Tag: Catholicism

Season of the Witch

Happy All Saints Day! And welcome to November, I suppose. This year is slipping away like sands through the hour glass (hat tip: Days of Our Lives), but the terrorist attack of New Year’s seems like it was a million years ago, too. When I think about where we are now as opposed to where we were ten months ago, though…it seems like a decade has passed since my New Year’s blog, doesn’t it? I slept deeply and well last night, and Sparky let me sleep later (although he got his razor blades trimmed yesterday, so him smacking me in the face in the morning doesn’t have the same impact) than I usually do, so that was nice too. We have to run some errands today we didn’t get to yesterday, but that’s fine. LSU isn’t playing today so I don’t have a vested interest in watching games today, so I don’t really care to be home for them all day, either. I probably won’t get any writing or much reading done, but…I also am not going to worry about it. Yes, time is slipping away, but I also need to allow myself to get rest and be lazy without beating myself up about it all the damned time, too. Progress?

Perhaps. We shall see.

I also have to pay some bills this morning before we do anything, and probably get some of the chores done, too. I made good progress on chores yesterday; the bed linens all got laundered, the dishes are done and put away, the counters are cleaned and cleared, and all I really need to do is vacuum the rugs and mop the floors, and potentially prune more of the books down. I need to be more ruthless, too.

The backlash to governor Janky Jeff’s massive interference with LSU apparently taught the moron some sort of lesson, because he backed the fuck down after Scott Woodward (best of luck to you, sir, you worked wonders at LSU and I am sorry Janky Jeff decided to show his ass) was fired. To paraphrase Mean Girls, “he didn’t even go there.” He also got some pushback when he tried to force Loyola (a Jesuit Catholic private university in New Orleans) to charter a chapter of Turning Point USA after the student senate flatly rejected their application, mainly because they don’t share the same values as the Society of Jesus. Bitch slap! I was glad to see a Catholic university stand their ground against political interference from TEMU Huey Long. Don’t stand with the evangelicals, Catholics–they will come for you eventually as idolators and papists and pagans. They don’t think you’re real Christians in the first place, so less than what they see as “white.” Janky Jeff is not popular in Louisiana; only 19% of registered voters even voted in that gubernatorial election because we had no options. All the candidates were different degrees of MAGA, anyway. I don’t even remember who I voted for, but I have never cast a ballot for Jeff Landry and I never will.

I can only hope to be seated in the jury for his inevitable trial for corruption and malfeasance. No, they wouldn’t seat me, because no one could ever convince me he isn’t guilty.

Then again, Jindal was never charged with anything. And he definitely should have been; his wife was just as corrupt as Casey DeSantis, and the corrupt always corrupt. (Note to everyone: their women are just as bad as, if not worse, than their husbands. See: Usha Vance, Melania Trump, Lara Trump…the list is lengthy.)

Sigh.

My mind is still deeply entrenched in horror, by the way, which is something I don’t remember Halloween Horror Month doing to me before; maybe because I was always trying to finish a book before the end of the year? This entire decade has been mentally draining and fatiguing, frankly, and I’ve had a lot of brain fog and increasing loss of memory. I do wonder occasionally about how different my career would be had I gone into horror rather than crime; rather than just being a fan. I did want to write horror when I was in my twenties, and even tried. I laugh now when I remember thinking my personalized rejections with suggestions and tips and encouragement to keep writing and submitting to them, from horror magazine editors, was just them being nice. Editors are never nice like that, ever, as I have since learned. I guess I was so down on myself and had such a lack of self-esteem (as well as knowledge; there was no one to tell me differently) that I focused on the rejection rather than accepting the encouragement. Each rejection was further confirmation that I was a loser, and I was in such a spiral of misery in the 1980s there wasn’t any way I could have seriously pursued being a writer. I don’t have regrets–I never do–but sometimes I do wonder. I played the cards I was dealt and everything eventually turned out, didn’t it? But I am going to try to work on some things tomorrow, since I don’t have to leave the house at all and Paul is, I think, going to his office.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back here in the morning.

Love and Affection

Sunday morning, how are you doing this morning? Shockingly, Sparky let me sleep super-late this morning, so I am beginning the day already feeling behind, which…is just anxiety I need to let go of, isn’t it? Yesterday was pleasant. Paul ended up rescheduling his trainer from yesterday to today, so I didn’t have the alone time I thought I’d have. I did spend some time with Megan Abbott’s superb new novel, and I did some chores for sure, but overall I didn’t feel like I managed much. We watched a couple of movies, and then started watching the second season of Shiny Happy People, which focuses on the “Christian” cult of Teen Mania.

Seriously, freedom of religion is important, but sometimes it gets taken too far. Sexual abuse of children under the guise of “religion” should be a dealbreaker, period, regardless of religion. How much money has the Catholic Church paid out in settlements for child rapist priests? Madness. And yet, the raping and covering up continues, unabated….while the Church maintains it has moral authority over its flock.

We rewatched Jaws yesterday; I can’t remember the last time I saw it, but I very much remember the first time I saw it: Mom took us after church shortly after it opened, and the only three seats together in the theater was in the center front row, so the screen was right there in front of us–and it was terrifying. The movie is very well-made, the performances of everyone other than Brody’s wife were terrific, and it very much followed the formula of the classic disaster movie–officials, worried about money, ignore the experts and open the beaches anyway, which leads to more death–only with a very big audience so the existence of said enormous shark is no longer in question. It’s also a monster movie, so when we finished we watched Wolf Man, which wasn’t great but wasn’t as terrible as reviews and commentators made it sound. Julia Garner is always terrific (loved loved loved her in Ozark), and it was entertaining enough. I thought the suspense was good and the story itself was pretty simple; I don’t think the prologue was necessary but other than that, it was a solid B score from me.

