Entry XXXIII--Revelation

AT SOME POINT SHE'LL WARN ME ABOUT THE THREAT THAT CHAD KING REPRESENTS, THE PRIVATE ARMY THAT COULD BRING THEOCRACY

CONCEPT OF METAPHYSICAL IMPERATIVE MUST BE INTRODUCED

Xmas eve is here again.

Like I expected it to go away just because of the Bye Bull.

But this is not just any xmas eve; it's safe to say this particular xmas eve means more to me than any since I was a wee one.

For it was exactly one year ago today--tonight/to be precise--that my life changed in oh so many ways.

Even feel different, in the most intrinsic ways; 365 days ago, I was depressed, aimless and alone--now I'm replete with success, purpose and companionship.

Hard for me to even consider all that's went down from where I was a year ago to where I am now.

Been shot in the face with piss and had a bomb explode right in front of me.

Oh yeah, wrote a book, too. Finished it, more importantly. That it got published and sold in real book stores and made real bestseller lists was less significant than my actually finishing it.

Met two amazing women; both are intriguing and attractive, but only want to spend the rest of my life with one of them.

But all that is to be commemorated later this evening; it's still daylight after all. Planned something special; wouldn't go so far as to call it a ritual, but since I'm going to be alone anyway, figured this was something I should do, to mark the occasion as it were.

Consciously contemplating my solitude triggers another obligation to be fulfilled this evening--calling Cassandra, some 3,000 miles behind me, back in her hometown Boston, celebrating the holidays with her large and extended Irish catholic family.

This holiday, anyway--New Year's Eve she's reserved for yours truly.

In fact, that's the night I think we're finally going to sleep together, though I never like to count those chickens before they're laid.

It's also a night--if all goes according to plan--that I propose to propose quite the proposition to one Cassandra Sullivan.

Weather permitting. DELETE

She's all I can think about these days; which is so hard to believe. I'm totally in love the same year I've gotten a book published and become a real author. All those years I was alone; no woman, no career. Now I've got both.

Problem is, still have to wait an hour (or is it two?) until Cassandra and her family return from their annual family xmas eve tradition of decorating a random coniferous evergreen out in the forests of the Northeast.

Until then, kill the time by sifting through endless emails yet perused from readers
far and wide...

Emerge from one of those naps where you're not sure what time it is. Not like waking up in the morning, when you know it's the morning. Takes me more than a few moments to remember it's late afternoon--and oh shit--have to call Cassandra.

Shit, what time is it? 4:21. Have to jog my memory to recall the schedule of Cassandra and her family; they have to be back home already, all snug in front of a picturesque New England fireplace, exchanging gifts and inside jokes, barbs and subtle insults with an intimacy that only families can share. The jokes and the insults are to offset the solemn, often hokey aspects of holiday get-togethers; a way of taking it less seriously.

Don't want to interrupt that; and besides have to wash some of the sleep out of my eyes, which I do at the bathroom sink.

Ha--even the water feels fresher against my skin than it did a year ago. Maybe they redid the pipes in the building while I was on tour. Or maybe it is me.

Debate hitting the pavement and pumping some fresh air into my lungs, but don't want to immerse myself in the whole xmas culture like I did a year ago, when I was punishing myself.

Have got Ms. Cabal to punish me now.

Or being away from Cassandra, that's punishment enough, I'm finding. Far bitter taste than licking Ms. Cabal's patent leathers.

Pang of guilt sends me to idle the time at the computer, going over emails from readers who want to connect, discuss ongoing issues, ask questions, etc etc.

Been neglecting responding to these, suppose it's all a bit too much following the book and the madness of the whole tour.

Shit, have done more and more has happened to me in the past year than I did and has happened to me in the all the years prior to that combined.

Ah, another email from Ben Chan; like that guy. Says he lives with his uptight family down in Silicon Valley. He's more into traditional Buddhism, but his family are "a bunch of conformist Christians" as he puts it. He said he's thinking of leaving it all behind and moving up to S.F.

Send him a reply of encouragement; this city could definitely use a bloke like Ben.

Also like what I'm reading from this self-described San Francisco dyke named Eliza. She hates xmas and treats xmas eve just like any other day.

One of these days, have to hang out with those two, especially considering how close they are to me.

On the other hand, have Anna all the way in Nebraska; she works as a nurse there in an abortion clinic of all places. Small wonder she's a fan of yours truly.

Anna said she's getting fed up with the heavy-duty christian scene there--she wishes my book tour would've come to Lincoln. Write back only half-joking that more copies of the Bye Bull would've gotten burned there than in Atlanta!

She's young in her 20's still. On the opposite end of the spectrum, yet completely relateable is Dr. William Tiller, who resides not far from here, up in Arcata. Arcata's a college town, but he writes that he liked being around all that "youthful energy" Says he used to be an abortionists in various parts of the country, and he's been shot, shot at and had his clinics bombed. None of that stopped him, until abortion was outlawed. Law and order gets you every time. He rationalized it an opportunity to do something else with the last chapter of his life at age 65. The only problem is, he's not sure how to fill the pages of this ongoing last chapter, made even more difficult by the death of his beloved wife of 42 years Bunny a few months ago. He misses being a doctor and helping people--even in a relatively reduced role as an gyn/ob

Glance at the clock; it's already past six--meaning past nine in the Northeast. The Internet might be a waste of time, but it sure fucking passes the time. It just has a way of absorbing one into a cyber-dimension that causes one to lose track of the other four surrounding dimensions.

Has to be okay to call her now, nine pm on xmas eve is usually the time when the eggnog begins flowing and things relax.

Open up the email she sent with the phone number and yep--there it is, she said okay to call after nine.

"Hi, Darwin?" she answers. Feels good to hear my name being uttered by a warm female voice that actually anticipates hearing mine in response.

"Yeah, how are you?"

"Good. Enjoying your favorite holiday?" she chides

"Yeah, a thrill-a-minute. But unlike last year, I won't see you this xmas eve."

She hesitates, having to think over what I said until she remembers, remembers that we crossed paths one year ago tonight.

Change the subject: "So how was the annual wild tree decorating excursion with your family?"

"Fun as always, someone brings a casket of brandy and we get sloshed--except for poor dear cousin Julius, he was the designated driver to make sure the rest of our lot got home in one piece to exchange gifts."

"Get any good booty?" I ask with faux greed in my tone

"Some clothes, a couple books, oh and a naughty teddy I think you're going to enjoy when I get back."

"I'm enjoying it already"

She giggles playfully in response. Damn it feels good to have this woman in my life. Icing on the fucking cake to an amazing year.

But still, want her in the flesh. "So...you're flying back in on the 29th?"

"That's right, honey! Five more days till I can see you."

"I'll meet you at the airport and we'll take BART back."

"Sounds perfect--and affordable. That cab I took cost a fortune."

There's a pause as someone on Cassandra's end speaks to her in the background...

"Okay, just a second" she says to the other person, not me. I'm still on hold.

"Sorry about that," she says quickly.

"S'alright."

"So I have to go, we're going to pile into a car, sober up with some coffee if we can find a coffee shop and then hit the midnight mass."

"Mass?"

Can hear her wincing over the line "I know. Do you hate me?"

"No, I don't hate you. Family tradition, I gather?"

"Pretty much."

"I also gather you haven't told them about me."

"Not on xmas. I just told them I'm getting serious with a writer."

Pause

"Now do you hate me?"

"Not if you're serious that we're getting serious. Hell, if I was dating me, I'd probably avoid talking about what I do too. "

"I am. You know, I got so many proposals from the actors and billionaires I provided security for, but I always knew I'd end up with a starving artist."

"As long as I know Ms. Cabal, seriously doubt I'll ever starve, or does that kind of comfort not appeal to your sense of romantic adventure?"

She laughs, "The time I've spent with you has already been adventure enough for several lifetimes."

"Not sure if that should make me relieved or nervous."

