Entry XXXI--Rocky Mountain Low

Can still smell the piss on me, even up here ...

Not really; like the blood on Lady Mac's hands, it's not really there, yet it's undeniably there.

Instead of winging it, decided to write out the 'lecture' I'll be giving when we get to Denver that will precede the book signing there. Writing frantically, furiously in fact, easily the fastest since finishing the book. Writing to escape the stains, the odor--and the memory of how the Monica show came to end.

Inspired by getting shot in the face with urine, penning my most venomous lecture to date: Christian Fear , My Fear

christian fear is obvious, but also going to address the genuine fear I felt when that water pistol was aimed at me

Wonder what would Tommy Sexton would think of that?

Sexton is the brat who squeezed the water-gun trigger full of his pee into my face. At least they think it's his pee. 'They' being the authorities. They still have to conduct DNA tests to determine if it was in fact Sexton's liquid waste discharge.

First heard his name when the police conducted a standard interview with me following the incident, but didn't read about him in full until I peeped a story on this laptop Ms. Cabal bought me, but which I seldom use. Reckon I was supposed to keep my itinerary on it, but Ms. Cabal (or rather, her assistant) does that much more capably.

Ms. Cabal has hinted that we may have a suit against the producers of the Monica Show and DVNC itself, because they failed to adequately protect me from Sexton's bum-rush all the way up there in the audience to get close enough to shoot me full of piss.

Close enough that makes me thankful it was piss and not a bullet.

But because it was piss and not a bullet, third-degree assault is the most they can charge him with. That's where the civil suit against DVNC comes in.

Besides, Sexton has no money. When I say he bum-rushed me, it's meant literally if the early intelligence Ms. Cabal has provided is true. He'd need to borrow money just to move up to being homeless, he's so bad off. Meaning we can't sue his worthless ass--that's why we'll focus on Monica. At the very least, it'll generate more publicity for the book, and there's nothing more important in the world than that I've been told.

Using this wafer thin computer now, though, frenetically forcing my fingers to stroke the annoyingly tiny keys.

Not to mention got a serious case of block going on right about now; not used to having to create on turbulent jetliners.

Close my eyes and try to empty my head...

Hadn't written about fear in Bye Bull because I regarded it as too obvious, and I wanted Bye Bull to be a fresh anti-christian perspective, arguments that hadn't been read by anyone before. And for the most part, feel Bye Bull pulls that off.

But after what happened in New York, had to confront Fear. Mine.

Think I got something here and start punching out words:

It's easy to talk tough when you're writing a book or a lecture essay, as I'm doing now. You can write anything you want, you're in total control and there's no conflict or confrontation to . But when you step out from behind the keyboard and put down the books, sometimes you have to face challenges you don't want to face.

Like I did the other day on national TV. I'm sure most of you have seen it by now--I was told it's quite the Internet sensation. "Atheist Author Pissed Off" and other such clever .

It's easy to laugh about now because it was just piss and nothing happened to me.

At least not physically. I can tell you I'm still shook up by the experience, even as I write this on the airplane headed towards your fair city, am fighting the urge to glance furtively over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure no one's coming after me with a gun--whether it's filled with urine, lemonade or hollow-point bullets.

I've heard of threats being made against me--that's why we now employ this lovely bodyguard standing before you--

Scratch that--don't want to blow any cover Cassandra might have established during the lecture by pointing her out so obviously. She's not there to be part of the show and don't want to mess with her professional routine--or even worse, get her pissed off at me.

Back to writing:

I've heard of threats being made against me since Bye Bull first was publicized, and I even attended a mass burning of my book in Atlanta, perhaps you heard about that.

We've had to take special security precautions while I've been on this tour, like registering at hotels under a false name and such, things I'm totally unaccustomed to.

But it wasn't until that gun was pointed at me by that lunatic that made me realize that in the face of Fear, I don't know what I'd do, and that's a hard thing to admit.

I mean, what if, instead of a water pistol filled with piss, that guy had a real gun full of real bullets?

And what if, instead of spraying me in the face with his urine--well, we think it's his urine--what if, he had taken that real gun full of real bullets and had pointed it at my head and had forced me to look into one of the cameras and tell America that my book is a pile of shit and that I'm turning my life over to christ because when faced with a christian warrior, I can't stand up for myself?

What if he made me do that?

What would I have done?

Honestly can't say.

Fear makes me--and all of us--do things, and things things, and yes, even believe things, that we would not normally.

To say that Fear of eternal damnation in that fiery place known as hell is the primary motivation of christians to maintain their faith would be an understatement.

Yes, social conformity plays a major role in solidifying christian faith among a mass populace, but when someone is in private thought, the one place social conformity can be left behind, it is the personal Fear of the possibility of spending eternity in some torturous hell that motivates the christian to ultimately maintain his/her faith and to reject any thoughts of completely abandoning christianity.

They'd rather not take the chance, that's what their faith boils down to. A spiritual gamble of sorts, not any solid metaphysical understanding.

If they had that understanding, they would realize they wouldn't need fear.

"Legitimate metaphysics--as opposed to the dogmatic word of god, or the godmatic word of dog, if you will--speculates that after death, the next plane of existence encountered is a realm of pure thought, that is the 'spirit world' adjacent to ours.

"There is no heaven or hell, that much should be clear to everyone in this room I modified that concept to serve as a metaphor for the fear that is absolutely necessary for christianity's survival.

Glad that I've managed to tuck in some levity in there, Fear is a pretty heavy subject.

"Fear of Hell was necessary for christianity to thrive, to motivate that faith into legible action--"

Legible? Hate making mistakes when I'm on a writing roll like that...

Type in "tangible action"--there, that's what I meant.

With my chain of thoughts interrupted, distraction leads my gaze out the window. The plane has descended enough that the wide expanse of mundane valley that holds Denver is in plain view, the righteous Colorado Rockies solemnly standing in the western distance.

Was surprised to find out from Ms. Cabal that Denver is a valley--while being a mile above sea level. Always imagined it being all hilly like San Fran or even a city built into mountains. She can tell me about any place before we get there. Seems she's been everywhere, while I've been virtually nowhere; mean that both literally and figuratively.

If we're about to land, gonna have to shut off the laptop. PRIVATE PLANE?

Jeez have I gotten soft or what--with all these private planes, limos and laptops. Still remember a time when I just would've scratched it out with pen and any available paper--even if that available paper was the barf bag under my seat.

Got this one line on my mind and want to type it out before it's lost in the dim recesses of my memory...

There's speculation that after death, the next plane of existence encountered is a realm of pure thought, that is the 'spirit world' adjacent to ours. Nothing suggests there is anything approaching a 'heaven' or a 'hell', just different planes of spiritual existence.

"The earliest metaphysical teachings and concepts, those coming from a people who were much more in touch with their intuitions--what we today call 'right-brain thinking'--never spoke of a 'heaven' or 'hell'--those were created later by religion.

"But since none of us have direct knowledge of heaven and hell none of us can say that heaven and hell exist. Therefore, the only thing that sustains a heaven or hell is faith, blind belief. And for reasons you're probably quite familiar with if you've read your Bye Bull, is that I don't take anything on faith."

Some laughter amidst the applause from this impressive audience at the Golden Nugget bookstore in this neighborhood I'm told is called Capitol Hill, for the state capitol of Colorado lurks near.

Had always heard the people of Denver were nicer than average Americans, but this is some confirmation; by far the warmest reception we've received of any city on this tour. Even warmer than the hot air and the book fires of Atlanta.

Can't help but wonder if some of this response is out of sympathy, after what happened to me in New York.

Can't overthink this--a good crowd is a good crowd, no matter the reason. During this pause to let my words soak in and take a drink of water, come to the conclusion that it's not nearly as bad as I thought it'd be, being in this room, in public after what happened on the Monica Show.

Thought I'd be more fearful, paranoid frankly of promying Bye Bull again, which will be discussed later in the monologue. Sure, am probably more comfortable here because I'm among readers of my book, my kind of people (if an anti-socialite like me can have a 'kind' of people).

And while there may not be many of my 'kind of people' in a city like Denver, at least they're all squeezed here in this bookstore tonight.

Throat refreshed, continue the lecture I scrambled to finish once the plane landed and during the limo drive over while scarfing down some kind of veggie burger and curly fries that have my stomach bloating:

"It's time to offer a challenge to christianity: can it give up peddling fear, and still hold on to their various congregations? I seriously doubt it.

"But hanging the threat of Hell, or of the Lake of Fire, or the River of Extra Hot Salsa or whatever, hanging such and such a threat above any who break from god/jesus, or rather, the religion's interpretation of what constitutes breaking from god/jesus, is ultimately insincere.

"Why is it insincere? It asks that the believer be primarily motivated by avoiding hell or whatever form of punishment is offered rather than the reward of ascending to heaven for maintaining faith or doing good acts or whatever the requirements for eternal salvation happen to be these days.

"If the various sects and denominations of christianity began to abandon the concept of Hell as punishment for sinning and not repenting or in the case of evangelicals, as punishment for not believing that christ died for your sins.

"In my book, I used the metaphor of the Hollow Knight to portray faith as something that is impenetrable, but has no substance, nothing behind it.

"Perhaps it's time to amend that concept; maybe it's fear which fills that armour."

Notice a few readers are scribbling notes into their personal copies of Bye Bull, near the beginning, in the 'Hollow Knight' essay on faith, no doubt.

Strikes me odd that I might have cultivated obsessive fans; always thought that was for 'other writers'; that I wasn't capable of garnering such a dedicated following.

See if it lasts...

"Please don't assume for a moment I'm implying that a general abandonment of christianity would somehow lead to the end of 'fear' as we know it. Fear predated christianity, and fear will long outlast christianity once its inevitable demise.

"The shame of christianity is in its manipulation of fear to serve its own ends of cultural domination."

Come with a kind of stand-up delivery:

"You know those bus-stop benches with advertisements splattered all over them?"

Wait for a few nods of recognition before proceeding: "When I was in Chicago once, I actually saw a bus stop bench with a painted advertisement from some religious group or church that read: 'Fear of God is the Beginning of Wisdom'. I would argue quite the opposite, such as, 'Fear of God is the End of Wisdom'. Or perhaps something more subtle--'Fear of God is the Beginning of Ignorance'

My sarcasm generates a few laughs, though I'm deadly serious--and they know it.

"Beyond that, it seems that the christian god isn't given much credit, for if instilling the natives with fear seems to be his primary objective, then she or he doesn't seem to expect much from her or his alleged 'creations'. I mean, fear is such a base, primal emotional response. It seems god could have just settled for mice or chickens if fear was all she or he sought."


AT THE HEIGHT OF THE TALK, WHERE THERE WAS TO BE AN ATTACK, A CAR EXHAUST BACKFIRES AND THE ROOM GOES DEAD SILENT FOR A SCARY MOMENT


TALK ABOUT HOW I'M AFRAID OF DENVER,CONSPIRACY CITY

"Have to tell you, this is my first visit to Denver--didn't realize it was in such a valley. I always pictured it being full of hills and such, like in San Francisco. I literally live on a hill back there.

"And Denver always struck me as a fascinating place, definitely the center of many conspiracies and I am a big-time conspiracy buff, which may or may not come through in my writing..."

"It does!" a woman in the audience shouts out and I can only nod to the laughter filling the room. Good to start off/have at least one moment of self-deprecation during these lectures.

Immediately following, a bright flash of--pink--conquers the corner of my eye and soon consumes my vision. Lose track of my words on the printed page from the laptop notes.

Eventually it's so distracting have to look up to fully acknowledge the pink sweater worn by the woman who approaches, walking down the center aisle that extends from my podium out into a wider space of the bookstore. Then she stops suddenly and looks away from me, away from the podium, as if searching for a seat in the audience where there is so obviously not one available.

Oddly, can't take my gaze off that pink sweater, which seems strangely bulky, and as if on cue from my observation, she removes it, pulling it over her head, mussing up her already frizzy brown hair in the process.

But what really captures my attention is the cylindrical objects attached to her body, attached by wiring to a smaller device she holds in her hand OR NOT ATTACHED?
MAYBE REMOTELY ACTIVATED.

IN THE FOLLOWING SCENE (OR SO), HER NAME LATER REVEALED TO BE 'LYDIA PRINCE', A DISTANT COUSIN OF DERRICK PRINCE, ONE WHO IS SAID TO SUFFER FROM 'MENTAL ILLNESS' AND WAS IN AND OUT OF MENTAL HOSPITALS, WHERE GODKNOWSWHAT WAS BEING DONE TO HER, ALTHOUGH THAT FAMILY CONNECTION WILL NOT BE POINTED OUT IN ANY MAINSTREAM MEDIA REPORTS

"What are those, hot dogs?" I quip, thinking it's another water gun full of piss.

"And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot."

Per usual, am nothing but a smart ass: "Wait a minute--no help now, I know what fucking book that's a quote from...Goddamn...it's on the tip of my tongue"

Laugh with my eyes straight into the askew gaze of her eyes and she snarls:

"That is the last time you will mock the Holy Bible...or take the Lord's Name in vain."

Total distraction when out of the corner of my eye a brilliant shock of gold zips past--quickly widen my view to see it's Palmer, heading fast in the other direction.

Forget all about him in the next instant when the other corner of the other eye catches the crazy lady doing something with her hands...

