m very sympathetic to your concerns, however, because this seems so exclusive and unfair. There are many views of this issue, so my thoughts on this cannot be considered the Christian response. But here they are:

You imply that really good people (e.g., Gandhi) should also be saved, not just Christians. The problem is that Christians do not believe anyone can be saved by being good. If you don’t come to God through faith in what Christ has done, you would be approaching on the basis of your own goodness. This would, ironically, actually be more exclusive and unfair, since so often those that we tend to think of as “bad” — the abusers, the haters, the feckless and selfish — have themselves often had abusive and brutal backgrounds.

Christians believe that it is those who admit their weakness and need for a savior who get salvation. If access to God is through the grace of Jesus, then anyone can receive eternal life instantly. This is why “born again” Christianity will always give hope and spread among the “wretched of the earth.”

I can imagine someone saying, “Well, why can’t God just accept everyone — universal salvation?” Then you create a different problem with fairness. It means God wouldn’t really care about injustice and evil.

There is still the question of fairness regarding people who have grown up away from any real exposure to Christianity. The Bible is clear about two things — that salvation must be through grace and faith in Christ, and that God is always fair and just in all his dealings. What it doesn’t directly tell us is exactly how both of those things can be true together. I don’t think it is insurmountable. Just because I can’t see a way doesn’t prove there cannot be any such way. If we have a God big enough to deserve being called God, then we have a God big enough to reconcile both justice and love.

KRISTOF: Tim, thanks for a great conversation. And, whatever my doubts, this I believe in: Merry Christmas!

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/23/opinion/sunday/pastor-am-i-a-christian.html?_r=0

[johnchiarello]

Christianity- Philosophy

CHRISTIANITY- PHILOSOPHY

Then said I, Lo, I come (in the volume of the book it is written of me,) to do thy will, O God. Hebrews 10:7

https://youtu.be/Cu6BnzfU7MQ  Christianity- Philosophy

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/2-5-17-christianity-philosophy.zip

ON VIDEO-

.Objective Truth

.Epistemology

.Derrida

.Descartes

.Do words have meaning?

.Tower of Babel

.Plato

.Socrates

.Tertullian

.Logos

.Intertestamental period

.Development of the ‘Tradition of the elders’

.Man not made for Sabbath [law] but Sabbath for man [‘s benefit]

.Cop did 8 years in prison for murder

.He was framed- and now free

.Finality of the law theory?

.Hannah Overton case

.It’s not just speaking words

.But a demonstration of truth

NEW- [past teaching below]

Words communicate ideas- truth.

Language is a ‘mystery’ to some thinkers.

In scripture we see man created in the image of God-

He is unique in his ability to communicate through language.

We read of the beginnings of various languages in the account of Babel- where man was on a mission to achieve something- and because he had a common language- he was about to do it.

Yet God confounded them- gave them different languages- and the mission stopped.

In the field of philosophy some have challenged objective truth [is anything actually true].

They have challenged that language- words- actually ‘mean’ anything.

They view words- truth- as being relative.

In order to make this argument- well yes- they use words themselves- and write books about it.

I hope you see the irony here.

In scripture we read that Jesus is ‘The Word’ of God.

He is the Logos.

Yet- he is more than just words- he is the incarnation- the embodiment of all that the prophets spoke under the influence of the Spirit of God.

So believers are not just people of the book- we are also manifestations of the Word of God- we are actually the Body of Christ on the earth.

One of the early church fathers asked ‘have we chased God into a book’?

He saw the danger of the early church losing the reality of God among us- and simply seeing our mission as reading the words- and teaching the words- that the prophets spoke.

But we are to be the 'living epistles’- people who have the nature of God written in us- not with ink and pen- but by the Spirit of God.

The religious thinkers of Jesus day elevated the written law- over the incarnate Word [Jesus].

They challenged him for healing people on the Sabbath- Jesus responded ‘the Sabbath was made for man- not man for the Sabbath’.

Yes- the law of God is good- but man is created in the mage of God- and when you use the law- and elevate it- above the intent- the benefit of man- then you have forgotten the law giver himself.

Jesus challenged their elevating of the words in a book- which could never truly give life.

We do not challenge objective truth—or say that words have no meaning.

No- Jesus challenged the idea that the law- words- should be elevated above the value of men.

I recently saw a case of a man who was wrongfully convicted of a crime.

He appealed while in prison- and during the process it was revealed that another man committed the crime.

The prosecutor in the case found a loophole- she challenged the release of the man from prison- because during his appeal process- he filed something out of order.

But they already knew he was the wrong man.

The judge asked her ‘is it the position of the state- to hold an innocent man in prison- because he failed to file the appeal properly’.

The prosecutor said ‘yes’.

