Entry XXII--Prologue

AN OPEN LETTER TO ANY CHRISTIAN READING THIS BOOK

Hello, Christian reader. Now of course, I realize any/many devout atheists may be reading this as well, but this introduction, prologue, open letter, what have you, is specifically intended for those of the Christian faith, for it is their faith that will be continuously challenged throughout the course of this book. Especially in the second essay, when the topic of Faith (with a capital "F") is confronted head-on.

Therefore, since they will be confronted for some 200 pages, allow this humble missive to thank each and every one of you Christians for choosing to read the Bye Bull, and indeed, this very letter. I also intend to prepare you for what lies ahead, should you choose to read on, as well as cover some issues specific to the book itself, issues which will not be addressed in any manner in the Bye Bull's ten essays.

I am perfectly willing to accept, Christian reader, that you may well have purchased this Bye Bull to burn it. Or to use it as an instructional guide in some kind of Sunday School class; perhaps on how avoid engaging in anti-Christian thinking, or as a guide to “identifying the enemy”—in this case, the enemy being any anti-Christian. Anyone who agrees with the Bye Bull is someone to be converted by any available born-again ready willing and able to do the converting.

Regardless of your individual motivation, I know some of you are out there holding this “evil little book” in your sweaty little palms, a bit nervous at the prospects of blasphemy that lies just beyond the gates of this introduction.

I know some of you couldn’t resist the temptation and just had to buy your very own copy. Even if you’ll just end up burning it.

I won’t accuse any of you of stealing the book, as that would violate number seven of your Top Ten Commandments (number eight if you're not Catholic, Lutheran or Anglican).

Maybe you checked it out from the local library (if it isn’t on the banned book list already) because you just couldn’t stomach the thought of any extra money going into my pocket.

I can appreciate that, really.

The main thing is, you’re holding this book in your hands and you’ve made the committnent--you are going to read it.

If your faith is unassailable, you need not worry; nothing in these pages could possibly assail it.

And yes, I’m even referring to those of you who consider yourselves “liberal Christians.” The St. Francis of Assisi crowd. You may think this book is solely aimed at fundamentalist right-wingers who aim to transform America into a drab theocracy, where prayer is mandatory and any pleasure beyond Bingo is outlawed.

And this book is directed primarily at them, don’t doubt that for a second.

But you don’t get off the hook either. There are no compromises within these covers.

In the parlance of the illegal drug warriors in our government, this book has a “zero tolerance policy” when it comes to Christianity.

So don't you fret, left-wing Christians, those who strive to promote the socialist side of Christ that gets overlooked, downplayed or outright denied in our free-market America, you too will be offended by this book (but at least acknowledged as legitimate Christians, so take solace in that).

Neither will the book neglect all the fence-sittering Christians; the normal everyday folks who call themselves “Christians” but really lead regular "joe and jane” lives and aren’t really interested in turning over their lives over God/Jesus. They want to be assured a seat in Heaven when it’s all said and done because they "believed", but aren't interested in the myriad of moral restrictions Christianity places on the invidivual will. They want to be able to party and have random intervals of intercourse with multiple partners.

At this point, I’d like to issue a statement that the vast majority of you Christian readers are sure agree with:

The Bye Bull should never have been written.

Let me clarify—there should not have been a need for this book to have been written or for it to exist at all.

Not at this late date in human history.

Yet, alas, here it is.

Thus, it was written because it had to be written.

It exists because you, gentle Christian reader, won’t go away.

It exists because another book still holds sway over much of human destiny.

Correction: Over too much of human destiny.

Referring to the Bible, of course.

This book can be seen as the antithesis of the good book.

Call it the “better book.”

Bye Bull.

It's an abbreviation of the original, working title; Goodbye to Bullshit.

When combined as one word, Byebull becomes my version of bible.

And there is the etymology of this book's title.

It's as good a time as any to assure the reader, Christian or not, that there is nothing satanic on these pages, not even in an allegorical sense. Ultimately, Satanism and devil worship ascribe way too much power to Christianity; legitimizing it, in fact. If I am of the opinion that the Devil exists, then surely God and Jesus are just as plausible.

And assigning plausability to Christianity in any way is not the intention of this text. Rather, this book is carrying on the legacy of those writers and thinkers throughout history that have spoken out against irrational spiritual systems externally imposed on a spiritually confused culture that only result in stifling free thought and progress.

In fact, I’d go insofar as to posit that this book is not a negative commodity in the least, certainly not when considered as a gestalt, your faint Christian protestations to the contrary.

As you may or may not notice, the essays in this book were intentionally ordered to run in tone (more or less) from pessimistic>optimistic. That is, optimistic from an anti-Christian perspective. The early essays identify the problems both created, and in the case of pre-existing issues, exacerbated by Christianity, while the latter essays offer refutations (to Christian arguments) and solutions (to the Christian corruption of mind, body, soul (microcosm) and government and culture (macrocosm).

That may raise a question from the Christian reader: If christianity can be so readily and repeatedly dismissed in this book, why does the book even have to be written in the first place?

Christians turn to this argument when they accuse me of "protesting too much". As if there is no doubt as to the legitimacy of Christianity, and I am obviously just grasping for straws, a little too desperate in my futile attempt to deny the reality of Christ Almighty and His Father who Art in Heaven.

Or that I am bestowing too much power upon Christianity, lauding upon it an exaggerated measure of legitimacy by penning these essays for a book released by a major publishing house.

The unadulturated irony here is, it’s because Christianity is in reality so damn flimsy that the hand of the author was forced to compose this Bye Bull.

That Christianity, this superstitious hodgepodge of previous religions and philosophies, even after all these years, still has power to impact a culture in the manner in which it does, is a reflection of a culture at large that prefers comforting, yet gossamer lies, over painful reality. Or even over beautiful reality for that matter.

Bottom line, the day Bye Bull becomes meaningless is the day it will have achieved its greatest meaning.

Verily, there shall come a day when this book will no longer be necessary.

I suspect many critics and most (if not all) Christians will say that it’s day the book is released.

But the Bye Bull will only become obsolete when the Bible has finally been relegated to the status of myth on the cultural bookshelf, and is no longer required to satisfy the subjective whimsy of the spiritually corrupted.

That the primary objective is that this collection of essays become obsolete as soon as possible is unique among authors, it will be freely admitted.

After earning a living, it can be sincerely stated that the goal of many artists and writers is to primarily achieve a sort of immortality via their art, that it lives on past the confines of their mere mortal existence.

But not here. Not with the Bye Bull. Perhaps a future work this author will pen will see fit to stand the test of time (at least in the author's mind), but not this one, otherwise all my efforts will have been for naught. The faster this book hits the cutout bin, the more of a success it shall be deemed (at least in the author's mind).

Please do not mistake this for pretension on the author's part, there is no false posturing of wishing obscurity upon this book that the author labored on for the last nine months, and truly, for most of the author's adult life. Bye Bull is the culmination and the coalescing of all the author's knowledge and experience over the years of anti-Christian researching and writing.

The desired effect of this book would be to hasten the cultural abandonment of Christianity.







But...there are some Christians, who really aren't Christians, deep down. Or they're not sure what they are. Those that are just going along with Christianity to appease their husband, wife or parents. Or maybe to fit in with their community; Christianity conformity being especially prevelant in the small towns and suburbs of the Midwest and South.

If I could pick any 'wish list' of readers of this book, it would be fencesitting Christians, those that could be persuaded to see the light, as it were.

Otherwise, I'm preaching to the converted--as it were. Those ten percent of Americans that can be relied upon to be genuine freethinkers. Though I tend to think the percentage is higher, those numbers suppressed by 'professional market research firms in order to portray anti-Christians freethinkers as being on the fringe.

But even if our numbers are underestimated, ultimately, it's going to take some of those fencesitters to abandon Christianity, too.

To elaborate any further would take away from the power of the final essay.