"However you want to feel about it..." she replies cryptically.

Don't do well with cryptic when it comes to relationships, but suppress my anxieties as we exchange goodbyes

"Is it okay to call you on the holy day tomorrow/"

She giggles, "Of course, just don't call too early. After midnight mass, the younger members of the family will have a nightcap or two..."

"Sounds like you'll be up till dawn. I'll call you tomorrow evening, xmas is pretty
much over by xmas night."

"Deal."

"Have fun in church--though that's the one time I can say I wish I wasn't with you."

"Yeah right, you'd probably get a secret thrill of attending mass, to see if anyone would recognize the oh-so controversial Darwin Grimm on enemy turf."

"Stop calling it 'mass'. Sounds like you actually have reverence for it, or something."

"What should I call it? An 'obligation'?"

"That's better."

We share a laugh, both wishing we could follow it up with a hug.

I'm wishing it, at least.

The end of her laugh is punctuated by a blaring noise in the background.

"So...I've already hung on this phone with you too long and I have a car full of half-drunk Irishmen honking--if you heard that."

"I did. So have fun with your lord and savior and drive safe and all that and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, honey, try to have a good Christmas, if that's even possible for you."

"My Christmas comes on the 29th."

SMACK!--She kisses the receiver and clicks off. Hope she cleans that thing on her end.

Stare out into space for a few moments, soaking in the conversation; it's been so long since I've had a connection like that with a woman that I'm so attracted to; it's kind of overwhelming.

In a dreamy kind of love-state, somewhat intoxicating; and in these post-drinking days, will take any kind of buzz I can muster.

Catch a glimpse of the darkness that completely permeates--shit, still need to go outside...

Something tells me to eat, so throw a coupla cold slices of za into the oven.

Could go back online while waiting for grub, but am drained after the convo with Cassandra, not in the mood for any more communication.

Fire up the tube, flipping 'round randomly until Pleasant's sticky-sweet visage is drawn--DVNC, 'natch. A medium-shot reveals the surroundings to be some sort of Crusaders-sponsored event in a park.

With all the neighbors again departed home holidays, no concerns about consideration and crank up the volume, in time to catch Pleasant spouting:

"...at this time I am leaving all my options open insofar as any political aspirations. You understand my ultimate primary political objective is to see America restored to her former glory, as she was in the years following World War II, before the cultural upheaval of the 1960's, when this country turned her back on the Lord and has suffered accordingly ever since."

Swallow hard every time he says that.

DVNC reporter: "As usual, Rev Pleasant remains non-committal when it comes to whether or not he will run for president of the United States in the next election. Most pundits do think he will toss his hat into the ring, either as a Republican or to form a new faith-based third-party, which is a strong rumor at this point. Such a third-party would likely siphon away millions of votes from the Republican Party, forcing them to compromise with Pleasant. To avoid such a messy conflict, the GOP might just invite Pleasant to run from the outset, though Rev Pleasant has not been bashful in his general denunciation of the 'secular turns' of the Republican Party. Time will tell, but for now, the ball is clearly in Rev Pleasant's court."

Had about I can take of that rabble--flick it off and then stick my crown out the window in the next motion. A slap of cool breeze necessitates a skull cap and peacoat.

For once have got energy to burn--which is good, gonna need it to stride up to the peak of Nob Hill...

California and Mason. Winded once I finally get here. Not sure if this urban scaling tired me out more last year than it did this go 'round.

That's about the only thing I don't remember about the one-year anniversary of this night...

Thing is, still not sure why I'm so compelled to do this; just know I belong up here and nowhere else.

Always weird on the rare occasion when I venture to Snob Hill, it truly does feel like a different city up here, a city of the elite, by the elite and for the elite lifted on the shoulders and back on the lesser city below.

Okay...now that I'm here...what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Look around for some sort of inspiration, a sign besides STOP, but there's nothing--or no one--to be found.

Granted, it's xmas eve, but it's gotten awfully deserted...almost eerie.

Wasn't like this last year at this time--there were people, families, as I recall, going to that big kirk down the street or some family gathering at some snooty residence.

Then there's the non-christians with money, who at this time of year, stay at the tony hotels up here in the clouds with the San Fran elite.

But no sign of those types either.

It's almost like everything's been cleared out just for me, providing an empty stage for a drama yet to unfold...

But that's preposterous.

Glad I donned the skull-cap when the wind kicks up fiercely sending a chill to the back of my neck.

A gust hits me smack in the face and something's in my eye...piece of dust, dirt, debris, whatever.

Rub against it with my index finger, and when it's all clear a moment later, notice an approaching figure...

One that I have no reason on Earth to recognize, but I do...probably because it's the only person on Earth I'd recognize:
FOOTNOTE: DARWIN ALLEGEDLY LOVES CASSANDRA YET THE ONLY FIGURE HE RECOGNIZES IS MS. CABAL

Ms. Cabal...

It's as impossible as it is totally fitting she should be here, on this day, at this moment.

And if it's possible, she's dressed in an even deeper realization of my fetishistic fantasies, as if designing her look with the sole intention of captivating my lust and reducing it to a motivational tool to get me to pull off yet another feat I would've previously thought myself utterly incapable of achieving.

But thigh-highs have a way of egging me on/inspiring me...

Indeed, she's completely discarded the corporate/office look she's employed on previous role-playing jaunts with me; instead she's drenched in a trenchcoat of the finest leather that decks her from neck to sweeping the floor. The coat is open so that I can see what lies beneath

RESEARCH DESCRIPT thigh-high boots displaying four-inch stilettos that crumble to dust every pebble, piece of debris or small insect that happen to be unfortunate enough to get under the pair of clicking heels.

She's donned in more leather than a herd of cows. Her head doffed by a military-style cap with shined visor that immediately announces her authority in all situations. The cap covers every slick strand of her impeccably coiffed hair, underscoring her discipline and attention to detail in all things.

Her neck and shoulders are encased by the upturned collar of her imposing-as-it-is-magnificent black trench coat that covers virtually her entire frame, shielding her from the biting winds that rip through my flimsy jacket like so many tatters

In the front, her coat is open sufficiently to reveal a black bodice

With her four-inch boot heels elevating her already impossibly long legs to the heavens, Ms. Cabal is everything, while I am nothing.

Certainly am nothing without her support, her power, her dominance demanding nothing less than complete and total submission.

A leather trench coat and wool cape shield her from the ever increasing brisk winter's wind. Her head is exposed, and why shouldn't it be--she must have paid $500 for her elegant coif, her black hair shimmering beneath the available streetlight.

Her forever piercing black eyes cut through me as always, throwing me off any possible game I possessed to begin with, giving her the advantage--as always.

She says nothing, forcing me to speak first--the way she wants it, "Ms. Cabal...? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the Bahamas and--"

"Never mind that, Darwin. That was simply something I told you to distract you until the time was right."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," accepting her deception without question.

"Follow me, Darwin."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

Relinquishing whatever will I had of my own, turn and follow her down the street, in the opposite direction I had been traveling, naturally. There's no chance in hell I could have been heading the right way. It's for her to correct me.

Speed up my pace to catch up to her while still remaining s half-step behind her. With her next query, her mocking tone comes colder than the blasts of Snob Hill winds.

"Are you enjoying your Christmas Eve, Darwin?"

"About as much as I can possibly enjoy a holiday you know I resent."

"Ask a silly question..." Ms. Cabal says whimsically

Can't help but notice that we seem to be walking towards that grand ol' kirk on Snbo Hill, St. Whoever, as I referred to it one year ago tonight.

"That's correct, Darwin," she answers my thought aloud, "we're going to to St. Barnabas."

Despite her total dominion over me, she actually expects me to enter that place?

Hell, if she's really planning on entering a church on xmas eve dressed like that, she's more radical than I could ever hope to be.