She held the view that the ‘finality of the law’ was more important- then the release of an innocent man.

Meaning- if he initially had a fair trial- and the jurors decided on the evidence they had at the time.

Then the courts should not later rule on new evidence- of his innocence- the courts should only overturn the conviction if it was shown that the initial trial of the man was unfair.

This woman held a view of the law that is not unique-

Some exalt the law- even if it is wrong- because they feel the viability of the system would break down- if the initial ruling is now overturned.

They make the mistake of the Pharisees- who saw their idea of the Sabbath- to be honored over the healing of a man on the Sabbath.

To them- the words written down [the commandments on stone] took priority over humans- over the act of Jesus- the Logos in flesh- healing a man.

And in so doing- fulfilling the intent of the words of the prophets- him being the Logos- the Word made flesh.

As believers we hold to the Word of God- we have the Spirit of God within us- the letter kills- but the Spirt gives life.

It was said of Jesus ‘I come to do thy will O God- in the volume of the book it is written of me’.

Yes- the book had words about Jesus-

When he came- he demonstrated the reality of those words.

He took upon him the sins of man- he went to the Cross- he rose from the dead.

He actually did this- he redeemed us.

We read about this in a book called the bible.

But it was the actual historical event of the Cross- meaning the fact that it happened- that redeems us.

Yes- people can challenge the limitations of words- speech- language.

Truly they are limited.

But the demonstration of what Jesus did- his life- his death- his resurrection.

Those who witnessed of it- and still do- cannot be denied.

The church in the earth today- all the people of God- are a testimony of Jesus Christ.

We too are called upon to carry the Cross- to lay down our lives for others.

To challenge those in society who would prefer a man be executed- or spend his life in prison- because of the ‘finality of the law’.

We are called to defend the defenseless- to not fear retaliation if we speak out against power.

We are to demonstrate the boldness of the early church- and take a stand against injustice in the earth.

Yes- we are the people of God- not just people who read the words about God- in a book.

PAST LINKS [Teaching I did before that relates to today’s post- Christianity- Philosophy]

Talked about Genesis 11- Here’s my study- https://ccoutreach87.com/genesis/

Philosophy too- https://ccoutreach87.com/overview-of-philosophy/

https://ccoutreach87.com/1st-2nd-corinthians/.

 I quoted from these as well- Here are my studies-

https://ccoutreach87.com/john-complete-links-added/

https://ccoutreach87.com/galatians-links/

[parts]

(1242) Read a few chapters from Brian McLaren’s ‘everything must change’ thought I’d comment. I like Brian’s writing style, I agree with him on believers needing to be challenged to see things differently, but I disagree on some of his ‘everything’s’. He challenges the idea of objective thinking as defined as foundationalism. He explains well the questioning of modern intellectuals after the world wars and Holocaust of the 20th century. He shows how certain thinkers began looking for answers to the problem of society’s failure as seen in these events. He also shows how some blamed the events on ‘foundationalism’ which is a way of ‘seeing things’ [epistemology] as defined by Rene Descartes. These thinkers diagnosed the problem as society’s acceptance of absolutes, they felt that this led to an ‘overconfidence’ in right and wrong and this in turn allowed for these atrocities to happen. Many modern thinkers would disagree with this conclusion. I find it interesting that Brian makes some statements about Evolution that seem to say he accepts the theory, but yet he fails to see the role that Social Darwinism played as a precursor to the Holocaust. You could make the opposite argument that it was the rejection of absolutes, and the rise of liberal theology from the universities in Germany that led to these events. Many scholars began questioning Gods truth and laid a foundation that said ‘we really can’t trust Gods truth’ [or even know it]. To be honest these debates are a little philosophical and I didn’t think Brian would go down this road, but he does so I will deal with it. Many ‘post moderns’ believe that one of the things that must change is the ‘old’ [what is termed modern] way of thinking. These new thinkers assert that truth itself, as an absolute thing that people can know for sure, is out of mans reach. They question the modern way of thinking that teaches there are certain absolutes [preconceived ways of thinking that everyone accepts]. These new thinkers say this ‘foundationalism’ is the problem. Did the enlightenment invent this mode of objectivism? No. Thinkers from Aristotle to Aquinas to Descartes all approached thinking this way. It was defined more clearly during the enlightenment period. But this is a philosophical debate that goes on in these various camps. You have had very smart people disagree on these things. The great theologian Karl Barth would say you are not truly educated until you can ‘affirm both sides of an argument, accept contradictory definitions of the same thing’ many believe this would lead to lunacy! The two greatest theoretical physicists of the last century also disagreed on this. Neils Bohr would say that you can have two contradictory truths about a subject, and they could both be true, Einstein disagreed. So these things have been around for a while, many of the eastern religions teach the same [Zen]. So I would disagree with Brian on this, but do agree with him on the need for believers to expand their concerns from simple ‘going to heaven when I die’ concerns, to social justice concerns in the nations. He does give some good examples along these lines.