I had groceries delivered yesterday, and this new modern-day experience is one that I quite enjoy. It’s much easier to go on an app, order the food, and then wait for it to be delivered, rather than getting cleaned up and dressed and driving around town then having to do the shopping myself once I get to the store. One delivery came around noon, and the other arrived about half an hour later, which was marvelous. There are some other things I forgot to order, but they can all wait until I go to the store (or order again) on Wednesday on the way home from work. I am trying to decide if I want to make Swedish meatballs today, or ravioli, or any of the other options there are in the house today.

And obviously, I have a lot of reading, writing, and editing to get done today. I need to make a fresh to-do list, and one set of cabinets really needs to be better organized. I also need to find a place to store the endless boxes of tissues we got at Costco the last time we went. I also have some filing to do; when I finish this I’ll probably go watch some news and read until I feel like getting to work. Reading is often a risk because Sparky will see me in the chair as an invitation to sleep in my lap, and once the cat starts sleeping it’s all over for me. In my own defense, he’s awfully cute and sweet. I am so happy he’s more comfortable around us and more affectionate–he loves riding on my shoulders–and he’s also, after months, decided his cat bed is a perfect sleeping spot.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the morning. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; if not, it will be tomorrow morning. Until then, ta!

Anubis

The Main Event

Saturday morning and I got up early; I went to bed last night at my usual time. I was kind of worn down yesterday after I finished my work at home duties, so I just kind of collapsed into my easy chair to watch some documentaries because my brain still felt fried. I hate that for me, and I hate not being able to get things done that I need to. I was able to get chores managed and completed, which was nice. The kitchen is pretty much in good shape this morning, so there isn’t much to do around here this morning major, but I can do little things to made things tidier around here. I also have some business to take care of this morning (hello, IRS!) as well as writing to get done. Paul’s going to be at the office for most of the day, but hopefully he’ll be home in time to watch the SEC Gymnastics Championships tonight. LSU is in the night group, so that also gives me all day to write and clean and read and the taxes and other chores that need to be done. Whew. That’s a day, isn’t it?

It is indeed.

Well, here’s hoping that I have a productive day, at any rate. I am easily distracted these days, as I imagine many are, by the current events that pummel us into insensibility and rage every goddamned day. There are times, I swear, when I think the Christians’ “rapture” has already happened because all we have around these days are the faux kind, the ones who cosplay at being Christians but have no interest in actually being Christ-like. Nothing is more irritating that someone who is arrogant in their faith–especially since their Holy Book firmly establishes in the first part that God despises everything other than humility from humans, and the second part is all about being kind and helping the sick and the poor and feeding the hungry. All of that, of course, was ignored for centuries by the established European version of the religion, which really came to be about earthly power and the accumulation of wealth. Men pick the pope, after all–and men are capable of corruption, and no man is as capable of being corrupted as someone who has chosen the path of religion for money and power. Jesus would weep at the corruption of his faith, and at the false miracles invented to reward humans with godhood1, the way the Romans did with their emperors?

And how is that not heresy and/or blasphemy?

But that’s not my job to figure out. But I feel pretty confident that people who are performative Christians–the ones who pray loudly in public, who proclaim themselves to the world as saved and so forth, and who proselytize and weaponize their faith (I don’t think there’s anywhere in the Bible where Jesus ever says to the faithful to use their faith to bash and beat down anyone; the message of Christianity–of religions in general–is to be a good person who cares about others and cares about the world–but not its rewards. It saddens me to see that religion has grown so corrupted and worldly, the way false prophets can pervert the word to make themselves wealthy while they do nothing for the faithful or the poor and unfortunate.

Can you tell I had an encounter with a cosplay Christian on-line the other day whose arrogance and pride is antithetical to Jesus? That always makes me laugh about religion, and think about it some more. I was raised that way, and it is very ingrained in me. I also noted the hypocrisy of the denomination I was raised in; the mealy-mouthed “amens” during the service and the piety they claimed to espouse…while being liars, adulterers and thieves while judging others for their sins…and those sins are usually things so little considered in the Bible that you really have to look for them. Three misinterpreted passages about homosexuality, but literally hundreds about lying, cheating and stealing…that they never bring up.

Remove the mote from thine own eye.

I have been writing an essay, off and on, for nearly thirty years, about religion and morality, and how difficult it is to break the Christian conditioning we are groomed into, and how that grooming often includes the stuff Christianity has been corrupted into targeting–gays, minorities, trans folk, etc. Call it what it is: grooming. Children aren’t given a choice about religion, are they? And it’s very hard to shake that training off. I haven’t set foot in a church for anything other than a wedding or a funeral in over forty years, going on fifty, and while I don’t consider myself to be a believer anymore…I can’t say I’ve broken through the training completely, but I no longer believe the Bible is literally true nor do I believe the Earth is less than six thousand years old. I do not believe the entire world was flooded and every living thing except what was loaded into an ark made of wood perished. The actual teachings of Jesus–particularly the Sermon on the Mount–are something I try to adhere to, not always successfully, as a guide post for my life.2

I also refuse to believe that you can be a horrible person all week but will go to “heaven” so long as you go to church every Sunday and perfunctorily go through the motions of the devout. If the ritual is that important whereas your regular behavior isn’t, what kind of god is that? And I’ve never understood why anyone would believe in predestination, which is antithetical to Christianity itself because it removes free will, which is kind of the cornerstone the entire faith is built on?