When we're within a few meters of the entrance, she stops suddenly and offers a command: "Hold that door open for me."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

Immediately move past the stationary Ms. Cabal and to the large, heavy church door. Feels like it takes every ounce of pitiful strength in my body to swing the door open and hold it sufficiently ajar that Ms. Cabal and her wide leather collar can walk through unimpeded.

Once she steps in, only then do I follow her...

If it's possible to be blinded by darkness, then it just happened to me.

What the hell happened to all the pews and the obedient flock, or even the part-time suckers making their once-a-year appearance to blow out the candles for the messiah's b-day?

Why don't I see ceremonial candles and stained glass depictions of angels in flight?

The only illumination comes from a few wall mounted torches, and even with that it's near impossible to see much other than Ms. Cabal's imposing outline.

Why don't I hear organ music pumping out "Silent Night" or pew-driven orations from a passionate pastor, trying his damnedest to make yet another xmas eve sermon sound halfway relevant to modern life?

As if on cue, another set of torches go aflame, casting a spotlight upon the sole object present to remind one that it's a house of christian worship.

But wouldn't you know it, it's a doozy:

An oversized, gigantic, frankly too-big-to-be-in-a-regular-church crucifix, larger than life-size, complete with a suffering christ, from the crown of thorns to feet with spikes driven through them. Its presence a reminder of its dominance over all things, especially me.

I'm to bow before that crucifix as subserviently as I will bow before Ms. Cabal. Fitting philosophically as it is masochistically.

All the while, Ms. Cabal utters not a word, the only audible sound is the clicking of her stiletto heels against the concrete flooring; as erotic as it is frightening.

She leads me to the center of this dark desolate kirk and breaks the silence with her lush commanding tone:

"Remove your clothing, worm."

Now that we're in the confines of privacy, she resumes calling me worm. It humiliates me as much as it makes me feel special, I'm not just another person she refers to by their first name or last name, like everyone else she encounters in her day-to-day life. No, I'm her worm.

Still, taking off my clothes in this chilly and drafty shithole is hardly the most enviable of prospects, but what am I to do but to comply? What other choice do I have?

None. Don't even have the freedom to get up, walk out of this room and leave it all behind and start a new quiet life with Cassandra. Ms. Cabal wouldn't have it; there is no escaping her.

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," I reply while pulling down my boxers, revealing my frozen flaccid penis for her to mock--or worse yet, utterly ignore.

But that humiliation is far from the removing my socks, producing a sensation must painful--the cold travels through the bottom of my feet to the top of my skull.

Ms. Cabal soon relieves me of the agony--or rather, she displaces it elsewhere.

"Worm, you should know better than to stand before me. Once you are disrobed, you are to drop to your knees."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

And as much as it does bring solace to remove my feet from the floor, as soon as they're replaced by my knees, the cold is nearly as bad and the grinding pain is instantaneous. Heaven help me if she intends for me to kneel before her for any prolonged period.

As I suspect she does...

Looking up at the crucifix, I feel christ's suffering at last.

"I neglected to remind you worm, that on this sacred occasion, in this profane place, you are not to call me 'Ms. Cabal', but rather refer to me strictly as 'Goddess'. Do you understand?"

"Yes Ms.--I mean, yes, Goddess."

"Good thing you caught yourself. As you are about to discover, Darworm, I truly am your Goddess." To underscore her words, she produces a nasty-looking leather riding crop, as if out of thin air, a reminder than any deviation from her command will result in painful punishment.

In this cold, a stinging whack or two from that implement would make me wish I had something hard to bite down on.

Occurs to me that despite all Ms. Cabal and I have been through together, despite the fact I wrote the book she wanted me to write and it was a success, it's as if nothing has changed in all these months since our last...encounter not unlike this one.

If anything, it's more extreme, more grandiose, which could mean that this is the finale...or just the beginning.

Thought I had left this whole fetish business behind, now that Cassandra is in my life.

But in this moment, as Ms. Cabal's begins walking to me, her majestic boots and incredible heels drawing ever closer, it's as if my relationship with Cassandra has ceased to exist, there is not a brain cell of space available for thoughts of anyone--or anything else--except for Ms. Cabal.

Make that Ms. Cabal's boot heels, for as they step closer, that is all I can focus on.

A mixture of erotic anticipation and forehead-dripping dread sweeps over me as her well-heeled heels come within licking distance.

"I think you know what to do worm, now get your head down and do it already."

"Yes, Goddess."

Not going to deny it any longer, paradox though it may be, an experience like this is the only time I'm to feel completely free. Totally separate from what I have with Cassandra; because there is no true freedom in that relationship, that's a one-on-one commitment. Furthermore, don't have the freedom to express myself sexually this way with Cassandra.

Can't say I prefer kneeling nude and about to truly embarrass myself--and by extension most of the human race--before one of the most powerful women in the world to making tender love with Cassandra. Namely because I have yet to make tender--or any degree of intensity for that matter--love to Cassandra.

Ms. Cabal's choice of words suggest she reads my mind like it was a giant obnoxious freeway billboard: "Do not fret, worm. I have no intention of coming between you and your new-found love. Who do think it was that brought the two of you together? This psychodrama is part of your continuing education, as it were. Let us say I am employing the best teaching method by which to impart this vital wisdom."

Suppose that's supposed to make me feel better--but it doesn't. Especially with her ensuing command:

"Now, be a good worm and clean that spot on the tip of my left boot."

That spot, a little dried piece of dust, or is it mud, consumes my entire field of vision, I can see nothing else but.

So all encompassing is it that could imagine myself diving into that spot and never re-emerging, spending an eternity exploring the microcosmic labyrinth within that modest spot.

And better that I plunge into it for an eternity than do what I am compelled to do for even a moment.

But the task at hand is to remove said spot from my tunnel vision, and more significantly, remove it from Ms. Cabal's otherwise pristine boot.

"Yes, Goddess."

What it comes down to is relinquishing the duty, and ultimately the humiliation, to my tongue, as it is the muscle that will be doing the dirty work.

As the tongue (no longer 'my tongue') leaves its former mouth behind and ventures out into the cold cruel atmosphere of this unholy holy place, its considerable length allows it to easily reach the spot, completely cover it and wipe it off in an efficient circular motion like a quick-wrist mop handled by a lifelong janitor cleaning up a hard to reach corner of a public restroom.

No particular 'flavor'--or any discernible taste is registered by the tongue's taste buds during the act, and that's probably for the best.

Once the spot is removed, the taste of fresh leather (If I had to guess, this is the first time these boots have ever been donned) dominates, and while it's not appealing, at least it's not dirt from god knows where. Can tell the tongue really appreciates that.

Though the tongue's assignment is complete, it remains hovering over Ms. Cabal's boots, for further instructions.

"Move your head out of the way," she commands.

I do so, and she takes a good long look at the tip of her boot, where the spot had been, and it apparently passes muster, for she releases the tongue from further duty and it is able to return inside my mouth and become part of me, after a little while.

Naturally this whole business had nothing to do with her boot being having a minute spot on it, but rather it serves a further reminder she can subject me to anything, and I'll have to take it--and comply.

Simultaneous to all this, odd as it sounds, there's a cleansing going on inside me, as I feel a total sensation of release.

It's like I'm in my proper place with Ms. Cabal once again; not by her side, as it was during the book tour, but at her feet, as it is now and has been in our most meaningful moments.

Also feeling infused with a sense of purpose that had been missing since the end of my Bye Bull thumping. Let's face it, outside of my time spent with Cassandra, have been drifting aimlessly.

"Crawl backwards, worm." Ms. Cabal commands.

"Yes, Goddess."

Already sore knees scrape against the cold cracked surface. Feel a trickle of blood descending from one, but am already so numbed can't tell if it's my left or right.

Just gonna have to bite the bullet, highly doubt she's got too many bandages or much of anything in the way of first-aid items in that trench coat, big as it is.

Stop for a moment, enraging her: "Did I give you permission to stop, worm? Keep crawling backwards."