[parts]

WHAT’S REAL? And HOLY SAVIOR

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/12/12-18-20-whats-real.zip

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/12/12-20-15-holy-savior.zip

https://youtu.be/1xlAC-2CHPw What’s real?

https://youtu.be/7RQ85MGE-8I Holy Savior

I made these videos in Texas. Then didn’t have time to write the usual teaching. So I stuck them together and did the best I could.

ON VIDEO’S- note- I mentioned on the video the philosopher who ‘doubted everything’. I wasn’t sure if I got it right. I said ‘maybe Blaise Pascal’- but it was Renee Descartes.

.Kill Muslims?

.Bruce Jenner- 2nd thoughts?

.Little people

.He eats with sinners

.Philosophy/Physics

.Arianism

.Islam and Christianity

.Abrahams kids

.Ishmael too!

God and Allah

.Chaz Bono

.End times war?

.In defense of cops

.Hung jury

.Columbus- Aztecs- Conquistadores

 PAST POSTS [verses below]

. REMINDER- This is a commentary I wrote years ago- the videos are new.

.CHAPTER 8- FEW POINTS;

1-      Did God choose us to believe- or did we choose him?

2-      When Paul says ‘he makes our bodies alive’ is he only speaking about resurrection?

3-      Does God use difficulty- or is it to be rebuked?

4-      Was Paul a ‘hyper- Calvinist’?

(839)ROMAN 8:1-4 ‘There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh [sinful nature] but after the Spirit [new nature]’. Now, having proved the reality of sin and guilt [chapter 7] Paul teaches that those who ‘are in Christ’ are free from condemnation. Why? Because they ‘walk according to the Spirit’ the ‘righteousness of the law is being fulfilled in them’. Having no condemnation isn’t simply a ‘legal function’ of declared righteousness, and Paul didn’t teach it that way! Paul is saying ‘all those who have believed in Jesus and have been legally justified [earlier arguments in chapters 3-4] are now walking [actually acting out] this new nature. Therefore [because you no longer walk according to the flesh] there is no condemnation’! This argument helps bridge the gap between Catholic and Protestant theology, part of the reason for the ongoing schism is over this understanding. After the Reformation the Catholic Church had a Counter Reformation council, the council of Trent. They dealt with a lot of the abuses of the Catholic Church, things that many Catholic leaders were complaining about before the Reformation. They did deal with some issues and reformed somewhat. To the dismay of the more ‘reform minded’ Catholics [with Protestant leanings] they still came down strong on most pre reform doctrines. This made it next to impossible for the schism to be healed. But one area of disagreement was over ‘legal’ versus ‘actual/experiential’ justification. The Catholic position was ‘God can’t declare/say a person is justified until they actually are’ [experientially]. The Protestant side [Luther] said ‘God does justify [legal declaration] a person by faith alone’. Like I taught before, both of these are true. The Catholic view of ‘justification’ is looking ahead towards a future reality [The same way James speaks of justification in a future sense- He uses the example from Genesis 22, when Abraham does a righteous act] while the Protestant view is focusing on the initial legal act of justification [Genesis 15]. Here Paul agrees with both views, he says ‘those who walk after the Spirit [actually living the changed life] have no condemnation’.

 (840)ROMANS 8:5-13 Paul will teach the impossibility of the ‘carnal minds’ ability to submit to Gods law. Those who are ‘in the flesh’ [the unregenerate nature- not simply ‘in the body’. We will get into these distinctions in a minute] can’t submit to God. Society spends so much time and effort trying to get the ‘lost man’ to do what's right. The prohibition movement [outlawing liquor], the increase in the severity of punishment for crimes dealing with drugs. Making the child kidnappers crime

[parts]

NEW STUFF- On the video I taught some about Francis Xavier [1506-1552] - one of the founding members of the Jesuit order [Society of Jesus] along with Ignatius Loyola.

He met Ignatius at the University of Paris- while pursuing an intellectual career.

Over time Ignatius example [and prodding] convinced him to abandon his own plans to live a comfortable life and serve as a scholar- and become a very effective missionary to the Far East.

Much like the story of John Calvin- who too was persuaded to abandon his own plans to simply be a scholar- and to serve in forming the community in Geneva.

Xavier arrived in Goa [India] and eventually went to Japan.

The king of Portugal- John the 3rd- requested missionaries for the areas Portugal was colonizing in India.

This century [16th] was one of exploration and colonization.