And that reference segues nicely into my final point; I would advise that the reader read the essays in order, at least the first time around, as the essays were intentionally ordered in order to create a gestalt experience build to a unified vision in that final essay, where all the ideas that

Not that I would ever want to be accused of harboring Christian conformity. After you've read through it once, then by all means, read one essay a thousand times, read half of the book twice as much as the rest of the book or read it backwards.
Or be really wild and read it from start to finish a second time, to really absorb the content.

Of course, at this point in the letter I realize I must be addressing free-thinkers as I wouldn't think many Christians would bother to read it more than once. Most will read just to say they've read it in order to justify any refutation they proffer. And I will admit, there is some legitimacy to any protests they have if they actually have read the book, but I doubt they'll understand or allow themselves to understand the essence of the essays.

And one final thing, and this goes for all readers, Christian and free-thinker alike; at the risk of contradicting my anarchistic leanings and issuing something actually resembling a “rule,” I would advise that all of you read the essays in order, as each relates to it’s successor, the pessimism>optimism device I discussed previously.

Though I’m sure the average Christian reader will decry the book as just “endless christian bashing,” I ardently sought to avoid being redundant, and I regard each essay as intended to stand on its own, to be revelatory in and of itself. Therefore, you should read the treatises in order the first time, to experience it as a gestalt, a unified vision. Or at least read it in order so you can determine if I pulled off that stylistic intention--or just to decide if you even want to pick up the book a second time.

And that’s about all I have to say to you in this opening missive. Now is the time for you to begin the book, Christian reader, if you dare venture further beyond this communiqué.

It’s going to get a lot scarier, I promise.

See, as far as this letter goes…I went easy on you.

Sincerely yours,

Darwin Grimm

That's suitably poetic, I reckon.

As much as this book wasn't supposed to be written, this moment wasn't ever supposed to come to fruition.

The moment that I finished the book. The impossible deadline has been met, and made possible.

I've actually written a book that will be published.

And yes, maybe some day obsolete.

With 4.2 seconds to spare...

Digital clock reads: 4:59:55

Ms. Cabal gave me until five to send her the just completed Prologue.

Funny that it was the prologue that I wrote last, but that’s just the way it worked out. Besides, the Prologue--that “open letter to Christian readers”--was pure spontaneous joy, no pressure at all, so better to save it for the end, like dessert.

It didn’t even approach the arduousness of writing a single sentence in any of the essays.

Could have spent six months on each essay; as it was, I had less than six months to write all ten of them. So knocking out a whimsical prologue wasn’t shit.

Don’t even need to reread Prologue, let alone edit it. Came out in just the spontaneous manner intended; the thoughts and the words to express those thoughts just rolled off my mind and onto the screen.

On the other hand, not going to write an epilogue. Debated it, but it seemed like the conclusion of the final essay pretty much summed up everything I wanted to say. An epilogue from that point was going to be sheer redundancy, if not worse—anti-climactic.

But I definitely wanted some kind of intro, with a decidedly light tone—especially since the first essay opens so heavy.

The “open letter” format lets the reader know straight away that this book is more than just a dry collection of essays.

And despite the address, the “letter” is actually addressed to the freethinking reader, to give him/her a laugh and also realize that he/she is finally reading a book written for him/her

No compromises when it comes to either the mainstream or hardcore Christianity, no concessions to their power and sway.

No worries about offending anyone.

Best thing, Ms. Cabal won’t be editing a word of it. (Not that she is planning to revise much of the actual essays). Though I haven’t seen her since that night I was at her house, and haven’t spoken to her once on the phone in all that time, we’ve been in constant email communication and she told me I had full “artistic freedom” when it came to Prologue, so long as it wasn’t obscene.

It isn’t, but of course, any christian will find Prologue—and the whole book—obscene.

None of that matters. I’m more thrilled that Ms. Cabal and I will no longer be confined to emails. She promised me that we would meet face-to-face once I finished the book, but there were to be no distractions in my life until that point.

So, am I more excited that the book is finally done or that I’m finally going to see Ms. Cabal?

Honestly? The latter.

Kind of hate myself for not letting my writing, my creative art, being the central motivator and source of joy in my life.

Can pretend it is, but that’s all it would be, pretending.

It’s been painful not being able to see her all these weeks.

She’s a goddess. Make that Goddess with a capital G. If I ever chose to worship anything or anyone, it’d be her.

Which reminds me. I still need to write the dedication.

Create a new document and type:

To D’mona Cabal and Sister Hermann. This book would have never have been written without the inspiration of those two women.

Didn’t bother to explain the significance of either mention. Acknowledging Ms. Cabal is obvious, of course, but the Sister Hermann reference is meant to be cryptic, an inside joke.

Yet an inside joke with a grain of truth, as all good jokes possess. Sister Hermann was the nun who was my 4th grade teacher back in cath-o-lick school. Since I was the class clown, always seeking approval and acknowledgement in the laughter I’d generate with my jokes and hi-jinx, Sister Hermann decided I was on the “wrong path” and would frequently make me stay after school, and “talk to myself” because “I liked to talk so much.”

Sister Hermann didn’t know it at the time, but that sexless bitch had in fact planted the first seed of the harvest that became my free thinking--and my eventual, complete break from christianity.

So without Sis Hermann, I might not have become the person I am today, capable of despising christianity with such a dispassionate clarity that could produce such a book as Bye Bull.

Besides, it seems apposite to dedicate the book to women, given the feminist leanings of many of the essays.

(Although, in that spirit, I will leave out the fact that Sister Hermann was appropriately named, since she sprouted facial hair and had a generally mannish countenance).

Gaze dreamily at the screen until sober necessity bitch slaps me: Shit! So self-satisfied with what I just wrote, forgot I still have to email these documents.

Quick glance at the clock shows it’s past five o’clock.

Dammit, late after all. But I'm half-smiling.

Wonder if Ms. Cabal will hold me in violation of my contract? Technically she has the right.

Without pausing, attach the documents titled PROLOGUE and DEDICATION to an email apology to Ms. Cabal's assistant and send it off.

Now I can relax and legitimately claim I'm done with the writing, the book is out of my hands and in the icy grip of Ms. Cabal.

So…what now?

For the first time since she commissioned me to write back in March, I’m not under any pressure, facing no more deadlines, there’s nothing I have to do.

Most anyone else would be celebrating the moment with a bit of the bubbly, but I don’t want any.

Really don’t. I’m over drinking--don’t want to go back to that place.

Still, finding it hard to wind down. Antsy, like there’s still something left to be done.

Reckon I could go outside for a walk, burn some energy and experience the rest of the day, outside, like normal people do.

But this isn’t the day to start becoming normal. Normal didn't get me here.

So I stare at the phone, waiting for like a good lapdog, waiting for Ms. Cabal to make it ring.

8:41 in the evening and still nothing. Stomach starting to grumble, but am not going to move out of this seat till I hear from Ms. Cabal. Ignore the hunger—my appetite for her is more powerful, anyway.

Digital clock “strikes” 8:42 PM, and as if on cue, summoned by the new moment…

R-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-N-G!

Know it's her.

Still, I play dumb when I answer it with a snatch of the receiver by the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Darwin.”

Of course it’s her.

“Hello, Ms. Cabal. It’s good to talk to you again. How are you?”

“I am fine, thank you Darwin. But what you really want to know is what I thought of the Prologue.”

Not true. More excited to speak with her than her opinion of my writing—and she should know that. But as always, I submit: “Yes, Ms. Cabal.”

“I enjoyed the Prologue, although I think it could mislead a potential reader who thumbs through the book in a store. She or he might think it is a humor-oriented book as opposed to the more sober series of philosophical essays that it in truth is.

“However, there are touches of sarcasm throughout your book, such as in the “Fallacies” essay, so I think the tone of the prologue blends well with those passages.

“Regardless, as I promised you, the prologue will appear word-for-word. Most potential buyers read the sleeve to glean the nature of a book, not a prologue. It is just that it is important for this book to be a commercial success, to have the most impact

“I took all those things you said into consideration, Ms. Cabal. I just wanted a…flippant prologue to contrast with the rather heavy opening to the first essay.”