Do so and even pick up the pace a tad, pleasing her.

It's not much longer till she orders me to stop.

"That will do, worm. I prefer that you remain a certain distance from me to physically represent the teacher-student dynamic we are about to undertake. For I have much to share with you, so much so I scarcely know where to begin, unprecedented for me.

"For this, and a multiplicity of other reasons, it is altogether appropriate that this exchange of knowledge should occur this night of all nights. Everyone else is merely receiving Christmas presents of material items, despite the emotional sentiments otherwise imposed upon a given gift.

"Ah, but not you, sweet worm, no, you are receiving the gift of knowledge; knowledge that no other living mortal has ever been exposed to."

An headrush of tidal wave proportions sweeps over me; if Ms. Cabal speaks the truth, then this night could be the pinnacle of my existence, reducing the importance of the writing the Bye Bull to a check-up to the dentist.

"I suppose I should begin by explaining why you are kneeling naked before me in a cold dark barren hollowed-out husk of a church, and why you were debased further by cleaning my boot with your tongue. I made you do this because you need to be cleansed and woken up. You will remain far more alert and pay far better attention to all I have to impart in this stark setting than if we were seated across the room from each other--or even if you were kneeling on my comfortable carpeting in some warm room in my house."

"Yes, Goddess."

"Do you know the other reason you licked my boot clean?"

"No, Goddess."

"That's disappointing. You should have intuited the answer. You licked my boot clean because you have to be reminded that you serve Me. For you will be serving Me again, Dar-worm, on a level that will require far greater dedication than writing the Bye Bull ever required."

A hard dry swallow in response, and not at the humiliating twist she spun on my name. No, it was that writing the Bye Bull nearly killed me, not to mention the book tour nearly literally taking me out. What more could she possibly want?

"After the holidays, and after your relationship with Cassandra intensifies, you are going to move into a new apartment--a larger apartment. I will get you into a great flat in the Upper Haight. You and Cassandra are going to move into that apartment, and then you are going to invite others to live with the two of you."

"Others?"

Ms. Cabal doesn't reply, but instead looks upon me with abject disgust: "Worm, if you are going to ask Me questions in the context of this psychodrama, you must do so by addressing me properly."

"Yes, my Goddess. Please tell me what do you mean by 'others'?"

"That's better. I am not referring to strangers, but rather to those of a like mind. They will be selected from among those who have corresponded with you, such as you were reading earlier this evening and among those who attended your book signings. Those who want to live in a post-Christian world, just as you and I do."

"Yes, my Goddess."

Wait...how could she possibly know I was reading the emails of readers and fans before I went out?

Still, mine is not to question why...mine is to listen to Ms. Cabal:

"Returning to the subject of the cult..."

"Cult, my Goddess?"

"Not the sort of traditional cult you're familiar with; it not be patriarchal--or matriarchal for that matter--not a cult with mindless zombie followers and a frothing-at-the-mouth demagogic leader--no, yours will be a truly self-aware cult."

"In other words, it's not going to be manipulated from the shadows by U.S. intelligence."

"Even on your knees, you are a witty little worm; that is why I chose you."

"Chose me, my Goddess?"

"Yes, I chose you for so many things, Darworm. To write the book, to be the face and voice of a new movement, to form a cult that will serve as the underpinning for a transcendent culture."

"I never wanted to be a leader, my Goddess."

"I'm quite aware of that, Darworm. It seems amusing you would even presume I would envision you as any sort of leader, bowing before me as you do."

Even in this miserable situation, with my knees aching as they do, can't help but crack a smile at the ludicrousness of my concern, properly parodied by Ms. Cabal.

"Now, no more interruptions with declarative statements, you are only to speak if you have a legitimate question, for we have much ground to cover."

"Yes, my Goddess," comes my obligatory response.

MOUNTEBANK OF AMERICA

"After Cassandra returns from her vacation, you are going to ask her to live together."

"Will she accept?"

"Probably."

"You don't know that for certain, my Goddess?"

"No--and if I did, there would be no point in existing on this physical plane."

Curious comment, but not sure if it's worthy of a question. When in doubt, punt, so my mouth stays shut.

Stern as she is, Ms. Cabal throws me an optimistic bone in her response: "Cassandra will likely accept your offer because she loves you...

"Yet she still has apprehensions about living with you and those could lead to her declining your offer. She does not want to jeopardize your nascent relationship due to the conflicts that inevitably arise from cohabitation."

Ms. Cabal tells me this like she's doing a chemical analysis, not dealing with human emotions. And in that one reply, two startling considerations; one, that Cassandra loves me, and two, how the hell could Ms. Cabal possibly know that?

Since the conversation has veered clearly in the direction of Cassandra, can't help but think of when I first laid eyes upon her, one year ago tonight; when I passed by her after the series of visions on Nob Hill.

My humbled eyes tilt up and meet hers that radiate nothing but certainty. The question that pops in my mind seems wholly inapt, but then recall Ms. Cabal's apparent knowledge of Cassandra already 'loving' me when she (Cassandra) hasn't even expressed that to me.

"My Goddess, did you arrange for Cassandra and I to meet...?"

She smiles in answer to my thoughts. "What do you think?"

"I thought it all just a coincidence my Goddess; me seeing her last xmas eve, and then on the movie set, and then you hiring her to provide security for me."

Ms. Cabal's laughter is neither mocking nor wicked, but portioned out of pity.

"Listen to yourself; you really think that particular chain of events was mere coincidences? After all that has transpired in your life in the last 365 days, how you've gone from utterly ignored to undeniably influential, the visions you've had that have come to fruition, you think any of it was ever coincidence?

The force of her rhetorical question nearly tears a hole through me; certainly leaves me feeling two inches tall, a dumbass for even asking and for ever doubting her.

"By the end of this conversation, you will cease to believe in such fallacies as 'coincidence'. I brought you and Cassandra together to serve as the foundation for the new culture based on the practical application of your writings.

"Also, I knew that you were seeking a sexual partner--and while you derive perverse sexual pleasure from our fetishistic encounters, such as the one we currently indulge in, ultimately this is not a sustainable dynamic. At least, not for the more conventional sexual expression you are seeking. Crude though it may be, you'd rather be to top of Cassandra than under my heel."

Wish I was as sure of that as she seems to be.

"I will have my real estate agent find you and Cassandra a suitable apartment; there's a simply charming Victorian flat in the Haight that would be ideal once the expansion to include the members of the larger cult commences."

Everything is so planned out in Ms. Cabal's mind, ever since we met--before that, actually; getting me to write the book, getting me to go on promo tour, getting Cassandra and I in a relationship and now, getting me to start up a cult-house filled with readers of the Bye Bull.

But what about the things she didn't plan for; the piss attack, the bomb?

Like she said before, if she knew everything that was going to happen, there's be no point in doing anything. Though she hardly seems to be leaving much up to chance.

As she demonstrates with her latest uttering: "By next Christmas eve, you and Cassandra and anywhere from six to eight of your readers will be living together, as a unified group holding the official position of being blatantly opposed to Christianity's undue influence in America."

"My Goddess, what influence will we have if we're just another gaggle of alternative types living in the hippie section of town?"

"That's just it, Darworm, you will not be 'just another' anything.

"One reader--Simon Miller--who will be contacting you soon, is particularly significant, as he is one of the most brilliant physicists on the planet, on the verge of one of the most momentous discoveries in the field of applied physics."

She says no more. Intriguing, but will learn more about it when the time is right--in other words, when she wants to tell me, so I opt for misguided humility instead:

"Is he truly so brilliant if he's reading me, my Goddess?"

Her frown stings harder than any whip: "This isn't the place for self-deprecation, Darworm, please refrain from it in the future. If you weren't the type of writer that would inspire a mind such as Miller's, then you surely would not be kneeling before me."

Right. I'd be forever ignored or at best, passed over by Ms. Cabal, just like so many other starving writers in San Francisco.