In Japan Xavier had great success- the city of Nagasaki was started to simply provide a place for all the Japanese converts!

There were reported miracles of healing under the ministry of Xavier- and he became one of the most successful missionaries from the Jesuit order.

Xavier came into some controversy- initially in his missionary efforts he was ‘more conservative’ in that he tried to get new converts to abandon all former cultural ties- in order to embrace the faith.

Over time- he sort of ‘mixed’ [called syncretism] the eastern religious practices with the faith.

When the Dominicans and Franciscans saw what was happening- they reported it to the church.

This became such a controversy among the Japanese- eventually the priests were martyred along the road to Nagasaki.

A sad event indeed.

The Protestants neglected the Far East in their missionary efforts- they were primarily trying to reform the church in Europe.

Yet Ignatius and his society were spreading the gospel- in areas that never heard either the Catholic or Protestant message.

All in all- Xavier did a very effective job- and is well respected by both Catholics and Protestants for the work he did.

 PAST POSTS-

. ROMANS 8-10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDqIktzp8Xc

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/2-24-15-romans-8-10.zip

 VIDEO- [I cover stuff on the videos that are not in the post- here are a few]

.Council of Trent- what did the Church say?

.Do we get the final say- at the Judgment?

.What are the Catholic virtues- did Paul teach them?

.Augustine, Calvin, Whitfield and Wesley.

.Infusion or Imputation? How bout both!

At the bottom I added some quotes from the Catechism of the Catholic church- to show that the official teaching of the church DOES NOT TEACH SALVATION BY THE LAW- BUT BY CHRIST.

 . REMINDER- This is a commentary I wrote years ago- the videos are new.

.CHAPTER 8- FEW POINTS;

5-      Did God choose us to believe- or did we choose him?

[parts]

ATHEISM- APOLOGETICS [links added- long version]

 https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/18/history-of-everything-1/

 https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/20/history-of-everything-2/

 https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/qm/

 MY RADIO LINKS-

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-7R  Kant, Hume, Sartre

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-6E Apologetics- Kant, Hume

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-62  Apologetics

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-6F  DaVinci code

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-7Q  Something from nothing- Quantum Leap

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-7O  Multiverse

MY VIDEOS

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/10-18-15-nietzsches-twilight-of-the-idols.zip

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/10-28-15-jean-paul-sartre.zip

    https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/protestant-reformation-luther/

I cover some church history on this post- here’s a study I did in the past that gets more in depth.

https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/1st-2nd-corinthians/  On today’s videos I talk about Paul’s teaching on being single- here’s my complete teaching on Corinthians where it is found

[parts]

. Let me cover some church history. I have had someone argue with me about the history of Islam. Not a Muslim, but a Christian who was saying ‘why do you say Islam started in the 7th century, it started around the 11th’. My answer was ‘Muhammad lived in the 7th century’. Not to hard to see this. So I thought I should cover some history. During the time of the rise of Islam, the Christian church was already dividing from east and west. After Constantine [4th century Roman emperor] consolidated the Roman Empire in the 4th century he set up the capital city of the eastern empire, Constantinople [named after him]. As time progressed the western church would take on the form of Roman Catholicism, the

[parts]

(835)ROMANS 7:1-4 Paul uses the analogy of a married woman ‘don’t you know that the law has dominion over a person as long as he is alive’? If a married woman leaves her husband and marries another man she is guilty of breaking the law of adultery. Now, if her husband dies, she is free to marry another man. The act that freed her from sin and guilt was death! Every thing else in the scenario stayed the same. She still married another, she still consummated the new marriage. But because her first husband died, she has no guilt. I always loved this analogy. For years I wondered why these themes in scripture are for the most part not ‘imbedded’ in the collective psyche of the people of God. We have spent so much time ‘proof texting’ the verses on success and wealth, that we have overlooked the really good stuff! Now Paul teaches that we have been made free from the law by the ‘death of our husband’ [Jesus] so we can ‘re-marry’. Who do we marry? Christ! He has not only died to free us from the law, he also rose from the dead to become our ‘husband’ [we are called the bride of Christ]. Paul connects the death and resurrection of Jesus in this analogy. Both are needed for the true gospel to be preached [1st Corinthians 15]. Notice how in this passage Paul emphasizes ‘the death of Christ’s body’. The New Testament doesn’t always make this distinction, but here it does. In the early centuries of Christianity you had various debates over the nature and ‘substance’ of God and Christ. The church hammered out various decrees and creeds that would become the Orthodoxy of the day. Many of these are what you would call the ‘Ecumenical councils’. These are the early councils [many centuries!] that both the eastern [Orthodox church] and western [Catholic] churches would all accept. Some feel that the early church fathers and Latin theologians [Tertullian, Augustine and others] had too much prior influence from philosophy and the ‘forensic’ thinking of their time. They had a tendency to describe things in highly technical ways. Ways that were prominent in the legal and philosophical thinking of the West. Some of the eastern thinkers [Origen] had more of a Greek ‘flavor’ to their theologizing [Alexandria, named after Alexander the great, was a city of philosophy many years prior to Christ. This city was at one time the center of thinking in the East. That’s why Paul would face the thinkers at Athens, they had a history in the east of Greek philosophy]. Well any way the result was highly technical debates over the nature of God and Christ. The historic church would finally decree that Christ had 2 natures, Human and Divine. And that at the Cross the ‘humanity of Jesus’ died, but his ‘Deity’ did not. I think Paul agreed by saying ‘we are free from the law by the death of Christ’s Body’ here Paul distinguishes between the physical death of Jesus and his Deity. Note- actually, Augustine would be in the same school as Origen. Alexandrian.