I also owe a friend a letter. I am a little worried about writing said letter because, obviously, I’ve not written a letter in decades. I was a faithful letter writer when I was younger, and moving so much…I did try to stay in touch with people I thought were my friends after moving away, but they would never write back quickly, if at all, and the correspondence would always die when they owed me a letter. I always wrote people last…which was a very early lesson in out of sight, out of mind as well as they weren’t really your friends which is another reason I stopped trying to stay in touch with people whenever I moved. I was always the last person to reach out to anyone, so it’s always funny to me when people from my past–especially the far distant past–will act like they’re sorry we fell out of touch, and much as I always want to say “you stopped responding to ME”, I never do.3 But my friend typed out a note and mailed it to me, and rather than emailing (which is a most sorry substitute for writing a letter or getting one in the mail) I am going to write a letter back. I am oddly excited about it?

I am awake and feel good, and feel like I can get things done this morning. I am going to post this, and then go read in my chair for a little bit before getting cleaned up and heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, one never knows!

Screenshot
  1. No one will ever convince me that the saints aren’t anything other than a continuation of the pantheon of Greek/Roman gods and demigods and other mythic creatures. There’s a patron saint for everything that you can pray to—just like the Greeks/Romans had a god or nymph or something that they prayed to. ↩︎
  2. Which is why I am so fully aware that one cannot be both a Christian and an adherent of Ayn Rand, Republicans. ↩︎
  3. And there are very few of those people from my past that I’ve let have access to me again that I didn’t regret later. ↩︎

Born to Be Alive

Tuesday and somehow the power’s still on and life continues in this hideous new reality when the horrible news comes and just… keeps on coming to the point that my shoulders slump every morning when I get up and sign into my computer, wondering what the hell happened while I was asleep. (This morning it was the news that the Gail Benson and the New Orleans Saints advised the Archdiocese on PR during the most recent child-rape1 . It was bad enough when Drew Brees worked with a homophobic organization to violate the separation of church and state in Louisiana, but helping the Archdiocese look better in their horrific cover up? Seriously, Mrs. Benson? I mean, most Saints fans won’t care, but I am terribly disappointed in her.)

Speaking of the Archdiocese, Catholics also gave me a good laugh yesterday on social media. You see, the Super Bowl committee worked with some local group to do projection art on St. Louis Cathedral and the the museums on other sides. It’s very cool, and changes the looks of the buildings completely. People have been sharing pictures and videos of the light show changes…so of course here come some ignorant Catholics claiming it was “sacrilege” and “how very dare they do this to a Catholic cathedral”! (You know, all caps, lots of exclamation points, bad grammar and spelling errors and specious logic.) You mean the historic landmark of the city that the Archdiocese thinks the city and its citizens should pay for upkeep and renovations and repairs? How is it sacrilege to beam imagery on the outside? And don’t think for one second the Archdiocese didn’t ask for money for this. If you’re mad at anyone, be mad at your church leadership for selling indulgences like a Medici pope.

And try being mad at the administration manipulating the stock market so he and his buddies can buy low.

Speaking of idiots, some (white) people were big mad Beyonce won some Grammys for country music, big mad, and spewing their bile on social media because of course they (butt hurt white people) are the great arbiters of what is and what isn’t great music rather than the members of the national organization of recording arts and sciences. One, awards are lovely things bHow dare this big international superstar and living legend DARE to perform and win awards for country music? If you think that sounds about white, you’d be right. (You really can never go wrong assuming it’s bigotry when it comes to white people because it almost always is) First of all, no one owns country music or gets to decide what it is or isn’t. Music evolves. Country music was originally “country and western” as a category at the Grammys, but it was the western aspect of country music that had the hats and boots and so forth, not country. So country singers and fans thinking they “own” cowboys, boots, and hats is a bald-faced lie and makes them poseurs and pretenders, too. How many of your stars grew up on a ranch or actually worked with cattle? If they didn’t but wear hats and boots, that’s drag. A costume. Nothing more and certainly not authenticity. When I was a kid in Kansas guys who wore hats and boots but didn’t work with cattle were called “goat-ropers” (I don’t know why, but it wasn’t a term of affection). I also seem to remember the term dime-store cowboy as derogatory. It was so anathema that I would never wear a cowboy hat or boots to this very day–and I have always had the kind of legs that boots show off nicely, too. Jason Aldean is a goat-roper, for example. I grew up listening to C&W when I was a kid, and if you’re going to say Cowboy Carter isn’t “authentic country”…I got some bad news for you about a lot of the today’s racist country stars. I walked away from country after 9/11 and what that industry did to the Chicks (THAT was cancel culture, for the record, and THEY WERE RIGHT.) when the genre turned into the “Amurika” music genre. You were wrong about the wars, you were wrong about Bush, and you’re wrong again now, country fans.

You really don’t deserve to enjoy music at all.

The day job situation is still up in the air (thanks again, MAGA voting trash) but it’s going to be a day by day and week by week thing. Yay! I think I may need stronger anxiety medication. Heavy heaving sigh. We’re not sure, obviously, what the future holds but my day job is funded by the federal government through the CDC, so yes, ever since I woke up the morning after the election I’ve been able to add worry about my job still existing to the every day drama of life and all the other existential dread from everything else the administration is inflicting on us. Yay! Woo-hoo!

Maybe I should start drinking again.

I did get to work on the book a bit yesterday. It was painful and excruciating to pull those words out of me–only about three or four hundred, so a pathetic effort–last evening, and I am hoping that won’t be the case today. Sigh. And so, without any further ado I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back at some point.

Screenshot
  1. I believe in calling things what they are. Priests raped children. Period. Got a problem with that? Take it up with the Archbishop and the Pope. ↩︎

What Am I Doing Hanging Around

Thursday morning and I slept really well last night. I feel good this morning, not bad for Thursday and my last day in the office. I was kind of loopy and tired all day yesterday, which was weird, and so I didn’t run any errands after work. I just came home and got caught up on the news, and then once again got sucked into the Olympics and did nothing around the house, which is a mess. Tonight I have to do those errands, and the chores when I get home because I’m a bad lazy person who will always put off anything he can until the next day. Ah, well. I never learn, do I? Isn’t that the definition of insanity: doing the same thing repeatedly but expecting a different outcome?