Pressing a button...

...making it all/everything a blinding flash and deafening explosion.

Weird how time seems to be frozen yet there's some nasty looking shards of metal hurtling headlong at my face

My reflexes are shot, worthless, barely throw up my hands in involuntary response.

That costs me: "Aww shit!"

Feel a burning, stinging sensation in my shoulder.

No time to worry about that, as I catch an instantaneous glimpse of a disc of threatening metal aiming at my eyes.

But less than an instant later (if such a measure of time is feasible), I am no longer where the metal madness was heading, but rather tackled out of the way by another body, throw backwards away by a combination of whoever pushes me back along with the force of the blast, the multiplied force of which has me landing rudely on the back of my head, temporarily knocking me...

out.

Not sure how much time elapsed before I recover, but it doesn't seem very long, considering the bookstore is still a cloudy, dusty mess with the few people left who can still walk and talk running out the store, screaming and/or shouting all the way out to the safety of the streets.



...by Cassandra of course. Not that I see the person, but it was reasonably safe to assume that flash of a body sailing in front of me was her--doubt anyone else would throw their body in front of a bomb blast for little ol' me.

And she only did it because she was being paid.

How can I say that? How can I be so cynical, when we've become so close on this tour?

And why am I thinking about any of that when I should be more concerned as to whether Cassandra is still alive or not.

Especially considering she's not moving and all...


Her breasts cushioning my face in a way no mother has ever comforted a child.

Even with my ears muffled by her mammaries, can hear the endless screams of the multitudes running this way and that. Obviously the book signing is ruined.


And she only did it because she was being paid.

How can I say that? How can I be so cynical, when we've become so close on this tour?

And why am I thinking about any of that when I should be more concerned as to whether Cassandra is still alive or not.

Especially considering she's not moving and all...

Count off to sixty in my head--just to make sure the bombs have indeed stopped bursting in air and that

She's turned over on her side, her crimson tresses sprawled entirely over her head and covering most of her body, making it impossible for me to determine if she's sustained any serious injuries--or any injuries, for that matter.

Quickly brush the locks away and find she's not moving...but is breathing, which means I can. Thought she was dead for a minute there. Can't lose Cassandra, now that I've finally found her.

Now that that's settled, scan what remains of the audience for the crazy lady bomber, despite being groggy as all hell.

About to give up when I spot her sprawled figure, completely motionless and hopefully lifeless. Then again, might relish the chance to choke the life out of her myself.

At a later opportunity, that is. A sudden spasm of pain shoots through the back of my head, where I fell on it, and the urge to sleep is overwhelming...which might mean I have a concussion...which means I really shouldn't sleep...but keeping my eyes open is no longer an option...

END OF SCENE




Palmer is in attendance.

At one point, catch of glimpse of that blonde-haired guy I've seen in other cities--what's his name, Parker?

No--Palmer. That's it, Palmer. How the fuck does he afford to follow me around from city to city?

Credit cards, I reckon. Guess he figures this is the only book tour I'll ever do--one last fling as it were.

WHAT ABOUT A MAIN TOPIC ON FEAR?

AT SOME POINT ACKNOWLEDGE ONLY L.A. REMAINS BEFORE I RETURN HOME

Fear discussed here, a topic I couldn't get into in the book, maybe for the sequel, haha,like I'll ever write another book. Some applaud the notion.

Fear triggers expl

"I've titled this little tale the Messiah's new clothes

"I knew of a rather cynical stockbroker who tried to manipulate his clients by playing on their religous fears hopes and paranoia.

"It doesn't necessarily have to be born of cynicism, it could be the very palpable, the very strong fear that many people have of abandoning faith

"Christianity is a self-generating institution that runs less on legitimate faith than it does on the weight of its own reputation. Even if a given person doesn't actually accept the majority--if not all--of christian tenets, she or he will still refrain from speaking ill of--if not outright promote christianity.


SECTIONS EDITED OUT ARE BELOW

Harry...Harold...McIntyre. I envision this guy as a catholick because that's what I associate with fear

A TRANSITION SCENE, WHERE I START WRITING IT ON THE PLANE AND THEN RECITING IT BEFORE AN AUDIENCE

Harold McIntyre was afraid of going to hell. Had been since he was a kid. Of course, kids are afraid of lots of things, and little Harry was no exception, but that particular fear stayed with him throughout his life, ever since it had been drilled into his head by a particularly ardent teacher in Sunday School, all the way into adulthood up and into old age. He was now crumpled with fear.

The only way Harold could contain this fear all these years was by living as pure and virtuous a life as he could manage. That meant sinning as little as possible, and rejecting sin in all forms all around him. Up to and including rejecting a gay brother and disowning a lesbian daughter along the way.

And as he lay on his deathbed, slowly waiting for the last of the cancer to eat away at his intestines, the fear began to cover him like a black membrane, a shroud. Even with his loving family at his side (minus his gay brother and lesbian daughter), the fear was all he could see, hear, touch, taste, smell and feel.

This was his fear telling Harold it was time to die, to fade to black...

END IT WITH HIM DYING IN FEAR. IT WAS ALL FEAR, FROM THE MOMENT HE LEARNED FEAR TILL THE MOMENT HE DIED. FORGET ALL THAT WAKING ON THE OTHER SIDE STUFF
THEN SEGUE INTO 'CHALLENGE TO CHRISTIANITY, CAN THEY SURVIVE WITHOUT PEDDLING FEAR?'

...only to wake up on the other side.

Though he's not a body anymore

(It's weird how I seem to be writing this on auto-pilot; the whole vision of the afterlife realm is crystal clear in the sweeping field before my mind's eye. Like someone else is guiding me, not unlike the visions I experienced earlier this year.
Key difference being here I'm in control of all things, the writing, the creative process, instead of the sensation that I'm going mad, strapped to a theater seat, eyelids forced open, subjecting me to a endless series of fantastic--often frightening--sounds and images.)

No physical presence of Harold exists; now he is a being of thought...in a realm of thought, which is the next realm over beyond the physical plane.

He doesn't move so much as he just is

He senses only with his thoughts, for there are no physical senses to be utilized

Harry senses the presences of others...

More so, he senses their fear.

Not unlike his brand, he can certainly identify with the raw emotion.

He senses the presence of a woman who, when alive, always feared that people thought she was sexually promiscuous--a slut.

Then a child, an abused child, whose entire existence was filled with fear; the fear of the next beating by his father that would bring death. Eventually, one beating did, but the fear still remains.

But after awhile, it gets to be unbearable, there's no let-up. It's like he's in a realm of pure fear, not pure thought.

Harry is also afraid that he's not at the pearly gates of Heaven; if anything, this is more like Hell.

How could this be? How could Harold McIntyre not be going to Heaven? The fear made him be a good Christian his whole life. He did everything we was supposed to do to ensure a seat beside the right hand of God.





LOOK DOWN TO MAKE A CORRECTION, AND GLANCE OUT THE WINDOW AND NOTICE WE'RE CLOSE TO LANDING AND I'LL HAVE TO PUT AWAY MY LAPTOP, THEN AFTER THE CORRECTION IS MADE AND I LOOK UP I'M ON STAGE IN DENVER

HOW TO DO THE TRANSITION
A TRANSITION SCENE, WHERE I START WRITING IT ON THE PLANE AND THEN RECITING IT BEFORE AN AUDIENCE
I hear one of the flight attendants announce over the intercom we'll be landing soon--it's that time where I have to put away my laptop. Guess I'll have to finish this on the ground in Denver. jesus, I've become soft. Just last year I would've busted out the whole thing with pen and paper.


WHEN HE DIES...
WILL THAT BE THE TRANSITION POINT?
HE DISCOVERS THE 'NEXT LIFE' IS NOT THE CHRISTIAN SET-UP HE THOUGHT IT WAS
AND THAT HIS FEAR WAS NOT NECESSARY, AND THAT HIS MUCH OF HIS LIFE WAS WASTED WALLOWING IN FEAR
HE'S NOW TRAPPED IN A REALM OF OTHER PEOPLE WHO LEAD THEIR LIVES IN FEAR
AND IF WE FIND THAT FEAR IS NOT ONLY NOT NECESSARY BUT ACTUALLY A DETRIMENT, THEN IT IS TIME TO OFFER A CHALLENGE CHRISTIANITY A CHALLENGE
CAN CHRISTIANITY GIVE UP FEAR AND STILL MAINTAIN ITS INFLUENCE, OR IS IT NOTHING WITHOUT FEAR?
UNLESS CHRISTIANITY CONSIDERS FEAR TO BE A NECESSARY COMPONENT--RESEARCH
DESCRIBE MY FEAR WHEN SEXTON RAN AT ME WITH THE PISTOL THAT I THOUGHT WAS A GUN
THE APPROPRIATE MOMENT SOMETHING IS SAID, THEN:
A SUICIDE BOMBER WITH BOMBS STRAPPED TO HIS BELLY--RESEARCH