[parts]

But man could not know all the truths about God and his nature without ‘special revelation’ [the bible and church tradition]. All Christians did not agree with Aquinas new approach to Christian truth, the very influential bishop Bernard would initially condemn Aquinas over this. Bernard said ‘the faith that believes unto righteousness, believes! It does not doubt’. The Scholastic school taught that the way you arrive at knowledge was thru the continuous questioning and doubting of things until you come to some basic conclusions. These issues would be debated for centuries, and even in the present hour many argue over the issue of Divine revelation versus natural logical reasoning. Tertullian, an early North Afrcian church father, said ‘I believe because it is preposterous, illogical’ he became famous for his saying ‘what does Jerusalem have to do with Athens’ meaning he did not believe that Greek philosophy should have any part with Christian truth. Origen, his contemporary, believed the other way. So the debate rages on. Why talk about this here? Some believers ‘believe’ in a type of knowledge called ‘revelation knowledge’ they mean something different than the historic use of the term. Historically ‘revelation’ meant that which God revealed to us THRU THE BIBLE, not something outside of the bible. For instance, the first canon of scripture put together was by a man called Marcion. His ‘bible’ contained the letters of Paul and parts of :Luke. He believed the revelation God gave Paul was for us today, not the Old Testament or the historical gospels. He was condemned by the church as a heretic. The point being some took Paul’s writings about receiving knowledge from God as an indicator that what God showed Paul was different than what the church got thru the other apostles. In point of fact the things that God revealed to Paul, or to you or me; all truth is consistent, it will not contradict any other part of Gods truth. Paul’s letters are consistent with the gospels, not in contradiction. When believers cling to an idea that their teachers are sharing ‘special revelation’ or a Rhema word that is somehow above the scrutiny of scripture, then they are in dangerous territory. Paul did appeal to his experience with God as a defense of his gospel, but he backed up everything he said with Old Testament scripture. God wasn’t ‘revealing’ things to Paul that were outside of the realm of true knowable ‘truth’. You could examine and test the things Paul was saying, he wasn’t saying ‘because God showed it to me, that’s why I’m correct’. So in today’s church world, we want all the things we learn and believe to be consistent with what the church has believed thru out the centuries. Sure there are always things that are going to be questioned and true reform entails this, but beware of teachers who come to you with ‘revelation knowledge’ or a ‘Rhema word’ that goes against the already revealed word of truth.

[parts]

THE CROSS- 1

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2015/11/11-6-15-the-cross-1.zip

https://youtu.be/v85WoYe1Fkk

 On video-

.Alone in a crowd

.Marcion

.Tertullian

.Uncle Joe

.Did we chase God into a book?

.Law v Grace

.What was the leaven?

[parts]

This fits in with the theme of a harsher punishment for those who reject the covenant of grace as opposed to those who rejected the covenant of law. I know these themes are not popular, but this is clearly the way Paul is presenting them. I also am not saying the ‘God’ of the Old Testament is different from the ‘God’ of the new [this is the heresy of Marcion! I think that was his name. He was an early Christian heretic who comprised the first canon of scripture for a ‘new testament’ it included basically Paul’s letters, and he taught that The God of the new testament was different from the God in the old] but Paul is presenting the new covenant in a way that says ‘don’t neglect this new way of salvation, those who do will receive a harsher judgment than those who rejected the law’.

END NOTES-

A HEAVENLY CITY.

DON’T BE SAD, HE’S TREATING YOU LIKE A SON.

NO REPENTANCE- OUTSIDE OF CHRIST THAT IS.

CULTURE SHOCK IS HARD ON US ALL.