Guess we all know what that means.

But the weekend looms, and I have all kinds of things I need to do to get caught up for the week. Sigh, I always promised myself every weekend that I am going to be better about chores and things every night, but between the excessive heat (“feels like 112 today”), being tired, and the Olympics…well, yes, you can see how I let everything slide. Sparky isn’t any help, either; he always wants me to play with him and go to sleep in my lap and just like with Scooter, I always think okay I’ll sit for a while but then I have to do some things and then I started getting caught up on the news (and yesterday was quite the news day, wasn’t it?), but I don’t think I am going to keep talking about politics on here, even though this perhaps final season of United States is full of surprises, twists and turns, isn’t it?

One of the great ironies of these times struck me last night–the timing of the Democratic July surprise right before we head into the Olympics provides us a lovely contrast, does it not? The entire point of the Olympics is to be welcoming and inclusive for all countries of the world, to bring us all together in an appreciation of sport and young athletes. Our own athletes train hard for years, giving up any sense of normal life and pretty much their childhoods and their teens for the honor of representing their country in a celebration. Making the Olympics is a herculean task; winning a medal is so rare in the world of sport that those who do definitely should be celebrated–but everyone there should be, and should be having a wonderful experience, like all the people who are in attendance. People who walked through an airport anonymously just a week ago are now international stars and celebrities, recognized everywhere they go, and I love that for them. Watching the Olympics always makes me burst with pride for these athletes, and while I always root for every US athlete (because it’s my team), I also am happy for the other athletes too and want to see them have their moment. So, look at what is going on with our political parties re: the Olympics. The entire country is coming together in the spirit of sport…and the Christo-fascists misunderstood something, decided to get offended (and the French do not give two shits what Debbie from Salina, Kansas thinks, and laugh at the notion they’d even care), and BOYCOTT the games and not support our athletes.

Interesting. You admit your country comes second to your faith. So if you’re going to put your faith first ahead of the Constitution, why should we vote for you? That isn’t patriotism. That isn’t supporting and defending the Constitution. Historically, Christians have been responsible for some of the worst genocides in history. I was actually thinking this morning that the Paris Olympic committee should have replied to the evangelical hysteria by saying, “We are Catholics in France and do not care if we offend heretics. Be happy we didn’t reenact the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, or the Albigensian Crusade, weirdos.”

I will also say that those who want to integrate religion into government are not patriots. A true patriot always puts country first, you know, like President Biden refusing to accept the party’s nomination. Your reward is not of this earth.

And doesn’t Matthew 6:5 read “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward“. 

Sounds to me like Jesus was saying performative religion is unholy and gets you nothing in the afterlife.

But why listen to the words of your Lord and Savior? That’s not what modern American Christianity is–and miss me with the #notallChristians bullshit. If you’re not calling out the false prophets in your midst whose only God is Mammon, well…you’re complicit. Miss me with the hurt feelings, too. I’ve never seen such a profound lack of faith as I see in hypocrites like the evangelicals and apostates like Candace Cameron Bure, whose faith isn’t about acceptance and love but judgment. God doesn’t need you to defend him or speak out on his behalf, ravening wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’d prefer you be taking care of the poor and the sick rather than living it up in your mansion while children starve.

What was that Jesus quote about rich people, camels, and the eye of the needle? Maybe you need to take a long hard look at yourself and your toxic beliefs and values–and she has also never distanced herself from her nutjob weirdo brother, either…so it stands to reason the hateful bitch who starred in two shows set in San Francisco is just as big a freaky weirdo as her weird brother. Have fun in hell, Candace–I’m sure God will be thrilled you got rich making shows telling other people how to live and did nothing for charity and no good works.

Bitch.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, and remember, the women’s all around gymnastics is today!1

  1. And how much do I love that Simone Biles dragged MacKeighlah (or however her stupid parents thought you spell Michaela) Skinner for the fucking racist abuse condoning filth she is. Simone ended your tired ass, bitch–welcome to being a cancelled pariah in your sport. ↩︎

Daydream Believer

Hello, Monday morning and how are you? I am feeling okay this morning, all things considered. I slept well last night but am once again unused to getting up early in the morning so feel a bit groggy this morning and like I really want to go back to bed, if I am being completely honest. I wrote quite a bit last night, which was terrific, and went to bed later than usual because I was trying to finish chores before going to bed. The laundry did get finished, and I did run the dishwasher last night. I’m not feeling so great this morning, but my COVID test (several co-workers were out last week with it) is negative so it’s probably something else other than that. I am feeling better at the moment, which is great, but man did I have some serious nausea there for awhile this morning. Sparky is trying to get something out from beneath the couch, like the sweet little apex predator he is, and I am hoping I feel better within the next few minutes. The shower will probably help, but I also need to shave–never a lot of fun under the best of circumstances1–so I need to be able to pay attention and be awake before I press a razor against my skin.

It was nice having a do-nothing weekend (untrue, I did some things) for the most part and also found myself thinking oh, so this is what it’s like to for people who do not have a second job and have their weekends and evenings free and it’s rather seductive, I have to say. It’s also nice to spend time with Paul again on the weekends, and that will always trump anything else I might have to do. Even as I sit here this morning, waiting to wake up and feel better before getting ready for work, I think to myself maybe it’s time to step away from the writing, or keep taking time off. I probably won’t have a book out this year, which is fine with me, actually. I write because I love to write, and sometimes it’s hard to find that joy when I’m writing now. But sometimes you do have to force it, even when it doesn’t feel organic or good or like you’re doing your best work, because if you wait for inspiration or when you “feel” like doing it, it would never get done.