“In that case, mission accomplished, Darwin.”

Hmmm…can’t tell if she’s really pleased with it or not from that remark. Feels more like she’s just tolerating Prologue.

Regardless, her next words couldn't come more inviting: “Darwin, we must have a drink to celebrate your accomplishment...and Apogee Writ's good fortune. There will be a car waiting to pick you up in front of your building at nine o’clock.”

“Uh, I don’t drink...anymore..."

"Then there will be no alcohol in your drink. The car will be waiting outside your building at nine sharp. Goodbye, Darwin.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Cabal.”

Wince as I hang up. What the fuck was I thinking, making that comment to her? Who gives a shit if I don’t drink? She sure doesn’t. Ms. Cabal wants me over--that’s all that matters.

Glance at the clock—it’s already 8:30, meaning I've only got a half-hour to shower, shave, change and run downstairs to meet her car.

I don't care about the driver, but he's probably on a timetable and I don’t want to make Ms. Cabal to even wait for a minute. She deserves better than that.

Under a blissful stream of steaming hot water, make sure every nook and cranny of my
bod is scrubbed squeaky. More attentive and nervous right now than before any date I've ever had in my life, including the one that lead to my losing my virginity, back in college.

Find my best collared--which happens to be my only clean shirt with a collar, combined with my black dress slacks and leather shoes and I look as good as I have in months, especially when you throw in the shower and the shave.

Have been pretty much a hermit since I stopped drinking and started writing these last four months, so just going out at night to interact with another person is probably more than I can handle.

Still I'm out in front of my building at 8:59 PM and actually use that full minute to catch my breath before the sedan pulls up, the driver emerging to hold the door for me, and off we speed to Ms. Cabal's stately abode, leaving the Chinatown crassness far behind...


“Here is to the completion of your book, Darwin, and to doing it under the deadline, which is the best gift any writer can give a publisher-- as equally important as a well-written book—especially when that publisher is fighting for position in an increasingly competitive marketplace.”

Ms. Cabal smiles and I laugh politely accordingly and lift my apple cider to meet her raised glass of outstanding Bordeaux champagne (or so she tells me, I'm too coarse too be aware of such things)—and then quickly retract my hand with sufficient embarrassment when I realize she’s not done toasting.

The consummate professional, she flashes me a disapproving look for my lack of patience, while finishing the toast with total aplomb.

“Of course, that was an industry joke. Nothing is more important than the book itself. And under tremendous pressure, you have delivered a book that Apogee Tomes can be proud to publish. Each essay you wrote is truly a work of profound art, a wonderful coalescing of the philosophic and the creative streams of your unique thought processes.”

“You should write my reviews.”

“I will help craft your PR, and if crafted the right way, the PR and the press releases will become the reviews. Now let me finish my toast to you or you will be punished.”

(Is that a promise—or a prelude?)

“And I find it most fitting that the final submission was the Prologue, because tonight, though we toast the end of your writing, it is just the beginning of our affiliation.”

Not exactly sure what she means by that, but I’m down for anything that means I’m going to stay a part of her life—even peripherally—I’ll take that.

And still, Ms. Cabal has yet to complete her toast:

“Finally, here is to you, Darwin, and to Bye Bull”

At last, we can toast, as she extends her glass to meet mine in the ceremonial clink and smiles at me while taking a more generous drink than I; can’t take my eyes off her, screw the cider—it was ceremonial, anyway.

Imbibe a slight sip of cider to be polite--and proper.

Just that sends a rush of heartburn racing up my esophagus. Ignore the discomfort for the simple fact at this precise moment I am seated on the same couch next to Ms. Cabal. Her majestic, flawless legs loosely contained in a white cotton skirt that serves in utter contrast to all the tight skirts and dresses (not to mention leather Dominatrix garb--in my "freakout fantasy" in her presence). The material and the more casual fit are appropriate for this unusually warm summer evening in San Francisco./district she's in.

Those aforementioned legs of perfection are crossed in such away that one of her sandal covered feet dangles tantilizingly near my knee. So close, the slightest abrupt movement by either one of us would result in physical contact; so far, her open toes might as well be dangling in China.

I actually match her; purposely wore my loosest fitting slacks because I knew there was more than a distinct possibility being in her presence would leave me aroused--and my choice is proving to be a prudent one right about now.

Still, feel as relaxed as I ever have in her presence; maybe it has something to do with the book being behind me, maybe it has something to do with the apple cider.

Too relaxed when I blurt out, "I'm so glad the book is what you wanted, Ms. Cabal."

She instantly correct me, "It has little to do with what I want, Darwin, but that you produced a book that will have an influence on the culture."

Find myself locked in her mysterious eyes once more as I ask, "Do you really think it's possible for the book to have that influence?"

"I would hardly waste your time--or more importantly, waste my time if I thought otherwise."

As always, Ms. Cabal immediately supplements the cloud-dwelling idealistic with the down-to-earth practical, "Naturally, in order to achieve such a lofty result, the book must be marketed properly. As you will see in the coming months, Darwin, I have an unprecendented publicity campaign designed for Bye Bull; certainly unprecedented in terms of nonfiction publishing."

Insert a quick quip: "Well, we are competing with the all time best-seller, they say that's nonfiction too, don't they?"

Ms. Cabal flashes me a knowing grin, amused by my comment, not minding that I interrupted her.

It's weird, but it feels like how it would be if Ms. Cabal and I were in a...relationship.

The very notion is so proposterous, it's immediately dashed from my mind, and return complete focus to Ms. Cabal as she proceeds to explain:

"Every possible medium will be utilized to promote Bye Bull. There will be an intricately orchestrated and coordinated publicity campaign, running the gamut from TV commercials to news reports to public appearances."

That last one is a hook in my mouth: "As in me appearing before the public?"

She frowns at my fragmentary syntax as much as my trepidation: "Of course, Darwin. You will be sent on a promotional tour in November, commencing just after the book is released on Halloween and ending just before Thanksgiving."

Palms dampen at the prospect; my typical fear of the unknown overwhelms me. Much as it pains me to do so, gotta confess: "Not sure I can do that--and even less sure how well I can do it, Ms. Cabal. I'm a writer, not a personality."

"Nonsense. You never wrote a book until these last few months. If you can accomplish that, you can certainly read excerpts from the book, sign copies and field questions>"

"It's that last one that gets me. Having to be spontaneous and answer questions off the cuff aren't my specialties. I'm not interested in looking like some kind of jackass when I'm supposed to be this new hotshot author on the scene.

Ms. Cabal can't scoff fast enough: "I fail to understand why you are so paranoid, Darwin. Your voice has fine timbre and you have a strong presence--when you care to display it. However, I will hire a public speaking coach and we can stage mock interview sessions, featuring typical questions you are likely to face on your publicity tour."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

My acquiesence pleases her and she takes another drink and I join her with another nip of cider. Maybe it's the heartburn, maybe it's the fructose in the cider, maybe it's my fear of public speaking, but I feel a strange sensation coming over me.

It leaves me kind of spacey, yet it relaxes simultaneously.

Either way, don't let it overwhelm me--it's going good with Ms. Cabal, don't want to mess this up.

"For the time being, Darwin, I want you to relax. You have the rest of the summer off. Your first appearance won't be until Halloween, when the book is released. There will be a launch party at a public location around that time, in late October. The details still have to be worked out, as does your travel itinerary for the promotional tour."

Coming to the chilling realization that promoting the book is going to be far more of a bitch than writing it ever was.

Also come to another realization, this one more acceptable: "I'm done writing...and I have enough money to live comfortably. It'll be my first real summer vacation since I was a kid."

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Darwin. This is your opportunity to relax."

The emphasis she places on the word is enough to send me drifting off to sleep.

True to form, my eyelids grow heavy...

Enough that I blink for a sustained moment...

And when my eyes open, they are not secretly looking at Ms. Cabal's crossed legs, but instead are pressed up against her inner thighs.