Once again we see the contrast between ‘he that spoke from earth’ [Moses- the law]- and he that ‘speaks from heaven’ [Jesus covenant is more strict- to those outside of it and reject it- because he has heavenly authority- Moses had earthly]. Hebrews 12:25 See that ye refuse not him that speaketh. For if they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away from him that speaketh from heaven:

 The writer says ‘don’t be sad- God disciplines every son who he receives’- though this certainly applies to Christians- Hebrews 12:5 And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as unto children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him:

[parts]

PLATO

 Plato was born in 427 BC- he was the most famous student of Socrates.

 He is best known for his theory of Ideas/Forms.

 He believed that the material world was an imperfect copy of the Idea world.

That is he believed that Ideas exist apart from the construct of the human mind- that they were the perfect forms of the things we see in the material realm.

 He could also be referred to as a Realist- because he believed these Ideas actually existed [for real]. Where did he get this from?

As we study Philosophy- each one that comes down the line has been influenced in some way by those that preceded them.

 There was a famous thinker- Pythagoras [his followers were the Pythagoreans] who taught a concept called the Transmigration of the Soul [a sort of Reincarnation].

They believed that the soul of man went thru various stages- and existed independently of the body.

 In Greek thought the soul is immortal- it exists before the body.

In Christian teaching the Soul [mind- Spirit] comes into existence when God creates man [the bible says ‘and man BECAME a living soul’- referring to the creation of Adam].

 The Greeks saw the soul as preexisting before the natural life.

 In the mind of Plato- the body was a receptacle- in this life we recollect the knowledge that comes from the Idea world.

 He ascribed Ontological status to ideas themselves.

 In Philosophy there are 2 basic ways knowledge comes [we study this in Epistemology- an offshoot of Philosophy- which deals with how we know things].

 A Priori knowledge is knowledge obtained independent of experience.

A Posteriori is knowledge obtained thru the senses- what we call Empirical evidence.

 In Plato’s schema he believed that the knowledge that comes to us from the Formal world [ideas- forms] was A Priori knowledge- that the human mind recalls- and in the present material world- knowledge comes to us from the perfect idea world.

 The Greeks believed that all matter was flawed- that the Body was an imperfect vessel- and after death we are released into the perfect world- and free from the material realm.

 Christian Tradition does not hold to this view.

The Church teaches that the created world is good- not evil.

Among Christians there is some confusion about this- because the older versions of the bible [King James] seem to teach that matter [world, flesh] is evil.

 Why?

 Paul the apostle talks about no good thing being in The Flesh- he talks about the Carnal mind- the apostle John says ‘all that is in the World- the lust of the flesh- the pride of life- is not of the Father but is of the world’.

 There are many references like this in the bible- but they are speaking about the sinful nature of man [the flesh] and not about the human body itself [For instance Paul says in Romans ‘present your BODIES as living sacrifices unto God- Holy and acceptable’ in Corinthians ‘your BODY is the temple of the Holy Spirit’- there are many references in scripture that speak of the Body as Holy.

 When the bible says ‘satan is the god of this world’ it is not speaking of the earth- which God created- and calls GOOD- but it is speaking of the ‘world’ system- an age of wickedness.

 So- at times Christians have confused this- and have held a sort of Dualistic view of matter- that is not the biblical view- but a Gnostic view- that all matter is evil.

 Plato saw the unseen world of Ideas as the perfect- pure world.

 He taught that in this life we obtain the knowledge of the pure- by reason of recollection- that these pure ideas come to us ‘are recalled’ in this life.

 He is famous for founding the first Philosophical school- it was called The Academy- named after a man by the name of Academus.

 The land was donated for the school- it was previously used as an Olive Grove- and in honor of the donation- Plato named the school after the donor.

 This is why we use the phrase ‘The Groves of Academia’ today.

 Plato was actually a nick name- he wrestled in Athens- in a sort of precursor to what would later become the Olympic games- and he was broad shouldered- that’s where his name comes from- Plato means broad shouldered.

 So- to sum up- Plato believed that Forms [ideas] were eternal, the cause of all that is.

He believed we are born with innate ideas- these are not learned thru sense experience- but exist independently of the mind- and in this bodily life we retrieve [the body is a receptacle] these ideas.

 Does the bible teach anything along these lines?

 Not exactly.

 Christians believe that God himself is infinite- without beginning or end.

That wisdom- ideas- ‘forms’ of things do indeed exist- prior to our own life.

 But these ideas are not without a Mind- God is Spirit- and he is everywhere [Omnipresent] he knows all tings [Omniscient] - so- in a way- there are indeed ideas- forms- but they come from the ultimate Mind of God.

 A good example would be the building of the Tabernacle- and later the Temple- under Moses and King David [his son Solomon actually built it].

 God told Moses ‘see that you build it after the Pattern shown to thee in the mount’.