In fact, the problem with do-nothing weekends are how seductive they are. Even now I find myself thinking oooh next weekend I can do nothing other than chores and errands and that is NOT a good thing by any means.

Obviously, I am more awake now (thank you, coffee!) and feeling better. I guess maybe it was just the getting up early again adjustment thing. I don’t know. But tonight I know there’s another load of laundry to do, clean dishes in the dishwasher to put away, and I need to get the mail on the way home from work. We’re in yet another heat advisory today, hurray, which will make driving around this afternoon unpleasant at first.

We wound up watching more Evil yesterday, which took a very interesting turn that I didn’t see coming, and now I am really interested in what’s going on in the continuing arc of the show. It also made me (again) think about how horror tropes inevitably always require an affirmation, not of Christianity but of Catholicism. Exorcisms, trappings of Catholicism are used against evil or vampires, and so on and so forth. Catholicism is the oldest form of Christianity, no matter what you think of that brand, and so it only makes sense that the legends and myths that come down through history use the signs and symbols of the Roman Catholic Faith–which I’ve always wondered about; wouldn’t Vlad Tepes, as a Transylvanian, have been Eastern Orthodox rather than Catholic? But the West never thinks about Eastern Orthodoxy, do we? Ah, Western bias–it IS a thing.

And on that note, I am going to get ready for work and head into the office. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back probably later. You know how I am.

  1. I would happily give up my ability to grow facial hair so I’d never have to shave again. It’s not like I can grow a beard in the first place. ↩︎

Back Door Santa

Today’s title sounds rather like a gay Christmas tune, does it not? It certainly sounds like a great title for a gay porn story set during the Christmas season, and just typing that out made me immediately regret never doing a Christmas gay porn anthology–imagine how the evangelicals (aka cosplay Christians) would have reacted to that!

And Jayden Daniels won the Heisman Trophy! GEAUX TIGERS!

I overslept this morning, mainly because I didn’t sleep well last night. I didn’t feel good yesterday; I ran some errands and came home exhausted, collapsing into my chair in exhaustion and later on, started feeling crummy; my stomach was really bothering me for some reason, and I went to bed early, hoping to sleep it off….only couldn’t sleep for a long time. I did finally fall asleep after midnight, and when Sparky got me up for his six am feeding I went back to bed and stayed there until almost nine thirty. I don’t feel that great this morning, either, which is not a good thing, either. I think my blood sugar crashed and I never really replenished it yesterday, and I also think I’m dehydrated–so no, this coffee isn’t really helping much here, either. I think when I finish writing this I am going to go sit in my chair and read for awhile until I feel somewhat better, and will write later on today.

I hate when I don’t feel well, you know?

We got caught up on Monarch: Legacy of Monsters yesterday, and then watched Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, which was…disappointing. I love the character, I love Harrison Ford, and I love Phoebe Waller-Bridge, but the movie just didn’t engage me the way the first and third movies did; the second, fourth and fifth being disappointments. Just thinking about those movies for a moment, though–the first and third movies are predicated on the idea that the Bible is true, and there is a God up there in the heavens or wherever that is supposed to be. Likewise, horror films and books as a general rule, also work as inadvertent Christian propaganda; vampires and The Exorcist go so far as to say Catholicism is the only “good” force to combat non-Christian supernatural forces. There’s an essay in that; I’ve always found it amusing that Christians–especially Catholics–are very anti-horror because “demons and witches” and “the devil” while the work itself actually is predicated on the foundation that the Bible, and Christianity, are not only real but the primary defense against evil in the world. (It always amused me the way the church always came for Anne Rice, when all they had to do was read her books to see how staunchly pro-Catholic they actually were.)

I was too tired and unwell yesterday to be able to focus on reading more of Raquel’s book, but I am going to probably dig into that for a while this morning once I finish this and put some food into my system to see if that helps me feel better. I think it’s weather related; our bipolar weather swung back into the warm and wet side again yesterday afternoon and into the evening, so it may have been a combination of sinus, blood sugar crash, and dehydration–so I am going to have to have some of that rehydration drink today. It really does suck how a bad night can throw you off your game; all I want to do is go back to bed and rest some more. This doesn’t bode well as I have to go back to work on Tuesday; yikes! But if it wears me out, it wears me out–and should mean I’ll sleep well that night.

We also watched some of the Grand Prix figure skating final last night, too–after finishing Indy and giving up on another show we were watching–and there just aren’t a lot of good, top quality skaters anymore; there’s a huge drop-off from the top three–and the pairs? Yikes. The team that won was the best of the six, for sure, despite a lot of mistakes. Skating just isn’t as much fun to watch as it used to be–although Ilia Malinin and his insane amount of quads in every long program is pretty impressive, and he’s getting better at the artistry, which used to be practically non-existent in his programs. I think he’s going to be one of the greater skaters, as long as his body holds out–all those quads are a lot of pressure on his ankles, knees, and hips.

Sorry to be so dull today, but yikes–exhausted and tired and still not feeling super great.let me eat something and maybe that will help–and so I will bid you adieu on this Sunday morning, and hope you have a lovely day.

The Old Rugged Cross

As an adult, it has always amused me that historically gay men (or men who were attracted to other men) inevitably became/were artists, and just as inevitably were commissioned to sculpt and paint and create religious art to adorn Catholic cathedrals and the palaces of the church hierarchy. I loved that they used their art and their patron’s money to create images of beautiful men in various stages of undress or nudity, but since it was within the context of a religious scene, it was okay. Even the crucifix inevitably shows Jesus in nothing more than a modesty loincloth, with his lean muscular frame carved lovingly to look beautiful and sexy. The eroticism of classic religious art, that competing duality of religious fervor and sexual ecstasy (look at depictions of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa sometime, if you want to see some straight up erotic imagery; I’ve always wanted to use “The Ecstasy of St. Teresa” as a title sometime), confused me as a child–it wasn’t until much later that I realized most classic and Renaissance religious art could be easily be categorized as “Revenge of the Homosexuals on a Repressive Institution”–but it also interested me. When I was a kid hungering for erotic masculine images, I could never go wrong with religious art.