Yes, incredible as it seems, impossible as it seems, my face is buried in Ms. Cabal's pussy. Her legs are spread sufficiently wide, skirt hiked up on her hips, panties completely removed.

Am momentarily stunned; hesitant as to how to proceed.

As always, am instructed by the sure hand of Ms. Cabal, and she turns my head towards the inner thigh of her left leg.

This isn't the time to dream, but to act!

Instinct kicks in, and along with that, a sense of lucidity; the first rule is not to let my out of control lust get the best of me and ruin the cunnilingus for her.

Slowly suck on her thighs, using lips and tongue to tantilize Ms. Cabal, and apparently it does just that, generating a gentle sigh of pleasure from her. Even with both ears pressed up against her flesh, I hear her soft moan. How could I not?

An old girlfriend who loved for me to go down on her on a nightly basis once said that a woman's thighs being licked in foreplay really stimulated her naughty bits, and I've always kept that to heart.

Switch to Ms. Cabal's right thigh--mustn't ignore that equally suculent delight! Delicately gnaw on that one until I've built ample tension. Catch the first whiff of pussy juice, bringing with it a sense of accomplishment, that I'm getting her excited.

With that comes the confidence to edge my face close to the edge of her waiting, wanting, moistened box.









PAY ME THE REST OF THE ADVANCE?










Phone rings sharper than usual, as if my senses have been heightened by my accomplishment, like the afterglow of a mind-splitting orgasm.

Before picking it up,I know who it's her.

"Hello, Ms. Cabal."

Entry XXI--What Would Jesus Do with Christianity?

PERHAPS REWRITE THIS AS ESSAY ON HOW CHRISTIANS' PRIMARY CONCERN ISN'T TRULY SPIRITUALITY, BUT AFFECTING CHANGE IN THE MATERIAL WORLD. REALLY GETTING INTO THE METAPHYSICAL ASPECTS OF CHRISTIANITY ARE CONSIDERED ESOTERIC, THE BOOKS ARE THERE IF YOU NEED THEM, BUT THERE'S NOT THE PRIMARY CONCERN. IT'S HOW HAVE YOU SINNED/NOT SINNED TODAY, IT'S SEEKING APPROVAL AND CASTING JUDGMENT, NOT A TRUE CONCERN WITH WHAT REALLY CONSTITUTES SPIRITUAL REALITY AND THE NATURE OF THE SOUL


LIFE A

MAURA, our protagonist/heroine/IT girl is having another great day. Life isn't perfect, but she's on a roll. She's an integral part of the foundation of a new culture, hell, perhaps a new species. But not in any kind of elitist, racist way. Rather, a new species of humanity that has completely abandoned Christianity.

It's not intolerance, because it's not any part of their lives. There is no Christianity to be intolerant of.

A consortium of scientists, artists, philosophers, social activists and financiers (a necessary evil) banded together after they'd collectively grew increasingly frustrated over the theocratic shift the U.S. was taking following the Terrorism Wars. CONFIRM NAME

Maura is one of those scientists. Her specialty is molecular biology, specifically, she is engaged in research in an attempt to identify the particular molecular signals that affect stem cells. The signals released by surrounding tissues either tell stem cells to remain stem cells or they tell stem cells to differentiate into their specialized successors.

Once Maura's research determines what the various molecular signals are, she can manipulate the stem cells, either by maintaining them as stem cells or by encouraging them to differentiate, depending on how she plans to ultimately utilize them.

And she's finally at a place where she can work without the fear of being shutdown by government decree or some fundamentalist terrorist attack on her laboratory.

That's because government decrees no longer are based on religious morality and because no terrorist bomb could penetrate the outer shell protection of the facility where Maura works, the place where she lives, sleeps and makes love...an all-in-one

The Marbles.

So named because her live/work space, like the others around her, are designed like spheres, several hundred yards across, self-contained nation-states dotting the Marin County landscape.

And like their namesake, each of the Marbles are a different color, in fact, all are multi-hued, so that from afar, they do resemble a collection of children's marbles spread across a front lawn.

Calling each complex a 'nation-state' in and of itself is not overstating the case; for each Marble is capable of sustaining thousands of residents, although numbers are usually kept more modest in the interests of depopulation/preventing overpopulation.

In other words, the Marbles are not interdependent on one another. Yet, they all interact and cooperate, and precisely because there is no competition between them, there is no conflict between them. All interactions are mutually beneficial.

One could say that Maura is an integral part of the day-to-day transpirings of the marbles, but that would truly be a redundancy; for every single individual living within the confines of the Marbles is an integral part of the Marbles.

As such, Maura begins the day at a Round Table meetings, held at a literal, massive perfectly round table carved from the finest cloned redwood. (The Marbles do not cut down any existing plant forms, deeing them absolutely necessary to the continuation of a sustainable global ecosystem).

Cloning, genetic engineering and nanotechnology are all big parts of existence within the Marbles. Fact is, nanotechnology has made it possible for the Marbles to transcend the need for currency. (Although obligations with the 'real world' necessitates the use of money, the Marbles collective goal is to completely cease all monetary expenditures within five years. In other words, they will conduct no economic trade with the 'real world')

After the usual 'order of the day', the Round Table engages in a practice that is usually the most enjoyed by the majority of the participants; a free-form forum in which random proposals can be initiatiated by any member present. A member cannot present a proposal on behalf of any member not present, as that would violate the Marbles' spirit of self-determination.

Today, Maura has arrived prepared with a proposal near and dear to her heart; restoring abortion rights in the U.S. For even though the Marbles will eventually cease monetary dealings with the outside world (and in the process, become economically self-sufficient), they still seek to affect social, scientific, political and cultural change.

Staying economically self sufficient is key to the Marbles success; for nothing destroys integrity like financial necessities.

Ideally, the occupants of the Marbles would transform the outer society into a macrocosm of the Marbles, thus enabling a smooth transition as the Marbles could be assimilated into the general culture, no longer needing to stand apart in massive spheres in a remote locale.

One component of that transformation is to restore a woman's right to a safe and legal abortion.

And Maura has been studying the issue for years, ever since surgical abortions were completely outlawed by the Supreme Court.

Despite this, thousands (if not millions, it's hard to secure precise data) of women are having illegal undocumented abortions across the country.

As is the case with illegal drugs, an underground network has sprung up of women who inform each other of these outlaw abortion clinics. Some women go on the run, trying to locate these facilities, some running away from home. In those cases, the women are usually very young, many are minors and adult teenagers.

Many of them need a place they can turn to when they're on the run with no hope and no money, and Maura proposes to build a series of shelters in various strategic spots across the country in which such women could, at the very least, find a place to sleep for free.

But Maura projects that these centers could eventually be turned into 'emergency abortion proviing stations' (for women whose lives are threatened by their pregnancy).

Eventually, these places could become medical/politcal focal points by which abortion could be reintroduced and relegalized.

Maura had to withstand numerous objections that her proposed facilities would meet with resistance and possibly shut down by court order and law enforcement, not to mention the distinct possibility of random violence from extremist Christian whackos who feel like they have carte blanche these days to shoot first and ask questions later when it comes to anything even questionably moral. Maura assures them that every security precaution will be taken to prevent violence, keeping in mind that the Marbles can provide the superior technology required to protect such a facility from the odd Molotov cocktail. And as far as taking this to the courts? Well, that is her very intention Maura reminds them. Overturning any aspect of the Supreme Court's decision is among her objectives.

With such persuasive reasoning, several members of the Round Table pledge to Maura to assist her in her proposal, more than enough to form a staff that will be able to both establish and run the safehouses.

(Nothing is ever truly voted for or against at the Round Table. It's just a matter of which individuals want to participate in a given project. With nanotechnology, there is no necessity for funds or budgeting, so it's never a matter of 'acceptance' or 'rejection', all proposals are initiated, it's just a matter of how many or how few people want to be involved with the given proposal).