In the book of Hebrews we read that the earthly Tabernacle [Temple] was simply an image- a symbol- of heavenly realities.

 That God himself had the ‘form’ in his mind- indeed- like Plato taught- the heavenly form is perfect- the earthly expression imperfect.

 But these patterns- forms- ideas- are from the Mind of God- they are not Innate in the soul of man- nor does the soul of man exist before his birth.

In the past few months I have had several Christian friends tell me that they feel like they existed before this life- a type of reincarnation.

 I explained to them that in the Christian faith we do not hold to this view.

 But- the bible does tell us that God had a purpose for us- Predetermined- before the ‘foundation of the world’.

 Meaning that yes- in the Mind of God- in a way- we did exist- but we did not have actual being [called Ontological status in the field of Philosophy] until we were created by God.

 God’s purpose for us was already in the Mind of God before our birth.

 The bible says that Christ is made unto us wisdom- we are not Receptacles in the sense that Plato taught.

 But yes- in time God reveals to us this Hidden Wisdom- about his love and purpose for us.

 And in this life we act out- we fulfil this eternal purpose.

 Man [or woman] can never find true happiness- true meaning- until they tap into this purpose.

We were created by the hand of God- to bring glory and honor to him- and we in this life can ever find true fulfilment- until we make it back to God.

[parts]

 RENAISSANCE ARTISTS-

The famous renaissance artists- DaVinci- Michelangelo- Raphael- used their artwork as a form of knowledge- the images taught things- they were not just paintings.

DaVinci’s most famous work was his painting on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel in the Vatican.

It took him 4 years to complete.

The renaissance period- from about the 13/14th century to the 17th- [though there was a sort of Renaissance that took place- yes- in the Islamic world before the European Renaissance] was marked by what we term Humanism.

Today we associate this term with ‘secular Humanism’ which often has a bad connotation- especially among Christians.

But it meant something different back then.

It was a new focus on breaking the limits off of man- and for man to excel in knowledge and skill- and to see man as having value.

There was somewhat of a break away from the church in a sense- in that the church and its teachings were not the only source of wisdom for man.

But- Jesus himself taught that ‘the Sabbath was made for man- not man for the Sabbath’- so- the Humanist spirit- elevating the value of man- does have a Christian basis in my view.

Leonardo daVinci [15/16th century] was what we refer to as a true Renaissance man- meaning his knowledge was in many fields- not just art.

He actually considered himself a sculptor first- then an artist- though he is most famous for his Fresco mentioned above.

Here’s my study on The Reformation-

https://ccoutreach87.com/protestant-reformation-luther/

And my past teaching on the Western intellectual tradition-

https://ccoutreach87.com/western-intellectual-tradition/

[parts]

Okay- Einstein.

  As I read a few chapters every few days- I want to comment on the important- relevant stuff.

  One of them being the very word Relativity.

 Now- I am tempted to go back and review all the posts we did on physics [you long time blog readers might remember?].

  But this book is not a physics book per se’- but a biography.

  Yet a quick review might help.

  Einstein became famous for a few things- most of us know the famous equation E=mc2.

 Simply a conversion of mass into energy formula- it works for all things- not just Nuclear.

  His theory of Relativity shook up the world of physics- and Einstein is indeed the father of what we call modern physics [and Quantum theory].

  Okay- what he did was he took the centuries old ideas of Newton [the father of classical physics] and he said that time and space were not absolutes.

 That’s is- that depending on the observer [and his speed] time actually changes.

  Some in the scientific community could not fathom what he was saying.

  The book has actual headlines from the NY times- they openly doubted some of Einstein’s work

  I remember reading this years ago- but this time I saw the real headlines.

  They said stuff like ‘what is this new theory- that space might be limited- this defies the actual definition of space’.

 Now- it would take too long to tell you what they were covering- but it is one of the various theories of the universe.

  In actuality- the times might have been right in this one case [it’s a theory that the universe is curved- has no detectable edge- if so- you can than argue for an infinite universe in a closed space- because there is no edge- or end].

  As a side note- logically- the times was correct.

 Just because you can’t find a ‘sharp edge’ to a thing- that does not mean the thing is ‘endless’.

   I covered this years ago in our apologetics posts- it was interesting to have re –read this from this author [Isaacson].

 He is a good author- and explains stuff well.

  Okay what was the other stuff that some objected to?

 Some associated- wrongly- the theory of Relativity- with the modernist philosophy called Relativism.

 Relativism [remember the philosophy stuff?] said that there was really nothing as objective truth- that what you see might be just as true as what someone else sees.

  You might both be looking at the same thing [morally- murder- etc.] yet to one it might be wrong- to the other- right.

  This idea- Relativism- was strongly rejected by many philosophers- especially those with a Christians/Theist background.