And for the first time since we entered this blackened church, find myself looking to the future, am looking forward to doing a little web research on this Simon Miller. Wonder why he hasn't contacted me yet? Or maybe he has, and I've just overlooked his email, or perhaps letter.

Looking forward to it; that is, if and when she releases me from this bondage.

"Following the successful formation of the cult and the inevitable transition period until the group becomes a fully functioning unit, you will not be without support. Along with my unwavering support, investors will see to it that the cult is financially sustained. Keeping the group together will be the responsibility of you and the other members of the group."

"Are we to be an experiment, my Goddess?"

"There is no time for experimentation, as I will make clear to you. Just as the Bye Bull was an unquestioned success, so shall the cult be an even greater achievement."

"My Goddess, I can scarcely imagine Cassandra living with me, let alone her agreeing to live with a whole group of strangers."

"Please refrain make rash assumptions, Darworm. Though time is of the essence, this will be a gradual endeavor, I understand this completely. Naturally, you will have to convince Cassandra of the importance of accepting the cult. As the two of you are still feeling each other out as opposed to physically feeling each other, there is still much you do not know about her. I assure you there is a side of her that would be open to this, so that is the part of her you must reach."

Thoughts are divided over mulling just how difficult that's going to be along with the increasingly frightening realization that Ms. Cabal knows exactly where Cassandra and I stand--down to the fact that we have yet to sleep together.

Ms. Cabal resumes her reassurance: "Keep in mind Darworm, that Cassandra not only cares for you deeply, but she is influenced by your thinking, your ideas. As are many people, and rightfully so, because you have a veritable endless stream of ideas to be shared that have not been expressed previously. That is why the cult will be successful."

Jesus, when she talks about me like that, feels like she's kneeling before me.

"What am I to name this cult, my Goddess?"

"Now, Darworm, you should full well I always turn over the creative reigns to you. Naming the cult will be entirely up to you. Or perhaps up to you and Cassandra, or even you and all the other members of the cult will decide upon a fitting moniker.

"Initially, it will just be you and Cassandra living at the future cult house; for the two of you need to learn how to live with each other before you can begin to learn how to live with others, especially in a transcendent dynamic such as the cult promises to be. You've both been in solitary confinement for so long, you both need to adapt to the challenges of cohabitation.

"You in particular, Darworm, have been antisocial for much of your adult life. Although your encounters with me and your experiences on book tour have opened you up to a large degree, there was still that distance, that detachment from people. Standing before an audience reading excerpts from your book while standing on a podium is hardly the same as sharing a bathroom with them."

Her phrasings have the capability to lift me out of body up to the highest heavens as equally as dropping me face-first in the lowest gutter. Through it all, I remain kneeling, enraptured.

"And you need not be in any rush. I want you and Cassandra to live together, just the two of you, for awhile, settle into that dynamic0. I know you have been anti-social for most of your adult life, so just living with one person is going to take some time for you to adapt and adjust."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal." She's right as rain; that's been my biggest fear as far as living with Cassandra--or any roommate for that matter--romantic or strictly platonic, after all these years of being alone and set in my ways.

How will I deal with having to share things and with not being in total command of a given situation? Can my ego handle it?

But that's not to be considered right now; not with so much before me, with so much to ask...

"May I ask why you want me to form a cult, Ms. Cabal?"

"Well, my darling Darworm, that is one of the most basic questions that gets to the root of it all, now isn't it? Why? What is the purpose of gathering together a disparate group of Bye Bull readers to live together in a Victorian flat in the middle of San Francisco?

"Ironically, despite the many pearls of wisdom I am going to share with you on this evening, I am not going to reveal to you the full extent of my plans for the cult, for frankly, that is to be an organic entity, and while I most assuredly have designs for the direction of this soon-to-be-formed grouping, it is not germane to this conversation. Perhaps at a later time.

"Also, I no intentions of overwhelming your prefrontal cortex this evening with an overabundance of information.

"However, it is entirely appropriate that I address the essence of your very valid question--the cult will be formed as an central focus, an opposition point at which those who oppose christianity can gather, with the altogether modest aim of building a new culture that exists beyond the parameters of organized religion.

"As you have pointed out so eloquently in the Bye Bull, when left unfettered, Christianity seeks to first compete rather than cooperate and then dominate rather than facilitate."

"Why do you keep calling it a 'cult', My Goddess? Doesn't that word, what it means, everything it implies, have all kinds of negative connotations?"

Ms. Cabal's response is laced with the appropriate irony: "Everything you've done has negative connotations to the majority, Darworm, you be acutely aware of that. As I mentioned previously, yours will be a 'self-aware cult', not one that is subject to the whims of a deluded demagogue. You will be the cult that 'knows' it's a cult and acts accordingly."

"You mean when we kill ourselves, we'll know the reason why."

Goddess cracks a smile at my dry flippancy. "Your cult--your 'group', if you prefer, will always be one leg up on the media, science, high tech, corporation government and religious groups like the Crusaders, cultural trends and society in general. Yours will be a cult without a leader, for each member is a leader. Yours will be a cult that does not flame out in disaster. Yours will be a cult that outdoes the culture."

Sounds impressive. Also sounds completely impossible, but then, hasn't this entire past year been impossible?

So avoid the macrocosm and instead focus on the micro: "My Goddess, may I ask why you think I'm capable of pulling this off, and why you chose me to write the book in the first place?"

"The Bye Bull is the answer to your second question, dear boy.

"As for your first query, the only thing I know you're capable of pulling off is your pathetic cock, night after lonely night," she responds with cold humiliation.

On one level, a slap in the face. But naturally, it brings excitement to my lower region.; an arousal that will not be satiated; on the contrary, satiation would defeat the very purpose of my being here.

"As for the cult, I chose you to be the catalyst behind its formation--as opposed to deigning you its 'leader'--is for essentially the same reasons you wrote the Bye Bull--and you see how successfully that turned out. You are intellectual, nonconformist, not encumbered by family in any way, and you possess that 'wanting to change the world' quality so vital to...pulling this off, as you so colorfully phrased it.

"Your anti-social nature provided the solitude necessary for you to foster your ideas over the years, and then, express them on the page for me in a matter of months. If anything, those tendencies will like likely serve you well in selecting the members of the cult--and keeping them around--for you don't need them around to fulfill any deficiency lacking in your self-possession but rather to serve the higher purpose at hand."

Intriguing paradox; because I don't need people, I'm better suited to bring together a disparate group of Bye Bull readers united for a common cause. Based on the premise I possess some sort of innate radar unencumbered by ego or insecurity enabling me to more sincerely interact with all these new strangers/anti-christian warriors I'm to live with.

If so, then Ms. Cabal does indeed know me better than I could ever hope to. Try as I might, I'm too busy being me to self-analyze sufficiently. At least in comparison to self-pulling, that is...

There is a pause in the proceedings...yet, calculated as Ms. Cabal is, she must be deliberately allowing me a moment to gather my thoughts

And despite all that is before me, all my long-term always planning-and-living-in-the future mind can really focus on is the impending cult. Seems like she wants that as quickly constructed as I was to write the book. She's already made several references for the necessity of expediency

But why...?

Have to ask.

"My Goddess, may I ask why the rush to form this group, if, as you say, Cassandra and I will have difficulty just managing to live together? Won't introducing a whole group of strangers upset whatever delicate parameters of living together that Cassandra and I will likely at best tenuously establish?"

"I'm well aware of the risks at hand, Darworm, however there are far greater risks on a larger scale, such as you witnessed on DVNT earlier this evening."

Earlier this evening? What are these fantasies of which she speaks? There was no 'earlier this evening' There was nothing before this present state of being, nothing before bowing before Ms. Cabal in this vacant, meaningless church.

Nothing which I can imagine could possibly be true.

Such a cliche to say that it felt like a lifetime ago; far as I'm concerned, there was no existence before this moment.