After leaving the Round Table room, Maura was flushed with headrushing exhiliration. She was already going over the various options of where to locate the safehouse. For some reason, she's thinking somewhere in the San Joaquin Valley, maybe between Fresno and Modesto; due to its central location between Los Angeles and the Bay Area and the fact there's a lot of under priveleged women in that mostly rural region. And even the bigger cities aren't as affluent overall as the coastal regions of L.A. and SF.

Down the hallway, Maura runs into her lover Thaddeus, he's a cold fusion physicist on his way to monitor an ongoing experiment. Thaddeus has been so busy these last few weeks he hasn't had time to attend any of the Round Table meetings, so Maura kept him informed at night. They shared a quick, but deeply intimate kiss before heading on their separate ways. As much as her work means to her and turns her on, Thaddeus turns her on even more. A big part of her just wants to stay with him right here in this hallway and she wouldn't care who was watching.

Monogamy isn't as prevalent in the Marbles as it is in the outside world, but it still exists, and Maura feels a bond with Thaddeus that she's never come close to with another man. Right now at least, she has no desire to be with any other man.

The fact he's a scientist means a great deal to their compatibility; she can really tell he knows what she went through at the end of each and every day.

Thaddeus is well read, funny and sensitive.

Plus, the sex was incredible. What more could she ask for?

She could not imagine herself being with any other man.

Maura could spend the whole day thinking about him, but she had work to do herself. But before getting back to her experiments, she went to the cafe to order a meal custom made by the nano-chefs.

A great majority of the Marbles dwellers are vegetarian, but Maura isn't. But in keeping in line with the more humane Marbles approach to...everything, the meat is not from slaughtered animal, but rather cloned animal muscle tissue. Cloning raw meat is also much less taxing on the environment.

Speaking of which, the Marbles are not a completely enclosed environment; the space between each of the structures is 'property' of the Marbles and is utilized for multiple purposes, including some agriculture. Certainly, they don't have space to raise livestock and wouldn't even if they did, given the aforementioned toll it takes on the ecosystem.

So Maura is able to enjoy her chicken filet sandwich completely guilt-free. The french fries, on the other hand...

Necessitates a visit to the gymnasium by Maura in the late afternoon. But at the Marbles, the gymnasium doesn't comprise a mere room, it's an entire floor. No waiting.

Even after the workout and shower, Maura isn't ready to go into work quite yet.

She needs to spiritually recharge first.

Christianity (and the other religions) may have been abandoned, but not spirituality and mysticism.

Spiritual exercise is considered as essential at the Marbles as physical exercise; that is, for those who choose to pursue such exercises.

Maura is currently investigating the legitimacies of quantum sprituality.

She engages in an intense session of meditation.

Completely refreshed, she now heads to the lab on her own schedule, ready to tackle the problem of molecular signals detection.

At present Maura is experimenting with a new signal amplifier that was constructed by R&D, with the intent being RESEARCH


Emerging from the lab ten hours later, it feels like ten minutes. Even though nothing was accomplished, just the process fascinates her.

Sometimes she almost feels a weird sense of...corniness or geekiness about how good her life is; a old negative remnant of the old cross culture.

But she never suffers from the illusion that her life is perfect. No; if it were perfect, she would argue with the other members of the Round Table so often, she wouldn't have spent ten hours making zero progress, and she wouldn't spend the occasional night upset on the edge of her bed instead of in Thaddeus's arms.

She's only slightly hungry, another testament to the powers of her concentration. A quick salad in the cafeteria satiates those minimal pangs.

It's just before nine in the evening. Two viable options stand before her; attend a literature salon, or begin assembling the staff for the first of the safehouses.

Even though the salon is discussing an experimental novel called I-Man that Maura A simply adored, the lure of actually talking to her fellow Marbles dwellers and seeing who would be interested in joining her is too much to resist.

(Besides, she could always talk about I-Man with her friends who did go to the salon).

Meditation, working in the lab, she skips a literature salon for meeting with her staff, exhausted back to sex with her boyfriend, marvelling at her life
SHE STARES UP INTO THE SKY FROM HER OPEN ROOF, WITH HIM ON TOP OF HER




LIFE Z

MAURA, our protagonist/heoine/SHIT girl is having another, well...shitty day. Life is mostly joyless the last few years, since the Great Change. That's what the theocracy that replaced democracy has come to be known as.

It somehow makes people feel more comfortable with the fact that so much was taken away from them. At times, it seems like everything except the literal shirts off their backs.

Right about now she's running for her goddamn life.

See, Maura just found out she's pregnant (six weeks along now) and she doesn't want to keep the baby.

A cardinal sin in this culture transformed. Not by the will of individual people, but of government and religious institutions.

Banning surgical abortions wasn't enough for them. Then they had to go after the chemicals; emergency contraception (aka 4-YEM) and the Pill.

In fact, all forms of birth control have been outlawed. There exists a strong underground supply; condoms mostly, but also IUD's (though those can only be purchased those capable of inserting them) and some chemicals, but mostly, its leftovers, because the chemicals used in the manufacturing of 4-YEM and the Pill are closely monitored by the theocratic government.

But it's too late for any of that for our poor Maura. The E-squared are after her; that's what Ethics Enforcement is known as.

E-squared has one objective when it comes to pregnant women--they will give birth even if they do so in prison.

Maura doesn't want to have that baby under any circumstances, and she will abort it or die trying. That unwanted form inside her will not pass alive between her legs.

It's like nothing else in her life matters anymore except aborting this mistaken pregnancy.

Hell, the only reason she's pregnant in the first place is that you have to pay twenty five dollars for a goddamn rubber in the underground prophylactic trade.

As she makes her stealthy way through the delapidated streets, Maura's main objective is to locate a 'safehouse' she heard about, a safe haven for pregnant women to find shelter, away from the prying all-seeing eye of E-squared.

She thinks it's on this block, but she can't be sure, everything looks too goddamn much alike.

Spotting a an E-quared patrol vehicle coming down the opposite street, Maura quickly ducks into a darkened doorway.

The searching spotlight just misses her arching form. Maura can take a lot, but that's cutting it a bit close.

It's times like this she's glad she isn't so volupturous, her smaller breasts stay closer to the chest, and just out of the range of the spotlight's beam.

Before she makes a move, she spots yet another E-squared patrol car. They're closing in on her. No wonder they're so feared, they always get their woman.

That's it. Maura is staying in the shadows until she either finds the safehouse or the sun comes up.

But she knows she doesn't have that long.

The sound of a third car approaches. They must know she's close. In fact, they might know exactly where she is, they have cameras everywhere, and they're just toying with her. Waiting until she's on the verge of collapse from nervous exhaustion and then they'll scoop her up right before her face hits the cold gravel.

No--she can't let herself think like that. She's going to get out of this alive.

The growing embryo in her womb won't be--but she will.

Sure, she can sound all tough in her head, but in reality, how in the hell is she going to get out of this mess?

And just when she's about to take a bold step forward, she's grabbed from behind, a gloved hand covering her mouth.

Okay, this is it, Maura figures. The fuckers caught her and she'll going to be placed in a prison nursery and be forced to lay there while that unwanted, dreaded...thing is removed from her womb, a total violation of her body, in utter contravention to her own desires.

Then the worst indignity of all; the baby will be set free (as it were) to live a new life, while Maura will be imprisoned for life--because she didn't want to have a child that was nothing more than an accident, not from intelligent design.

More like from a night drunken debauchery.

A hood is slipped over her head and all goes black.

When she comes to, a surprisingly soft female voice advised, "Shield your eyes"

Maura did so and when her eyes finally adjust to the swinging lightbulb overhead, she's sure she's in some kind of interrogation room.

But no, she soon comes to discover that she is among...friends. Or at least, not enemies.

Her liberators informed her that this is indeed the very safehouse she sought.

But they don't fool her or fill her with any false illusions. It's a bleak existence here, but she'll be safe. Because this is the safest safehouse of them all.

Because this safehouse is a mobile home; never staying in one place long enough for them to get caught by E-squared.