  Even today this is one of the major debates going on in the world of the philosophy.

  But- some confused what Einstein was saying- and they thought [or used it] to back up the ‘moral’ philosophy of Relativism.

  This was a mistake.

 Einstein himself- as I mentioned in an earlier post- was not a relativist at all- that is when speaking about moral absolutes.

  So some began to associate him- as one of the new ‘Jew’ scientists- who were introducing dangerous doctrines to the world.

  Yes- some of the objectors to Einstein objected on the basis of this new ‘Jewish science’ that was breaking away from the moors of Christian science- whose father was Isaac Newton.

  See how both anti Semitism- and religious belief played a role in this?

   I’ll end with a quote from a famous man of the time- an up and coming politician- I mean he could awe his audience like no other.

  Obama- Clinton- even the great communicator- Reagan- were no match for this man when it came to giving a speech.

  He said ‘Science- once our greatest pride- is today being taught by Hebrews’.

 Who said this?

  The future leader of Germany- Adolph Hitler.

[parts]

VERSES-

6 Who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit: for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.

7 But if the ministration of death, written and engraven in stones, was glorious, so that the children of Israel could not stedfastly behold the face of Moses for the glory of his countenance; which glory was to be done away:

8 How shall not the ministration of the spirit be rather glorious?

9 For if the ministration of condemnation be glory, much more doth the ministration of righteousness exceed in glory.

10 For even that which was made glorious had no glory in this respect, by reason of the glory that excelleth.

11 For if that which is done away was glorious, much more that which remaineth is glorious.

2 I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me, and what I shall answer when I am reproved.

2 And the Lord answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.

3 For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry.

Genesis 11:1 And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.

Genesis 11:2 And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there.

Genesis 11:3 And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for morter.

Genesis 11:4 And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.

Genesis 11:5 And the LORD came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded.

Genesis 11:6 And the LORD said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.

Genesis 11:7 Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech.

Genesis 11:8 So the LORD scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.

Genesis 11:9 Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the LORD did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the LORD scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.

Genesis 11:10 These are the generations of Shem: Shem was an hundred years old, and begat Arphaxad two years after the flood:

Genesis 11:11 And Shem lived after he begat Arphaxad five hundred years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:12 And Arphaxad lived five and thirty years, and begat Salah:

Genesis 11:13 And Arphaxad lived after he begat Salah four hundred and three years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:14 And Salah lived thirty years, and begat Eber:

Genesis 11:15 And Salah lived after he begat Eber four hundred and three years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:16 And Eber lived four and thirty years, and begat Peleg:

Genesis 11:17 And Eber lived after he begat Peleg four hundred and thirty years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:18 And Peleg lived thirty years, and begat Reu:

Genesis 11:19 And Peleg lived after he begat Reu two hundred and nine years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:20 And Reu lived two and thirty years, and begat Serug:

Genesis 11:21 And Reu lived after he begat Serug two hundred and seven years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:22 And Serug lived thirty years, and begat Nahor:

Genesis 11:23 And Serug lived after he begat Nahor two hundred years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:24 And Nahor lived nine and twenty years, and begat Terah:

Genesis 11:25 And Nahor lived after he begat Terah an hundred and nineteen years, and begat sons and daughters.

Genesis 11:26 And Terah lived seventy years, and begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran.

Genesis 11:27 Now these are the generations of Terah: Terah begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran begat Lot.

Genesis 11:28 And Haran died before his father Terah in the land of his nativity, in Ur of the Chaldees.

Genesis 11:29 And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram's wife was Sarai; and the name of Nahor's wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah.

Genesis 11:30 But Sarai was barren; she had no child.

Genesis 11:31 And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son's son, and Sarai his daughter in law, his son Abram's wife; and they went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go into the land of Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there.

Genesis 11:32 And the days of Terah were two hundred and five years: and Terah died in Haran.

 4 I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called,

2 With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love;

3 Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

4 There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling;

5 One Lord, one faith, one baptism,

6 One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all.

 www.corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/john.chiarello.5?ref=bookmarks

https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZ4GsqTEVWRm0HxQTLsifvg

https://twitter.com/ccoutreach87

https://plus.google.com/108013627259688810902/posts

https://vimeo.com/user37400385

https://www.pinterest.com/ccoutreach87/

https://www.linkedin.com/home?trk=hb_logo

http://johnchiarello.tumblr.com/

http://johnchiarello.thoughts.com/

https://medium.com/@johnchiarello

http://ccoutreach.over-blog.com/

Note- Please do me a favor, those who read/like the posts- re-post them on other sites as well as the site you read them on- Thanks- John.#

   |�z|�>kyt��