Against my better judgment, flog my memory and recall the chain of events that preceded my arrival here, not necessarily which lead to my arrival for here, for that appears to be solely without cause, but rather, just the events themselves...

For a time, my conversation with Cassandra floods my mind. Do my best to mentally push that aside until another memory fills the void. Ah yes, there it is. I was indeed watching DVNT earlier this evening.

And then, it all comes back to me in a flash flood--Pleasant, it was about Pleasant. And his aspirations to run for president.

And the rhetorical question comes to me as easily as any thought ever has: "Is the cult then intended to meet whatever challenges Pleasant as President would bring?"

"Yes Darworm, Pleasant and the interests that surround him seek to alter this nation as radically and quickly as it ever has been transformed, but they can only completely do so from the powers afforded by controlling the executive branch of the U.S. government."

"Do you really expect him to win, my Goddess?"

"It's not as simple as that Darworm, but then you should well know it never is. Do you recall, even in your heightened albeit distorted state of awareness, what was said on that DVNT broadcast you watched earlier this evening?"

A momentary pause, but nothing from my dullard brain.

"Of course you don't," she continues. "What it said was Pleasant may form his own political party based on his Crusader following, but that the GOP might offer him a deal, the Vice Presidency in exchange for giving up the third-party run, which we all know would doom the Republicans in November. And they can't afford to give up the White House to the Democrats, not when they are so close to establishing their de facto theocracy. Banning abortion was just the beginning, especially if Pleasant himself ascends to office.

"Furthermore, Pleasant represents an even greater threat than his compatriots on the religious right even realize."

"And what is that, my Goddess?"

"I hardly need remind you that Pleasant is a Christian Reconstructionist."

"Thought he was a a Dominion Theologist, my Goddess," I manage to wince as my left knee stiffens up even tighter. Will I pass out from the pain before Ms. Cabal tells me all I'm to hear?

"Publicly Pleasant would never admit to that, but you are correct, Darworm. Even in your...diminished capacity you realize it's just a matter of semantics. The Dominion Theologist will tell you flat out that biblical law should supersede secular law. The Reconstructionist will tell you that Christians should put their faith in 'all areas of life."

"The Dominion Theologist is just being more honest, my Goddess."

"Precisely. Though you may be weak in the knees, you are still strong in the mind, my shivering worm."

Do my best to hold my body still, already just impressed her, want to keep the momentum going.

Which is promptly blown by my awkwardly asking: "And how am I--we, the cult, whoever, how are we prevent that, my Goddess?"

Her angry response comes harsher than the most acrid venom that could ever be spat directly into my eyes.

"You are not going to 'prevent' anything, Darworm--that is not the intended function of the cult. Rather, it will serve as a locus for those disparate elements of the current 'culture at large' that will unify for a common cause--to develop an entirely new culture running on a parallel track from the America that Pleasant and company will be shaping.

"The more the Crusaders tear down and destroy the nation, the more of it your new culture will rebuild and replace."

And for the first time, a razor-thin slice of the full scope of her machinations becomes apparent to me.

This isn't about selling books, or establishing me as an established author, a 'name brand' with which the well could be continuously pumped for a new book every other year, I'd become a self-contained cottage industry, though ultimately just another cog in her publishing machine at Apogee Writ.

In my cynical heart, that's what I thought this was really all about.

But still, need to express the insight, and ask the critical question:

"My Goddess, you mean to say you didn't bring me here tonight to tell me I'd be writing another book?"

Her scoff fills the vacuous remains of this house of worship: "You tell me, Darworm, how exactly does one follow up authoring the Bye Bull?"

She has me there, doesn't she? Even with my knees ready to split asunder, can still relish the manner in which her seemingly spontaneous responses are laced with double meanings--if not more. She mocks me and answers my concern with equal aplomb.

"No one is more aware than I of the seemingly endless series of questions running through your mind regarding your concerns for the cult. But I tell you to put your mind at rest on the subject for the remainder of the evening; now is not the time to dwell on such things, by telling you about the cult I sought to impress upon you the essential reason for our gathering here. Additionally, you have yet to hear from my lips the most devastating disclosure. It's safe to say, Darworm, that when you leave here, the cult will be the last matter on your mind."

Hope that was 'devastating' as in awe-inspiring, and not devastating as in ending with me splitting open and melting.

"Now that all depends on how you react to it, Darworm."

Wait a minute...

I didn't say that aloud, did I?

I just thought it, didn't I?

"Yes, Darworm, you only thought it."

Then that means...

"Yes, I read your mind. I calculated that resorting to such a parlor trick would be the proper means to introduce you to the truth."

The 'truth'? What the hell does she mean by that? What, she's been lying to me all this time?

But still a more pressing question to pose:

"So you didn't actually 'read' my mind, did you my Goddess? It was a 'parlor trick' as you just said, right?"

"Wrong. I 'read your mind' insofar as that idiomatic expression has any validity; specifically I am telepathically aware of all your thoughts as you process them, as your thoughts are connected to a Universal, or Ultimate Consciousness, which I have complete access to. It was a 'parlor trick' in the sense that it was a trivial display of my capabilities."

"My Goddess, you're saying can do more than just read my mind...?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

An answer that never comes. An answer that doesn't have to.

"That's not the question you are to ask me, Darworm."

Take a feeble stab: "My Goddess, who are you..?"

Crane my stiffening neck up to her tireless visage to find her smiling approval.

"I'm you, Darworm."

How's that?

"I'm Cassandra."

Come again?

"I'm Pleasant."

Now that's just wrong.

"Or rather, you are all organs of...Me."

Boy if the expression on my face looks half as dumb as I feel...

"I'll understand if that is not a sufficient answer, Darworm. But that's only because you still haven't asked the proper question..."

Wrong question? If not asking 'Who are you?', then...

"...What are you?"

Beatific beaming spreads across her face--apparently I asked the proper question.

"I am Goddess. I don't send souls to hell, but I'm not above casting judgment." You may also refer to me as Infinite Consciousness"

And there you have it. Everything wild, weird and downright insane that has happened in my life up until this exact moment has officially been topped.

Really not sure how to react; am I supposed to cry? Laugh? Bow down and grovel at an even lower level and worship Ms. Cabal/Goddess even more devoutly?

Almost too much to accept; everything I’ve stood for, written about, been almost blown up for, all that is rendered completely meaningless in one reply from Ms. Cabal.

The wound is seasoned as she corrects me: “Darworm, since you are now aware that I am aware of your thoughts, you are to address me as ‘Goddess’ in your thoughts as well."

“Yes, my Goddess”

There is nowhere to run from her.

“No, there isn’t.”

Goddammit.

Swallow hard and jerk my head up to see if she’s been morally offended.

Instead she smiles wide:

“Don’t worry, Darworm, you’ve taken nothing in vain.”

Sense of relief overcomes me--and I find that annoying. Don't want a god, or a goddess--even if it's her. Still getting used to all this.

And to her credit, Ms--err, my Goddess, is letting me 'take it all in' as it were, letting me process the inscrutable info she's downloading into me, allowing me time to formulate a suitable question:

"My Goddess, hat does that mean, when you say you are...Goddess?"

Despite the redundancy, it seems Ms. Cabal approves of my query:

"Darworm, as I am not only aware of your present thoughts, I am also fully conscious of the sum of your knowledge on the subjects I am about to impart to you. I primarily chose you to author the Bye Bull because of your cogent, fresh and well-reasoned arguments against virtually every facet of christianity, and most critically, your ability to write colorfully and with a sense of humor as well as a sense of style."

Filled with a pride don't really think should be indulged in whilst naked shivering and teetering on wobbly knee.

"However, and this is the proper context in which to reveal this piece of information to you, you were also chosen due to your insight and acceptance when it comes to metaphysics at-large. Remember your lecture in Chicago?"