And sure enough, before the next morning, Maura and her newfound friends are already on the move, utilizing a series of tunnels underneath the area where they picked her up.

They emerge, undetected in the toilet of an abandoned warehouse.

The economy's been down ever since the Christians took over. They keep issuing news alerts that "it's bound to pick up any day" but it never really does pick up. Spurts here and there across the country, but nothing that sustains.

And maybe they want it that way. 'They' being the ones in power, naturally. Who else could they be?

Maybe keeping everything miserable and economically depressed keeps people clutching onto the faith that's enforced onto them on a daily basis.

That's what Maura thinks, anyway.

She has a lot of time for thinking, these days, on the run. There's nothing to read, no TV, no radio, no music to listen to. They can't carry anything with them, or rely on things like electricity.

Though there are men present, she can't have sex, as they can't risk being in a compromising situation if a sudden escape from a temporary safehouse is necessary.

So she's existing but really not living. Food isn't very good, if they eat at all. And of course, being pregnant, Maura is starving all the time, so she's never truly satiated.

And the only way to make the munchies go away is to get that abortion--the whole reason she sought out the safehouse.

Arrangements are being made, but it isn't easy, given the obvious circumstances.

After an exhausting month of hurry up and wait, Maura's spirits picked up when she was informed that an obstetrician was located. Dr. Freeman, the ironically named Jewish ob who so despised the Christian-centric government in place that he performed abortions for free.

Even at the risk of instant execution, Dr. Freeman allowed his name and contact info to be passed around the underground, and made himself available whenever a mobile safehouse came within reasonable driving distance of him.

When Dr. Freeman finally arrived, Maura was on the cusp of being three months pregnant. The good doctor is equipped with an MVA (manual vacuum aspirator), a portable abortion device. That Maura was still in her fifteenth week meant that the MVA could still be utilized without risk. It was a manual aspirator because it didn't require electricity and it was a handheld model, and easy to carry on the run for clandestine operations (the surgical kind, not the cloak'n'dagger kind).

Dr. Freeman is brought to the latest safehouse (an abandoned florist shop) by one of the underground. He is quickly introduced to Maura, who is propped up on a makeshift table. CONFIRM

Maura is quickly introduced to Dr. Freeman, who conducts the pre-work up RESEARCH. Maura's nervous, and while Dr. Freeman doesn't have the best bedside manner, his sure professional style puts her at ease. Unfortunately, because he's forced to work underground, Dr. Freeman ran out of painkillers, which would offset the potentially severe cramping.

He advises Maura of the potential pain, but says the cramping could be mild.


Using the MVA is a silent procedure, Maura doesn't even know when it has started.
Another advantage to MVA is that it results in less bleeding than a regular abortion.

Dr. Freeman hand pumps the syringe in which a vacuum is produced by by sealing one end of the syringe and retracting a plunger at the other. The syringe is attached to a soft flexible cannula for vacuum aspiration that doesn't pose a risk of puncturing the uterus.

The UMVA procedure is 99 percent successful. And even in these grimy conditions, Dr. Freeman is performing a successful abortion, capturing the products of reproduction in the tube. In just over ten minutes, Freeman is finished, and Maura has received her outlawed abortion.

Not more than 120 seconds later, the door was suddenly obliterated by a high-tech battering ram and a phalanx of armed E-squared troopers who enter shooting, obviously intending to ask questions later.

Maura screamed in bloody horror; how could this be happening to her? Not two minutes ago she had finally been

With their advanced fully automatic weaponry, the E-squared cops killed all the members of the underground and then Dr. Freeman as he pleaded for his life.

With only Maura left alive, the E-squared squadron surrounded her table, her legs still spread wide.

One of the soldiers raises his rifle, but he is halted by another, who appears to be a commander.

"We cannot kill an unborn child."

Then another E-squared soldier pointed to the CONTAINER in the slain Dr. Freeman's hand, that contains the remnants of Maura's conception products...her unborn child.

With the confirmation that the abortion already took place, the commander orders the three E-squared soldiers directly facing Maura to fire upon her.

Within seconds, dozens of bullets have ripped through Maura's once strong yet lithe body. She tasted warm blood. A lot more blood everywhere than during her abortion.

As she laying dying, Maura cursed this world that had delivered her to this point and time. It could have been so much better than this, it used to be so much better than this.

And as she laying dying, Maura also realized that even had E-squared not shown up, her life still would have been miserable; having been known to have gotten an abortion, she would have had to remain forever underground, or completely change her identity which was damned near impossible by that time and too expensive besides.

As she lay dying, Maura at least took the satisfaction of having aborted that damned unwanted child before he/she could be raised as a Christian by a married pair of infertile sheep.

As she lay dying, she dreamt one last dream of a Life where getting an abortion is not even a second thought and Christianity is naught but a dimly recalled relic of a lesser era...



AT SOME POINT, ACKNOWLEDGE WHY I CHANGED TITLE OF ESSAY FROM THE OUTLINE

The following depictions of 'Life A' and 'Life Z' could be construed as parallel universes, as it were.

They were so named 'Life A' and 'Life Z' because they represented the two extremes of the spectrum of possibilities of Christianity existing/not existing.

Naturally, there is the possibility of Life B or Life Y for Maura. In this dynamic, Life B isn't as ideal as Life A and conversely, Life Y isn't as rotten as Life Z). Or it could have been between Life C and Life X, with each scenario being less extreme than the previous 'universe'. Thus, it would continue to descend until the 'compromise universe', which could be called "Life M" (the 13th letter in the 26 letter alphabet) in this example.

Some would argue that 'Life M' describes our present day culture; with a mix of both secular and religious elements, but the thesis of this book argues we're much closer to Life Z than M. Certainly heading in that direction, instead of up the alphabet to Life A.

And limiting it to 26 possibilities is merely scratching the surface, obviously. There are a multiplicity of paths our culture can travel. But whenever faced with that fork in the road, we seem to inevitably stumble half-asleep down the roads that lead to organized religion, and ultimately, to systems of control and submission.

But given that which has been clearly established in the nine preceeding essays, that Christianity is a failed corrupt system that has resulted in both personal and cultural stagnation over the centuries, indeed the millennia.

So the question must be posed:

Why then, does Christianity continue, flourish, and indeed, at this point and time in American culture, dominate?

Is it as simple as people's fear of death and/or dying without salvation?

That's certainly a major reason, certainly the justification for Christianity's supremacy in the West for two millennia. For if one is not saved by God/Jesus at the Final Judgment, there is no place for one in Heaven. Consider it an insurance policy to guarantee eternal life over eternal damnation.

So if science and technology eventually deliver the promise of eternal life, or more likely, eternal regeneration (via cloning, genetic engineering, the downloading of human consciousness into a bio-synthetic computer system, etc--Life A, remember?), would Christianity lose its grip on the masses?

Without any doubt.

It's science that has always chipped away at Christianity's legitimacy. And it's science that could deliver the deathblow.

But it wouldn't, would it? No, that would be naive to assume. After all, despite the astonishing advances in science and technology in the last two centuries, Christianity has not been so powerful on a continent here in America since the Vatican's dominance of Europe in the Dark Ages.

Beyond a means to cheat death, Christianity (as do all religions) also offers a moral component; specifically, the notion of eternal judgment. A criminal may escape adjudicated punishment during life (i.e., a murder committing suicide before being captured), but in the afterlife the soul of that will surely be punished by his/her maker. Or at least stuck in the bowels of purgatory for a good long spell, (the aforementioned eternal damnation).

There is no easy remedy for that psychological need on the part of many people. Certainly it can be transcended (particularly by those who are capable of adopting a 'beyond good-and-evil mentality--more on that to follow), but this is usually achieved by the more intellectually curious of a given populace.

The only solution here is to make a stronger committment to serving proper justice in the here-and-now.

But is this not just part of a total cultural transformation that needs to take place?