I mean, this is on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel:

And don’t even get me started on depictions of St. Sebastian.

I love that they sculpted his pubic hair onto that last statue. Nice authenticity!

Someday I may write about St. Sebastian…or a boarding school named after him, which would be nice imagery for a queer crime/horror y/a set at such a place.

There was also a lot of homoerotic art in depictions of Greek and Roman mythology–the Laöcoön statue is one; and any depictions of Hercules/Heracles, Achilles, Apollo, etc.

And we’ll talk about Ganymede another time.

I was raised as a Christian, of the Church of Christ brand of Protestantism–and a hard, cruel, you’re-going-to-burn-in-hell-for-believing-anything-else faith it is indeed. I can’t speak to what that denomination is like outside of the South, or even Alabama for that matter–I did notice that the version in Kansas wasn’t nearly as hard or unforgiving; but still pretty unforgiving, in comparison to other sects–but I do know that where I am from, the Church of Christ is hard, rough, and sees a lot of stuff as sin. (Southern Churches of Christ are also very argumentative–which hardly seems Christian, does it? Members are always getting up in arms about something and wind up going to another congregation, sometimes having to move churches more than once.

And when I was about eight or nine, my grandmother bought me a copy of The Children’s Bible, which was filled with illustrations (amazing how all those Middle Eastern Israelites were white, and even some had blond hair and blue eyes)…and maybe (probably) it wasn’t the intent of the publisher, but there was some seriously homoerotic imagery in the book. About ten years ago I was thinking about The Children’s Bible and wondering whatever happened to my copy…and remembering some of the illustrations in it, I thought no, you can’t be remembering that correctly and so I went on eBay and bought a used copy.

And when it arrived, my memories were actually correct.

I mean, look at the muscles on Goliath. That image was burned indelibly into my brain, and it’s entirely possible my appreciation of muscles comes from….The Children’s Bible.

Perish the thought!

Grooming!

Indoctrination!

And of course, my favorite story in the book was David and Jonathan.

I mean, look at how they drew David!

I mean, it may not be Michelangelo, but damn.

(I also love that a Bronze Age Middle Eastern Jew somehow had pearly white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.)

Though David has awesome legs in both depictions, seriously.

When I was a kid, I’d always reread the David and Jonathan story (can’t imagine why it was my favorite…). I wanted a best friend like David–I always saw myself as Jonathan, the supporting player, the way I always did–gorgeous and charismatic and beautiful and beloved of God. I would think about the story and while I was too young and innocent to conceive of it as anything other than friendship–the same way I thought of the “friendship” between Achilles and Patroclus in tales of the Trojan War–when I got older, whenever I thought about the story I wondered about how deep that friendship between Prince Jonathan and David son of Jesse was. Why include the story at all? It really doesn’t add a whole lot to the tale of David’s life, and did it really matter for King Saul to have a son who was David’s friend and great love? Jonathan dies–not even the Bible was immune from bury your gays–and David mourned him with a great grief that seemed a bit more than “my best bro died.” I wanted to write the story myself, despite my lack of historical knowledge of the period or even when it was actually set, but I wanted to write about their love, their falling in love–and let’s face it, God didn’t really seem to have a lot of problems with their relationship, did he? He didn’t come to David and tell him to stop giving it to Jonathan; God didn’t curse the two of them or punish Israel for it; and yes, Jonathan is eventually killed…but even then God doesn’t come to David and say, did you not read Leviticus? I could hardly let you go on fucking him forever, you know.

So, I guess I am supposed to read it literally and just think they were best friends and loved each other as brothers. Yeah, no. There’s absolutely no reason for this story to be included in the David story in the Bible; none, unless of course there’s a kernal of truth in the story (don’t come for me, I’ve never bothered to find out if the Bible’s Old Testament kings of Israel were real people; I do know that real people turned up in the Old Testament that existed in history–Babylonians and Assyrians, for example, as well as Egyptians)but the mystery for me of why this story was included, why it was included if its merely legend or why was it included if they were real is the real question. There’s no moral lesson to be learned from the story of their friendship; their love and loyalty to each other was an issue for Jonathan because his friend’s greatest enemy was Jonathan’s own father, a king anointed by God–despite God capriciously turning His back on Saul for really such an insignificant reason that it really just boiled down to God just liked David better; I always felt sorry for Saul–how much would it suck to lose God’s favor for no good reason? Just because God found someone He liked better? (And considering the things God forgave David for, or just overlooked, really makes the hard turn away from Saul that much more petty and bitchy.)

God’s kind of an asshole in the Old Testament, frankly.

But yes, I’d love to write this story sometime. (Because I don’t have enough else to do, right?) I’d also want to write it from Jonathan’s perspective, although the death would be hard to do (Madeline Miller managed it with Song of Achilles quite beautifully) story-wise; but is the kind of challenge I love. Maybe someday, and maybe writing it will help me in my constant and never-ending life quest to come to terms with the religious grooming drilled into my brain as a child. I even have a great title for it, too.

I also have a novel in mind revolving around Michelangelo’s statue of David, too; maybe I could combine research and do them at the same time. THAT would be a challenge, would it not?