In this present state, takes awhile to activate my powers of recollection to recall the content of that Chicago lecture; the memories of the book promo tour tend to blend all together in a mental morass after a time.

Press harder to find the neural connections storing that particular memory RESEARCH--and now I do indeed remember discussing the metaphysical origin of existence as opposed to christianity's flawed teleology.

As her mind is forever linked to mine, it is only after I become conscious of the memory of the subject matter of the Chicago lecture that she smiles approval and continues:

"There you have it. It was precisely such wisdom on your part that cemented your selection as the writer, to fully encompass the entire spectrum of the anti-Christian argument, the ability to offer a rational alternative to some of the 'larger' questions that Christianity purports to answer.

"You have the knowledge and the articulation to impart a legitimate explanation that not only offers, as you rightly stated, a 'progenitor' Christianity's teleology, but one that outright trumps it."

"Trumps"--recall using that myself at the lecture in question. Again, it's hard not feel a sense of pride over Ms. Cabal's praise, and such a sensation informs me this evening isn't all bad. In fact, it might just be the opposite...

"Such knowledge and open-mindedness on your part Darworm, will also permit you to more readily assimilate the truth about myself,"

Again with 'the truth'...

"Yes, the truth, and nothing but. In Chicago, you spoke correctly of the uncaused first cause being the source of all existence; that if the Christian God does indeed exist, that entity is subordinate in the 'chain of creation' to the uncaused Absolute

"Because you, in your mortal position, from your mortal perspective, are only able to speculate on possible existence of God, you cannot say unequivocally whether or not there is a God, specifically the 'God' of the Christian bible. To your credit, you cleverly used such uncertainty to portray the Christian God as being a jealous, petty subordinate to 'his' spiritual betters."

The accolade swells me with pride; and while she wasn't even at that lecture, have to keep in mind she's been everywhere with me every time.

"Quite true, Darworm." she answers my introspection.

"But I, in my infinite position and infinite perspective can in fact assure you that there is no 'God' as defined by Judea-Christian monotheism."

My Goddess pauses, almost stepping back as it were, to allow me sufficient time and space to absorb the widest reaching implications of this Knowledge. For with that one simple sentence, everything I have written about and adopted as my credo most of my adulthood is now justified as it could only ever have been justified.

The feeling of pure vindication overcoming me overwhelms; I've been right all along, christianity has been wrong all along. It makes a lifetime of hard work seem like a lifetime of excessive hedonism.

It's like the hottest wettest orgasm of my life, even though in reality I kneel with shrunken shivering balls.

Find this so life-affirming manage to summon the audacity to peer past my Goddess' shoulders and up at the life-size and lifelike crucifix constantly watching me like some cheap oil painting of a person with eyes that followed you no matter what side of the room you walked to.

"And what of that character...?"

A warm smile envelopes her face and seals me with such reassurance that it momentarily absorbs the cold from my heart, soul and most importantly, from my balls.

"The sins of the father are indeed revisited upon the son."

Smile inside is far wider than the one crossing my face.

But my Goddess has more to delight:

"Jesus Christ never existed. Not even as an earthly prophet, I'll spare you that compromising rationalization. Christ was concocted as the 'Son of God Messiah' in the first century A.D. by the early ascetics in order to form an alternative to the dominant pagan practices of the time, such as Mithraism. In order to better assimilate the newly founded Christianity into the culture at large, those elements of Mithraism desirable to Christianity were incorporated into the theology.

"This is consistent with the complete lack of historical documentation regarding the life of Christ until the first century, A.D."

A sheath of comfort slips over my entire form, couldn't be more content if I were snug in a down mattress beneath satin sheets with a temperature of 72.6.

And for the first time this evening, am able to look up at the hanging crucifix square in the eyes on my own terms.

If it's possible to feel utter exaltation while simultaneously subject to complete humiliation, I'm pulling it off.

Finally, a pioneer...

Best thing is, my Goddess is far from finished dispensing knowledge, or the 'Truth' as she calls it:

"The 'God' of Christianity--or from any other monotheistic religion for that matter, would not have been capable of functioning--for lack of a better word--in the metaphysical paradigm that was resultant in the formation of physical reality.

"With all of the essentials such as love and hate, good and evil etc already formulated in the metaphysical plane, there was never an element of judgment present, for how could the metaphysical judge the physical on what it had completely provided it.

"It's akin to handing a child a book of matches and then having the audacity to scold him when the house burns down

"There is no metaphysical component or consciousness that would stoop to
such insecure, rash, petty judgments. Those are for the province of the material world, which is precisely why the material world was formed, to be a source of conflict, passion, drama, high or otherwise.

"Christianity is in fact a product of the more irrational elements of the metaphysical plane, so if anyone is to do the judging, it would be Christianity that would be facing a plea bargain to receive a more lenient sentence."

"But my Goddess, if you are, as you say, 'Goddess', are you not casting judgment by your intervention into mortal affairs, directly funding the authorship and dissemination of the Bye Bull?"

"Again, Darworm, I must commend you for

"What am I, then? I am the more complex, developed Consciousness that came to existence after some of the more base emanations came to pass...Wisdom...Understanding...Passion...Reason...Creativity...

Her words flow fluid, dripping down the throat of my ear like the sweetest nectar o' the gods...Goddesses.

Surely this knowledge is a greater coup than writing the book, seeing it published, seeing it sell successfully, the ego boosts of the book tour, all of it.

Just to know that I was right about the biggest mystery of all--and it wasn't some lucky guess, it was ascertained through arduous external research and lonely bouts of internal contemplation.

It's as if the culmination of my life is marked at this precise moment, by what my Goddess hath just revealed, no matter that I'm a witness to it in naked aching humiliation.

Might as well be donned in the most regal majestic attire seated atop a golden throne or astride the noblest white horse lofting a jewel-encrusted staff of some sort.

Seized by a sudden apprehension--since she can read my thoughts anyway, opt to phrase it aloud between parched lips:

"What does this all mean for evolution--and intelligent design?"

"It means the reconciliation of both--there was intelligent design as far as the metaphysical component, but of course it has been evolution that has spawned the development of life in the physical plane. Larger more complex lifeforms did indeed evolve from smaller, simpler lifeforms, it was all part of the Intelligent Design plan. The notion that a human being, a gorilla, a tree, or what have you simply was plopped down on this planet by some overseeing all-father defies all reason.

While that affirmation may not not register as a victory for hardcore atheists, tis a triumph for those otherwise anti-christian.

"My Goddess, I am still confused as to your true nature, when you said you are 'Infinite Consciousness'. Like the mythical christian god, you are infinitely too complex to have been the uncaused first cause. You are not Absolute Awareness, not are you Self-Awareness. Yet you are not 'god' with a capital g, because that god does not exist."

"Correct. I am the sum product of all of the emanations that came before me. Consciousness as distinguished from mere 'mind'; for without consciousness, the mind is not possible.

"Once I came fully into existence, the purpose first manifest in Self-Awareness--that of creating existence beyond itself--was now fully realized on the metaphysical plane. The purpose was now transferred to my existence, that of Infinite Consciousness.

"Knowing that I had come from the emanations of an existence before me, I knew I had to also produce emanations beyond me, for what greater 'original sin' is there but stagnation?"

Is it any wonder my Goddess opposes the same stagnation that christianity never fails to provide? Judgment about judgment be damned!

"In this state I was able to first conceive of the physical plane, of an existence in which a seemingly infinite number of beings could experience consciousness, while simultaneously proving a mirror by which I could 'experience' myself, as it were.

GAME THEORY

"And once the physical plane had been established, it became increasingly difficult for me to remain as an impartial passive viewer because I realized that the Metaphysical Imperative was not being realized."

"And what is that my Goddess"

"The will of the individual entity being permitted to flourish, for I would not have descended into matter if I did not want the conscious entities emerging from Infinite Consciousness to be mindless drones.