Perhaps, but how realistic, how viable is such a transformation? Over the course of many generations that become less and less concerned with Christianity, perhaps. That which I am suggesting is of a more practical nature.

It is the discussion of eternal judgment the leads appropriately to perhaps the one offering of Christianity that will be the most difficult to transcend for future generations.

For it is the concept of a unique, individual 'soul' that is indestructible, eternal and retains the personality of the human husk the soul once occupied that is vital to Christians. It's important for many Christians to believe they are actually spiritual beings having a human experience, that there is more to each one of them than just mere mortal flesh.

And it is for good reason that this component to Christianity's appeal not be ignored; for pure materialism is not the aim of a culture that abandons Christianity. As demonstrated in the Life A scenario, there is no reason why legitimate spiritual exercises and practices could not be fully integrated into such a lifestyle on the individual level as well as into the culture at large.

Though it's safe to posit that in such a transcendent culture, spirituality would be a much more flexible, fluid system than it is at present. (If calling such a spirituality a 'system' would be any kind of proper terminology).

This is a chief selling point of Christianity; that it purports to answer the otherwise unanswerable questions, such as "Is there a soul?" "Is there a Heaven and Hell?" and "Where do we go when we die?"

For older people especially, the fact they believe Christianity legitimately answers these questions makes the religion very appealing. Older people are confronted more directly with the prospects of death, and Christianity offers them comfort, it offers the promise of everlasting life.

And this is part of the transformation; a new way of looking at what the 'soul' or 'spirit' is, and as a result, what it is not. For further exploration of the comparison between the Christian notion of a soul and more objective theories, see the preceeding essay ("Soul'd Out").





FUTURISM SOLUTION/ANTIDOTE; WITH CLONING, DOWNLOADING OF HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS, (LIFE A, REMEMBER?) THERE IS NO DEATH, NO FEAR OF LOSS OF MORTALITY, THERE IS POTENTIAL IMMORTALITY

BUT EVEN WITHOUT THE PROMISE OF IMMORTALITY, IS THE END OF INDIVIDUAL EXISTENCE SO BAD?





MODELS OF ABANDONMENT

INTRO
On a certain level, this collection of essays are not intended to galvanize the masses in any way shape or form. Despite the title, it is not the intent of this book to be the inverted equivalent of the bestselling Holy Bible.

But it is appropriate in the context of this essay to explore the possibilities of a mass movement against Christianity and to examine various methods of lessening Christianity's influence to the degree where it is powerless to impact institutions and to where its influence will not be so prevelant on the sort of innocent minds Christianity has corrupted over the years.

Abadoning on the individual level. This is the most obvious, and most prevelant method to date; the individual disconnect from Christianity. This is done in the most rudimentary ways; by not going to the church of the religion one belongs to, or better still, by renouncing the religion one was formerly affiliated with (although it does not have to be any sort of dramatic break for it to be any more valid; simply ceasing to attend services and conduct one's self in accordance with church doctrine is more than sufficient. In other words, by doing nothing, you're doing something.

The biggest obstacle is all the Christians who are too fearful to abandon to do so, yet the only true abandonment is when it is a decision from within that person and not something that is forced, coerced or cajoled.

Cultural abandonment. This has taken place over the past 150 years, as many openly anti-Christian books, albums and movies have been released, although they have tended to been relegated to the fringe in mamy cases.

Corporate abandonment. That's where the corporate issue comes into play. Though it would seem corporate America would cynically laugh off the piety of Christianity, espeically the judgmental anti-fun fundamental sects, but surprisingly enough, the evidence suggests that corporate America is actually in bed with and promoting the ascendancy of the Christian right in this country.
WHY

Government/political abandonment. The most difficult of all. "In god we trust" emblazoned on the currency, after all. (The working title for this book was In God They Trust to underscore the author's viewpoint on the issue)

DISTINCTION BETWEEN CULTURAL ABANDONMENT AND POLITICAL ABANDONMENT, WHICH DOESN'T APPEAR LIKELY TO HAPPEN. SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE MY ASS.

POLITICAL ABANDONMENT WOULD COME WITH CULTURAL ABANDOMENT, HOWEVER. OR RATHER, IF IT DIDN'T, THAT WOULD MEAN OUTRIGHT THEOCRACY (LIFE Z)

THEOCRACY COULD BE IMPOSED, EVEN IF THE CULTURE HASN'T ABANDONED CHRISTIANITY, HOWEVER.

Traditions will be broken when generations live indefinitely, eventually the politicians would follow--unless we live under some kind of unyielding perpetual theocratic dictatorship.

It all comes down to answering a basic question. This entire book, these two hundred pages of essays boils down to this one query

Can humanity progress beyond the endless cycles of war and democracy that serves as little more than thinly veiled fascism in a culture that accepts Christianity as a legitimate influence?

The answer can only be no.

If the answer was anything but "no", then said progression beyond war and hollow democracy would have taken place long ago.

Christianity has yet to provide solutions to the world's problems; should it have such an influence.

If it wasn't a resounding 'no,' would not war, violence, rampant materialism and moral decay have vanished years ago?

END?

Entry XX--Leaster Sunday

THIS ENTRY WILL NOW BE COMBINED WITH WHAT WOULD JESUS DO W/ CHRISTIANITY, IT WILL BE THE OPENING SECTION, THAT WWJDWC TO FOLLOW
Looking out my partially smudged window (Spring arrived on time, but the corresponding Cleaning never showed). Tilt my neck to look down on Bush St., down at all the hypocrites heading off to the church across the street, going in just because it's easter sunday. They tread up or down the hill (depending on which direction they're coming from), meeting up with friends and families as they exchange pleasantries and hugs and sometimes gifts and the kids there all dressed up fidgeting looking forward to egg hunts or wishing there was another one if they already had their hunt. The adults are all dressed up in their finest spring finery for the their bi-annual visit to the house of their lord to hear once again the stirring tale of christ's resurrection after spending three days in hell (it's actually more like 39 hours, if one counts it out, Friday at 3 pm till Sunday at dawn. But hey, that wouldn't be the last time christ welshed on a deal).

What really gets me is that it's such a gorgeous day--sixty-five degrees already before noon, yet all these people are heading inside, an utter contradiction of the true pagan origins of easter.

Not that I'm any better, hiding away in the shadows of my musty apartment. Least I have the guiltless excuse of missing this wondrous day due to literary deadline.

The very thought of which has me turning away from the sunlight and the social scenes in front of god's house, because with this deadline ever looming, can't even indulge myself the smallest pleasure of castigating christians.

But being reminded it's the most significant day of the year for the christian religion (xmas is more popular, but less important than easter) inspires me to work more diligently on the "Soul'd Out" essay, which had been stagnating this weekend. And stagnation can be ill afforded with July creeping ever closer, as Spring shall surely roll into Summer without care for human concerns of dates and deadlines.

For many readers, this could be well the most surprising--or disappointing--essay, due to the metaphysical aspects. Up to that point, many (most?) readers will be convinced the author is the stodgiest of materialists, the most obstinate of atheists; one whose stick-in-the-mud is stuck firmly up his own ass.

There's going to be readers convinced that someone with my position couldn't possibly be tolerant of theories that allow for Absolute Awareness and the Uncaused First Cause and the logical conclusion that there can be no physical without the metaphysical preceding it.

But that's why Bye Bull is a cut above--or at least a cut apart--from the other anti-christianity/religion books of recent years.

Almost seems inappropriate to be discussing legit metaphysics on easter. Rather, today is a day I should be frothing at the mouth, spewing venom on my monitor screen while railing against the weakness of the martyred christ and how his so-called 'resurrection'--the very center of the easter celebration--is either completely fabricated from the cult of Mithras--or was surely an orchestration by the disciples 12 of stolen bodies and cruci-fiction, with the agenda to create a new religion for those who wanted to keep their christ cult leader alive through the centuries and oppose the pagan order (which is really an oxymoron). I

It was a lot easier to fake things back in the olden days and have people believe it. Yes, even crucifixions.

Maybe have to reconsider that last graph--conspiracies prove that it's still pretty easy for the establishment to fake things and have the masses swallow it hook line and sphincter.

One more glance out the window, at the whole st. whoever scene reminds me that it's still pretty easy to fake things in the here and now.

But working myself into a lather just cause it's fucking easter would be giving christianity all the power; I don't exist merely to oppose christianity, but rather, to move far beyond the reach of its constrictions, to a place it doesn't even possess the capability of imagining to restrict.

21 grams. That is what a soul is alleged to weigh.

Where did this bizarre, inherently contradictory notion come from?

In 1907 a Massachusetts physician named Duncan MacDougall of Haverhill, Massachusetts, devised a series of experiments that he expected would measure the soul. (Here we see that he did not approach the trial as a sincerely objective researcher who wouldn't know what to expect, Dr. MacDougall expected to receive a measurement for the soul. The existence of the soul is not in question, it's just a matter of how much it weighed).

Using six terminally ill patients on a specially constructed scale bed, MacDougall measured their weight before, during, and after death. His results were mixed, but he concluded that there was indeed a very slight loss of weight, on average twenty-one grams.

When he repeated this test on (presumably soulless) dogs, he found no such weight reduction. After eliminating the possible sources of error for this startling finding (such as the loss of air from the lungs), MacDougall concluded that he had indeed quantified the weight of the soul.

Funny thing about those dogs; MacDougall had complained about not being able to find dogs that were dying of natural causes, as his human patients were. This has led more than one researcher to speculate that MacDougall poisoned the dogs.

In March 1907, accounts of MacDougall's experiments were published in the New York Times and the medical journal American Medicine, to give his "findings" legitimacy. Even then, the mass media was always interested in the opportunity to promote spiritual irrationality, and implicitly, the dominant religion in the U.S., good ol' christianity.

Despite all this turn of the century quackery, MacDougall's theories are not taken seriously today by medical researchers. For one thing, his sample size of six patients was far too limited, and his ability to measure variances in weight were imprecise.

Besides all that, the very notion that a soul would have a "weight" is beyond laughable. The fact that anyone would take the idea seriously demonstrates just how
miseducated and sleepwalking the vast majority of the people in this world have been and continue to be.

What it really represents, is christianity seeking to have it both ways; it wants to maintain its otherworldly promise of life-after-death, while simultaneously relying on empirical evidence (a measurable weight) in order to justify that promise.

christianity is better off just sticking to the spirit world, things no one can prove, rather than risk their little game by turning to facts and figures and scientific methods that can be questioned and ultimately repudiated.

The very appeal of a soul is that it is not part of this flawed, ultimately doomed to decay material world, so why would anyone expect it to have a material weight?

And even if it did have a weight, it would be a 'soul' weight, meaning it would have a 'mass' unique to the dimension from whence the soul originated, and utterly impossible to measure in our three-dimensional reality in which human life is finite.(as if to suggest soul originates from something that could even be classified as a 'dimension' is even vaguely accurate).

On the contrary, the soul is said to be eternal and preexisting to the human body it inhabits...or is somehow affixed to (another sticky issue, for even those sincere and intellectually honest when dealing with the interface between physical reality--and the so-called spirit-world, specifically, precisely (or approximately) how is a immortal soul connected to a mortal husk).

The irony regarding the existence of a soul, it may be Christianity that is actually keeping humanity apart from understanding the true nature of it, because the Church requires its own interpretation of soul in order to control (that those two words rhyme is about as appropriate as any two words rhyming in the English language).

An admitedly complex question to be sure. Much more complex than the question, is there a god?

Actually, the theory on the nature of a soul seriously addresses the question on whether there is a god or not, specifically the god as portrayed by christianity and the other dominant monotheistic religions.

However that highly pertinent issue will be addressed in full in the next essay in this book.

Here the primary concern is the nature of a soul; is there a spiritual component to human existence?

Why does the concept exist in all cultures throughout antiquity; is it as simple as being motivated to 'cheat death' and 'live forever' via existence in Heaven (or even Hell), or was their some ancient wisdom (since lost) that actually confirms and explains the nature of a soul?

Or is it the modern science of quantum mechanics that will ultimately reveal the reality of a soul?

Perhaps, but for the time being, I'm partial to the most plausible Hermetic speculation, which reveals yet another shortcoming when it comes to christian metaphysics. In regard specifically to the soul, christianity holds that the human soul is part of the physical form, and only separates from the body upon death.

Rather, legitimate metaphysics (untainted by religion dogma and agenda) suggests that the soul is outside of the body, because the physical is ultimately contained within the metaphysical, as the metaphysical is the source of all physical creation.

Again, the physical could not exist without the metaphysical to bring it into reality.




To begin to address this question, the concept of Idefinite Monism must be explored:

CONCEPT OF INDEFINITE MONISM

Proceeding from the one necessarily true and unquestionable fact – that we are present to our experiences – an understanding of reality is developed that is neither a materialist nor an idealist conceptualization, but rather surjective, a concept found in mathematical set theory that means a function that works upon every member of a set, where Awareness is the function and Omnific Awareness is the set.

Indefinite Monism is a philosophical conception of reality that asserts that only Awareness is real and that the wholeness of Reality can be conceptually thought of in terms of immanent and transcendent aspects. The immanent aspect is denominated simply as Awareness, while the transcendent aspect is referred to as Omnific Awareness.

Awareness in this system is not equivalent to consciousness. Rather, Awareness is the venue for consciousness, and the transcendent aspect of Reality, Omnific Awareness, is what consciousness is of.

Indefinite Monism as related to Gnosticism
To address this issue, we must explore Gnosticism
Nag Hammadi text, explored further in next essay

In December (ironically enough) in 1945, ancient Gnostic texts were found buried in a jar in Nag Hammadi, Egypt. The most crucial of these treatises is the Gospel of Thomas, an apocryphon exploring the Gnostic aspects of Christ's teachings, kept secret because of conflicts between that 'hidden knowledge' and official Church doctrine. (Another shining example of how the religion of Christianity is incompatible with the essence of Christ himself, whether Christ existed or is merely a metaphor.

The Gospel of Thomas is more overtly mystical than anything in the Bible, and Christ maintains that any mortal can "become a Christ" (to experience rebirth and become 'annointed') and that salvation is achieved via knowledge and psychological insight, not, as traditional Christianity asserts, via ethical or devotional measures (both of which are designed to control humanity and limit knowledge).

Instead of a uniquely "divine Lord" to be worshipped, Christ appears as a universal imparter of esoteric wisdom.

Perhaps the most controversial aspect of the Gospel of Thomas is that Christ makes no direct reference to his allegedly impending resurrection, thus the central event of Christianity (the Resurrection) is by the very figure upon which the entire religion is based!



WOULD CHRIST BE A CHRISTIAN? ESSAY TITLE



CHRIST'S POSITION ON REINCARNATION, HIS TRUE VIEWS WOULD OPPOSE CHRISTIANITY'S INTERPRETATION OF THE SOUL

Christ wasn't referring to resurrection, but rather reincarnation.

Quantum physics/quantum consciousness

Gnosticism holds that
perceptions create a prison; here the Christ myth has some useful legitimacy; Christ is a genuine liberator, out to reveal the truth of being trapped in flesh to the masses

Gnostic Gospel of Thomas demonstrates that salvation is found via knowledge and enlightenment, not via ethical or devotional measures (both of which are designed to control humanity and limit knowledge).

Theory of Omnific Awareness wanting to wear as many 'masks' as possible; that of the saint and the sinner, the killer and the charity worker. That is why judgment never comes into it, God isn't judging, rather, God is experiencing...all things, all states of being, all lifeforms.

IT FACT, IT COULD BE ARGUED THAT CHRISTIANITY HAS BECOME A PAGAN MATERIALISTIC RELIGION, CONTRADICTING THE TRUE TEACHINGS OF CHRIST

PERHAPS END THE ENTIRE BOOK WITH:

Would Christ be a Christian?