Colour My World

Today’s title song was ubiquitous in the early 1970’s; I would be curious to know how many proms and other high school dances (fraternity formals, etc.) used “Colour My World” as their theme in the first half of that decade. I think my high school in the suburbs used it my freshmen year as the prom theme; my yearbooks were lost many years ago so I cannot verify anything for certain by taking one down from the shelf and looking. At first, I lamented the loss of so much of my high school and childhood memorabilia: letters for sport, letter jackets, scrapbooks, yearbooks, trophies, medals, certificates–you name it, it disappeared years ago. I do have my junior prom photo, some medals, and a plaque I got for something or another when I was in high school–everything else is gone. After the initial sadness at losing memorabilia of my youth, I got over it pretty quickly; it’s just stuff, and really, it’s nothing I’ve ever truly missed. Sure, sometimes I might remember someone or something, and think, oh if I had my yearbooks I could look this person up but it’s always very fleeting…although now that I am thinking about writing about the 1970s those yearbooks would probably come in handy…

Any other sentimental attachments I may have had regarding possessions were ended by Hurricane Katrina and the things we lost then–and we were lucky, we didn’t lose everything–but the mentality of it’s just stuff has really stuck with me since then. Sure, it’s still difficult for me to get rid of books–my storage attic and unit are proof of that–but I am getting there with the books, too. I am really tired of the attic being full and I am really getting tired of paying the storage unit bill. And if I take one box down from the attic every week and go through it–just to be sure–it will eventually be emptied out.

And of course there are other boxes of books stashed around the Lost Apartment, disguised as tables underneath small blankets working as makeshift tablecloths.

Last year Paul and I discussed our hoarder habits and had decided to “clean like we’re moving”–but we have yet to really pursue that goal.

I’ve been depressed and angry alternatively a lot lately; it really does seem sometimes like we are indeed living in the end times; I find my reaction to developing news lately to be all too frequently something along the lines of well, at least I’m old or #teamextinctionevent or something all those lines. I am so tired of having to fight for my rights and those of other non-straight non-white people, seriously. I try not to let this shit get me down by giving myself pep talks: the arc of history bends towards justice, our system often breaks down but always repairs itself, the majority of Americans really don’t want to take rights away from other Americans–all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. But are those things really true? Democracies and republics historically have always collapsed into authoritarianism, going all the way back to Athens and Rome. Organized religion has always been oppressive and monstrous–but we’re supposed to somehow believe that its modern iterations aren’t (yeah, and I’ve got a bridge across the Mississippi River to sell you, too)–and its historical crimes are far too many to mention. Power and money literally corrupt everything, and religion is not free from that stain, despite all the warnings in the Christian Bible. One of my favorite histories to reread is Barbara Tuchman’s The March of Folly, and my favorite part is “The Renaissance Popes Spark the Protestant Reformation”, about how those popes, from Sixtus IV through Clement VII, essentially through their pride, venality, and lust for power (and women) were so excessive that they drove Martin Luther to nail his ninety-odd theses to the cathedral door, changing history forever.

So, yeah, miss me with that “organized religion” is a societal good thing. It’s not, nor has it ever been, and religion is yet another way for people to be controlled–the opiate of the masses, as Karl Marx said. (oooh, I quoted Marx. Cue the accusations that I am a Communist!)

Heavy heaving sigh. I have an entire post about my rage about Roe and how we’re next in the crosshairs of the “supreme” Court, but I don’t know if I’ll ever post it. It might make me feel better to express my rage publicly, but will it actually make a difference in the world if I do? There’s nothing more frustrating than feeling helpless–it’s the absolute worst (and why religion exists in the first fucking place, don’t @ me) and the major issue with the world burning to the ground all around me, for me, is that when I get down or depressed or frustrated, that makes it much harder for me to actually write things. I want to get this story finished; I need to get the edits on Streetcar done; I have to finish the Bouchercon anthology; and I need to start planning out the next Scotty. I have this terrific idea for it–can’t talk about it publicly yet, obviously, but I’ve become incredibly proud of my own cleverness in this case–and I really want to spend some time playing around with it this weekend. if I can get the anthology finished, put in some good thinking about the edits and do some workarounds with the notes from my editor, and finish this story as well as a base synopsis of the Scotty book, I will be most pleased with myself come Monday morning.

I slept very well last night–even slept in a bit this morning, so am a bit groggy but shaking it off with the assistance of my morning coffee, but feel very rested. I did clean and organize a bit when I got home last night, which was lovely; the kitchen/office looks a bit better this morning than it did yesterday and I also managed to do all the bed linen (I did not, however, put away the load of dishes in the dishwasher, but still–progress). Paul and I watched The Lost City last night, which was a fun diversion, but it was ultimately overall a bit disappointing to me. I kept seeing the similarities to Romancing the Stone, and in comparison, The Lost City comes up short. Channing Tatum, though, is so adorable-especially when he’s playing a himbo–he carries most of the film on his back, really. I didn’t quite get it, really–Bullock is always charming in everything (I will always appreciate her, if for no other reason than Miss Congeniality is genius)–but for some reason she kind of wasn’t in this, for some reason. Maybe I was expecting more and was disappointed? But really, my primary response to the film was “I need to watch both Romancing the Stone and The Jewel of the Nile again.” I think the primary reason the movie failed was the power imbalance between their characters, really; Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner were equals, Bullock and Tatum were not, so when Bullock is mean and dismissive of Tatum’s character, it just comes across as mean and bitchy, not funny–and the history between the two isn’t really set up very well, nor is Bullock’s back story as a heartbroken widow how just wants to hide in her house for the rest of her life. A few more scenes could have set this up and built up the dynamic between them better; it just doesn’t play the way it is edited now…which was enormously disappointing for me, because this is precisely the kind of romantic adventure/treasure hunt story I usually love. I wouldn’t say you shouldn’t watch, Constant Reader. Your mileage might vary, of course; but it essentially left me thinking this could have been so much better.

And now, back to the spice mines. Y’all have a lovely day, okay?

Drops of Jupiter

I got my flu shot yesterday, as well as the second and final vaccination for shingles, and just like the first shingles shot, my shoulder (flu went into the left, shingles to the right) is achy and sore again this morning. But I have absolutely no regrets–a few days of sore shoulder is certainly worth never having shingles. Ironically, one of my goals for this year was to be better about my health in general; who knew, of course, when setting my goals there would be a global pandemic and all of the resultant fallout? But while I still need to get that damned colonoscopy scheduled, I have managed to get the lumps in my chest X-rayed (fatty cysts, RUDE!) and my shingles vaccination. I was in a regular routine of going to the gym again before it closed (and I really really miss it), and need to get into at least a regular routine of stretching, push-ups. and abs every morning (which hasn’t happened yet). I think that will help with what I call malaise, but really is depression.

Malaise just somehow sounds better to me than depression–but that’s also due to stigma. I don’t know why I am so reluctant to admit that I have depression sometimes–it never gets truly bad, just bad enough that I fail to see the point in doing anything of any kind–but of course, when i had to go to the office every day and see clients that helped keep it under control; helping people every day and talking to them about their own problems and issues made me feel better about myself–hey at least you’re helping people and you can do that even during a bout of depression–so obviously, only working with clients two days a week now does not help as much with that. I also am not one who likes to admit to weakness of any kind–thank you, systemic toxic masculinity–and so talking publicly about it, let alone admitting to it, has always been an issue for me.

I did watch The Believers while making condom packs yesterday, and yes, I was right; it doesn’t hold up and it’s really terrible about what is essentially just as valid a religion as Christianity. At one point an expert in santeria does explain to the main character–played by a very handsome younger Martin Sheen–that there is a difference between santeria (white magic; the forces of good) and brujeria (dark magic; the forces of evil)–but throughout the film it’s only referred to as santeria, and the entire point of the film is to exoticize an ancient African religion, make it seem mysterious and evil. Ironically, even though the film was made in 1987 or so, it actually fits into my Cynical 70’s Film Festival because it, too, is about paranoia and conspiracy and not being able to truly trust anyone. There was also a fear of Satanism rampant in the 1980’s; devil cults and so forth–and a lot of it had to do with heavy metal music as well. I suppose this swing back in the 1980’s was to be expected, almost predictable; after the social upheavals of the 1960’s and the cynicism of the 1970’s, the 1980’s saw a swing back to older values of a sort. Evangelicalism–which began to uptick somewhat in the 1970’s, on the wings of end-times religious theory, like The Late Great Planet Earth and The Omen, began preaching about “family values” and trying to censor film, books, television, and music. The film, which I didn’t really remember much of, played down some of the paranoia and motivation of the novel (which was called The Religion, until the release of the film); in the book the religion followers were being warned by the Seven Powers that child sacrifice–three children, in total–was necessary to prevent the coming end of the world; and the stakes of the novel lie in the fact that the main character’s son was to be the third. This plot point was written out of the movie, which obviously turned them into crazy child sacrificers; at least their motivations in the book were sort of pure–an end justifies the means sort of thing, which was a very popular mentality in the 1980’s, as I recall. The book ends with the main character, his new second wife (love interest throughout the book) and the son, saved from sacrifice, living on a farm somewhere; their radio and television goes out, and the adults look at each other with worry as the sky outside also begins to change to an eerie color…the movie obviously ends differently, and not as satisfyingly; I liked that the book depicted that their unwillingness to allow their son to be sacrificed in order to save the world–selfishness, really–doomed the entire world. (The Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay also does a most excellent job of portraying this same dilemma–seriously, Constant Reader, you need to read that book.)

Thinking about this book, and rewatching this movie, naturally has me thinking about the connections between santeria and brujeria to the type of voodoo that was practiced in New Orleans; something I’ve long been interested in but hesitant to write about, particularly, as I’ve said before, because the historical writings about New Orleans and voodoo culture is extremely, horrifyingly dated and racist. My story “The Snow Globe”–coming next year in the Chesapeake Chapter of Sisters in Crime’s anthology Magic is Murder–touches on New Orleans voodoo, and I was absolutely terrified of getting it wrong. The primary issue I have with both fictional and historical depictions of voodoo under any name is that it’s always painted as devil-worship and evil, which is predicated on the notion that Christianity is the only good religion. (I’ve also, often, noted that horror fiction–film, television, novels–while always attacked by Christians, actually almost always portrays Christianity as good, and true, and real; a confirmation of its beliefs and value systems. Vampires inevitably recoil from the cross and holy water; same with demonic possession–and inevitably not just Christianity but Catholicism in particular. I’ve always thought that rather curious.)

Scott Heim’s wonderful story “Loam”–available here at Amazon–was very interesting (not just because he’s a terrific writer and it’s very good) to me because it was about the after-effects, years later, of one of those devil-worshipping/Satanic cult scares from that time period, in which child abuse and so forth were also alleged, and convictions gained, only to later discover the kids had “false memories” that were implanted by the questioning (similar to what happened to Greg Kelley in that documentary we recently watched, where he was falsely accused and convicted of molesting two children). I’ve always been curious about the after-effects of these kinds of traumas, not just on the children but the adults involved as well. How do you parent in that situation? I have a book idea that’s been lying around here for quite some time called I Know Who You Are, which is sort of based on that idea; someone escaping a deeply troubled past and starting a new life with a new name somewhere else, only to have someone from that past turn up, because you can never escape the past. It’s a great idea, and one that I was originally intending to use as a Paige novel in that aborted series, but I think it will also work as a stand-alone–I’ve considered using it as the spin-off from my true crime writer Jerry Channing, who has shown up in the Scotty series a couple of times.

But I must get through these other manuscripts before I can even consider writing anything else.

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines with me.