OR SHE COULD BE THE EMANATION OF JUDGMENT

STILL HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHERE MS. CABAL FITS IN, AND INTRO INTO FORMS IF NECESSARY

"My Goddess, how did you become Ms. Cabal?"

"To answer that question, you must understand how an individual Unit of Awareness--what is commonly referred to as a "soul" comes to be manifest in the flesh.

"As I have already delineated, spirit descended into matter in order to 'play a game', to experience all the visceral and carnal pleasures and pains that go into the life experience."

Note that Ms. Cabal places special emphasis on the word pains; even when describing deep metaphysics, she always manages to reference the fetish.

"Therefore it is a deliberate entry of the spirit into matter, and this extends into the individual Unit of Awareness choosing the particular body it wants to enter, with the intent being to offer as interesting experience possible on the material for that particular Unit of Awareness

"Therefore, it was really nothing for me to choose to descend into the conceived child of HER PARENTS, to ensure that I would have the wealth necessary to wage a legitimate war against Christianity.

"You see, Darworm, the difference between me and other Unit of Awareness, is that I retrain full command of my metaphysical existence--enabling me to alter reality at my slightest whim."

"Then why don't you, my Goddess? Why don't you just snap your fingers...or blink your eyes...and just be rid of the whole damn thing?"

Know I spoke improperly, out of turn, but it was just weighing too heavily against me to hold back.

"It is a valid question, but also one that answers itself, if you look at it from the perspective of the Metaphysical Imperative.









LECTURE TOPIC: THE TRUE NATURE OF SPIRITUALITY, THROUGH INTROSPECTION, NOT RITUALS DESIGNED TO TIE ONE TO A SPECIFIC RELIGION


CHRISTIANS CAN'T GET OVER THE EGO DRIVEN 'MADE IN THE IMAGE OF GOD' MINDSET, THEY HAVE TO COME TO REALIZE ALL THINGS GOOD BAD BEAUTIFUL AND UGLY WERE MADE IN THE IMAGE OF 'GOD', OR MORE PRECISELY THE METAPHYSICAL PLANE OF FORMS

'Then Plato was right?"

"Plato was indeed correct/
After Revelation, "I have to admit I felt pretty silly calling her 'my Goddess' for such a long stretch, no longer!"
WHY SHE PUT ME THROUGH IT (REFER TO DIARY)
SCIENCE OF IT ALL; VIBRATIONS (OCCULT)
THE IMPERATIVE OF INDIVIDUALITY (AA BLOG)
WHY SHE CHOSE AMERICA, BECAUSE THIS IS THE COUNTRY, DESPITE ITS MYRIAD OF CONTRADICTIONS, THAT MOST CELEBRATES INDIVIDUALITY. IT'S WHY AMERICA IS THE RUDEST COUNTRY. CHRISTIANITY IS THE DOMINANT RELIGION NOW, SO THAT CHOICE WAS MADE FOR ME.


THREAT OF PLEASANT
"The forces that seek to transform every culture down to every single living person into a Christian will soon have the means to do so--even subverting the individual will."

Those words bring a sudden chill much sharper than any of the breezes and my nudity could come close to matching.
THIS FORESHADOWS MY TRANSFORMATION

"I took this as to be too great a threat to the Metaphysical Imperative. For the first time in all existence, physical or metaphysical, I allowed myself to become Judgmental, which then provided the justification for my direct entry into the physical plane in order to subvert the aims of the Crusaders and those insidious interests grouping around them."

"You've mentioned them before, my Goddess. Who are these 'insidious interests' that would lay down with Pleasant?"

"The heads of certain corporations, along with very rich and very influential investors who do not wish to see the status quo subverted. They believe that Christian culture is the best for profits."

That's even more sickening to these than hearing that war is good for profits.


THE VISIONS I HAVE
"In the end, Darwin, you will be doing far more for me than I will ever do for you."
CONCLUSION

WHY SHE PUT ME THROUGH VISIONS AND SUBJUGATION

"I long considered the best method for motivating you, little Darworm. On the surface, as yu might hear on your favorite talk show Monica, one would attribute your isolation to antisocial tendencies and a fear of intimacy in relationships with women
But being gifted with the ability to peer into the deep waters, I am well aware that it is not a conventional 'fear of intimacy' that drove you to isolation, but rather for two distinct reasons; one, your innate iconoclastic nature wouldn't accept the restraints and conventions of a archetypal post-modern relationship."

"And the second reason, my Goddess?"

You're not getting off the hook that easily, Darworm. Exercise a modicum of introspection and the answer should come to you."

That's just the thing, isn't it? Getting harder to concentrate as the pain around my knees intensifies, but she's not letting me off the hook as she put it, so have to divine the answer before we can proceed.

Doesn't really take all that long to derive at the real reason; that it takes away from my 'higher purpose' of being a writer. The time and energy needed to sustain a relationship depletes the time and energy needed to be an artist--particularly when you're not living off that art and you have to devote so many odd hours a week to earning income.

It's the thing that always ruined the vast majority of my previous stabs at being in a legit LTR (long-term relationship for the clueless), that I could never make another person--a girlfriend a bigger priority than whatever writing project I happened to be working on at the time.

VISION

FIREWHEEL AND MARBLES HAVE TO BE IN THE VISION

Another wave of silence, this one more chilling than the air

"Crawl towards me...not on your hands and knees, but as a worm would, slither towards me. Rub your belly and your genitals against the cold hard floor. Make it hurt, you know I do not care."

Of all the humiliations suffered at my Goddess' hands to date, this is the most miserable


Reaching the edge of her hobble skirt

Crane my neck up to gaze upon the crucifix: "What of him...?"

Ms Cabal: "No Jesus Christ either, he was just a man."

For a lecture: "If you hold up the 'jesus myth' to a light of examination, it falls apart quite easily, like a gossamer web"

VISION:

When the vision overcomes me, it's not like a dream. A dream is flimsy; only half-glimpsed, ready to be discarded by a sudden noise in the external world that jerks me awake or even broken from within if I gain sufficient control of a dream suddenly turned too malevolent.

These visions are inescapable, all-encompassing, eyelids being held open by clockwork clamps with no possibility of closing them or looking anywhere or at anything but the Vision, with a capital V.



As I crawl towards the crucifix all I see is Jesus, replaced by the hobble skirt

During the height of of the vision, I hang from the cross and jesus slithers towards Ms. Cabal

Visions of buttf'ing Ms. Cabal




























Darworm, as I am not only aware of your present thoughts, I am also fully conscious of the sum of your knowledge on the subjects I am going to relate to you. Were you better schooled in various esoteric occult wisdom, I need not be so rudimentary, but it is your previous resolute rejections of any and all metaphysical schools of thought that made you the ideal candidate to author the Bye Bull, so it with great pleasure that I now educate you on the fundamental origin of existence.

"And I can think of no better place to start than at the beginning.

“Or should I say, the non-beginning.”

Sounds reasonable either way.

"For it was neither the beginning nor the end, neither the Alpha nor the Omega.

"It was Awareness and nothing but Awareness.

"Absolute Awareness."

"I have heard something about that, my Goddess, but I thought it all began with the eternal state of Being."

"At this level of the metaphysical plane it is largely a matter of semantics, Darworm. Besides, the key is the act of Self-Awareness that was committed by Awareness or Being, whatever you prefer to call it."

"Self awareness, my Goddess?"

"Yes, it was undeniably inevitable that Absolute Awareness--or Absolute Being--perform the act of Self-Awareness, for what else could Awareness be aware of other than Itself?

"You should realize that this rather obvious logical conclusion is in actuality the most profound concept of all--for it is describing the formation of a separate existence beyond Awareness--or 'Being', which eventually resulted in the formation of the physical Universe you and I presently inhabit."

SCENE WILL END OR NEAR THE END WITH PLEASANT ANNOUNCING ON DNVC THAT HE IS FORMING A CRUSADERS POLITICAL PARTY AND IS RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT