Ben Is Dead Now

 Julian is home from the nursing home. It has been three weeks. On Fridays I have been bringing him two tuna salad sandwiches. Tuna with mayonnaise and celery and cucumbers on whole wheat bread with lettuce. I get the tuna in olive oil, not the cheap kind, but also not the most expensive kind. And he asks me to buy him books which he may give me money for. He is always asking for things. He is blind but he wants books.

When he went into the nursing home he gave a friend of his ten boxes of his books. The friend put the boxes in his garage and they got moldy. Eight of the ten boxes of books got so bad that the friend threw them away and now most of the books are gone. So Julian wants to get back some of those books. Julian is always asking for things. He calls often and often asks me to look for things online. Religious books. Some St. Philomena oil. I bought him two books. He said he would pay me back. I don't mind buying him things as I have no use for my money at the moment, but my parents don't like it.

He moved in with his sisters and his nephew. The apartment is six blocks from my house underneath the elevated subway train. So I can walk to see him whenever. I went three times with his books and the tuna.

Ben died. He was a sedevacantist. I did not hear of it in time to go to the funeral. He was married to his Filipino wife by Father Cekada. A sedevacantist Bishop I had never heard of said his funeral Mass in New Jersey.  Like flies. I will tell Julian about his passing.

The Fly

 

Today is Friday. I go to Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction at the local Church. In case Jesus is still there, I go to honor Him. At three I pray the stations in front of the monstrance and then I pray the Rosary. Fifteen decades. There is the fly. The devil comes to bother me for a few moments, buzzing around my ears. I finish praying and go home. At six thirty I go for Benediction. I pray and think and meditate and pray. The fly returns. The devil buzzes around me ears. To and fro, here and there. Just before the ceremony begins, the fly lands on my right hand. I feel him. I do not move. Then the fly goes away, the devil buzzes around my ears. I look at Jesus, if Jesus is still really there. I think He is. Julian does not. Julian once told me that his mother used to go to Benediction and one time she told him that when she looked at the monstrance she did not see the face of Jesus, but instead she saw the face of the devil. I think Jesus is there. But if he is not the devil can not harm me. I am not afraid of the devil. Sometimes I fear God's justice. That I have sinned so much that I cannot be forgiven. But usually I am fine. I pray to Jesus and to Mary and to Gemma.

Being visited by flies as I pray in the Church is a recurring theme. It is never a fly. It is the devil. The Lord of the Flies. He wants to distract me or to make me afraid.

It is something I have been doing since I got out of the hospital. I do not like the Novus Ordo. But I think it is valid. So Jesus is really there. So if I go before Jesus in the tabernacle it is good. And I keep Him company. In the Novus Ordo there are not that many who have the true faith and love Jesus. So I will love Him. But I do not want to go the the Novus Ordo Mass because I think it is bad. So I walk the line. Cross myself as I pass the Church, and genuflect before the tabernacle.

My uncle George is a Russian Orthodox. But he belongs to a strict Church. He is not in Communion with most of the other Churches in Orthodoxy. We went to his granddaughter's baptism at a monastery and he spoke about how he sung at the ceremonies but did not go to Communion because he was not in Communion with the monastery where his granddaughter was baptized. And he thought the schism was getting out of hand and it would be better if all the sects would be in Communion with each other. But not under Rome. It seems all the Orthodox share a distrust of the Pope and Rome.

My uncle's mother just died. She was orthodox. EENS. So she is in hell most likely. I heard on one of the forums that the Orthodox do not have their own version of EENS, so they hold that those outside of orthodoxy might be saved. But they are territorial and prone to schism. Charles Coulombe says that In the West we will accept any amount of heresy but no schism, but in the East they will accept any amount of schism but no heresy. And both halves of what should be the one united Church are meant to be corrective of each other's tendencies. Mithrandylan once said on one of the forums that he used to watch all of Charles Coulombe's lectures with Professor Biersach and he watched hours and hours and he thought they were enlightening, but later on after he became a more knowledgeable Catholic, that he couldn't think of a single important thing he learned from those lectures.

It is the devil. The fly. I do really believe in the devil. I do not want to be a witch but I believe they are real. I do not know what powers witches have, but I think their powers are increased greatly now that there are so few good Christians and so many abortions. As man abandons God, God abandons the people to the witches and the vampires. I do wonder if the end of the world is near. I think it is. But Tom says that the Garabandal warning will come first. But Joey Lomangino died blind. And then the Consecration of Russia and then the period of peace and only then the end of the world. I am not so hopeful. I fear the end is nigh. And the antichrist is here and the mark of the beast is the vaccine or something related to it. I told Tom that I would give him twenty dollars if the Warning happened while we were still alive and together in this valley of tears. The warning. What would you do if you could see the state of your soul as it was before the judgement seat of Jesus Christ? Would you go to confession? Or would you hate God even more. I fear many will hate God even more.

So I am home and tomorrow we are going to the orthodox funeral to pay our respects. In this world of pain. I saw a fly and he landed on my right hand in Church as I was looking at Jesus.

Stolen Car And Cancer.

 My father had surgery for cancer in his kidney. They removed a third of one of his kidneys.

My brother drove here from Philly to be with us. Someone stole his car. My brother has bad luck. Bad things always happen to him.

Went to Church today. Ed told me Tom is in the hospital.

Just to remember. My own life is grand.

Simeon

"Listen to me. It is in silence that I speak to souls. Those who flee silence will never hear my voice. Encourage silence and practice it yourself with a renewed dedication, for it is in silence that the Holy Spirit descends, and it is in silence that He works in souls, bringing them to holiness of life, and to the perfection that I desire for each one."

So I finished reading my book, In Sinu Jesu. It was a nice read. I will read it again. It was not the best book I have ever read. The main point of the book was that Jesus likes it when we go to pray before the Blessed Sacrament and that if more people do so with love, the Church will grow strong again. I wish there were more to it, a journal of around 260 pages, but it was comforting to read.

In these times of peace and of calamity I am feeling well for myself. Because of my family I have peace. Without them I would be sad. But none of them listen to me. I am the only believer (well my mother believes a somewhat but not as crazily as I do). Often I think to myself that I am alone. I am the only person I know who wants to love God, and everyone else in my life is a devil worshiper. And I am probably a devil worshiper myself, but am fooling myself. I don't know. But nobody listens to me.

I do not understand why the Novus Ordo exists. I wish it would be wiped off the face of the earth. It is like drinking poison that does not taste good. I consider it valid. But not in a good way. Valid as if a priest walked in to a bakery and pronounced the words of consecration over the bread there and then walked home. Some may say it must be good because it comes from the Church. I don't know. Perhaps Julian is right and it is just bread, or even the body of the devil.

"It's good to be inspired by the saints and by others. Sometimes it's good to imitate some of their actions or devotions. But you are not them, you are you. You are called to be holy in a way no one else is, even if certain things are similar."

This is a quote from a Catholic twitter personality. It reminds me of Saint Simeon Stylites who lived as a hermit atop a pillar and was later copied by other hermits. Imagine walking from one city to the next and seeing three Catholic hermits living on top of pillars, spending their lives in prayer and loving God until they were struck by lightning.

So am I fooling myself? Am I a fool. I want to be good. Am I beyond redemption? Is it too late? I know I have done bad. But am I beyond salvation? Am I alive? Or am I dead, being a corpse who only thinks he is alive, but is being animated by necromancy beyond all hope of redemption? Am I a zombie. I don't know. Cry? When crazy I remember I thought I was a vampire and that my parents had turned me into a vampire. Imagine thinking that while being schizo. I have crazy fits sometimes.

I was disappointed today (Saturday). I went to the local Church for Eucharistic Adoration, but it was not to be. Instead they had the vigil Novus Ordo, which I do not like. I must call the office to see when they have EA and benediction now which I love. I would be happy if I had a traditional Mass, daily, with benediction every night. But I am happy enough.

Today is Sunday (I started writing this yesterday) Went to the indult with mom. A high Mass. I saw some people I knew but did not speak to them today. Mom lit a lot of candles. I hope our SSPX Mass comes back soon in our little rented room.

I decided to stop praying the Rosary in Latin, and go on praying it in English. It seems more humble that way. I should be littler.

Just because I love her, this is my favorite Holy Card. Last year I printed out ten of them and gave them to friends from Church and my brother.

Poor Baby Bird

Just a short image.

Yesterday my mother called to me, "look, there is a baby bird outside." I looked out back and a baby bird, a rather large one, but obviously a baby, was walking around in our backyard. There were no parents. It was squawking. when I saw it I thought to myself, "poor bird, she is dead." And I told my mother that I thought the bird would be eaten by a stray cat. I do not know how to keep a baby bird alive who has no mother to feed her. I can not eat worms and digest them, then vomit them up into the baby birds mouth. That is a game one can play, baby bird. So I let her walk around and live for a while.

Today my brother was gardening and he told us "the baby bird did not make it." There was part of her carcass in the back yard. I guess it was a cat. I do not know if the bird fell or was thrown out of her nest by the mother. I think I remember learning that often when birds have more than one chicks in the nest and they are not able to feed them all, they abandon the ones who are weaker and less likely to live. I thought that is what happened to this bird. I do not know what kind of bird this was, but she was large for a baby bird.

My brother told me that his friend Igor got his pet blue jay when he found her as a baby. She is dead. Perhaps I should have saved her. But then the cat would have gone hungry. Over a decade ago I found a couple of abandoned kittens with no parents and I tried to save them. I fed them milk. That was what the man who owned the pet store told me to do. Then I gave the two cute kittens away and they both died.

Everything Is An Illusion

Just thinking that everything is an illusion. A phantasm of the demons. The houses, cars, buildings, schools, all an illusion. Even the people, some of them are dead, some of them are demons, and some of them are real people. I think the animals are real, and the flowers and the birds. They are so beautiful. And one day we awake and find that there is nothing but God and the angels and the souls of men created by him, beautiful beyond compare, but the world is dust and ashes peopled by demons and by ghosts. Like the man in the hospital who would not eat because he thought all the food was insects and he did not want to eat insects. Nothing but ensure.

So My Life Is Happy Now . . .

So My Life Is Happy Now. I am being bad today. I am having some beer. For the quarantine, to relieve stress I am indulging in alcohol once or twice a week. It is a preventative measure. I have been happy. You know how my life has been. I have my prayers and my walks and dinner and then to bed. I give a tithe of my time to the good God. Since I got out of the hospital in late July I have been pious for me. And very happy. I am happy for my family. But life is frightening. I worry that the devil has got me. That my soul is lost because of my sins. That I have no hope. But they say to "Never despair of God's Mercy." Witchcraft. But I never signed anything in my blood. Mrs. Greenblood was her name.

I was in the car with my father and "Like a Rolling Stone" was playing and when he squealed out "As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes And say do you want to make a deal" and I thought that was Dylan singing about how he sold his soul to the devil for fame and fortune and I wondered if my fate was the same as Dylan's. I do believe that most people who are famous have made deals with the devil. That is the price you pay to make it big. Even to make it little. I have made nothing. My life is very simple for American standards, though it is above the level of the homeless man. I have no resources, but no desires. So for all it is I am content. Mrs. Greenblood. Even the homeless man can look up at the sky, listen to the songbirds, and watch the seagulls, and the bees and the butterflies are coming soon. Such beauty is given to all, even in the big city. Acetylene. To cast oneself into the sea to drown at twelve noon on one's thirty-third birthday.

I can understand suicide. If one thinks one is damned and cannot stop sinning. If one is in despair, then suicide will end the length of ones' sins. So that if one ends it the eternal suffering will be less than if one lived a full length of days and continued to sin. But to face that eternity. Even if it would be better to end it than to live. A few years of alcoholism seem better than facing hell just right now even if overall the suffering would be far less.

There must be a lot of people in despair. I wonder. I fear I am among them, but I like piety and thinking about God. Is that all a ruse? Am I among the damned as well? As I feared when listening to Dylan's song? I have little attachment to sin. I do not lust. I could give up the little pleasure of a bit of beer if I had to and I do not drink to drunkenness. I am content. If I do go to hell, I want to love God a little now before I am damned and have a little happiness in my piety for a while. I have no doubts, thought I wrote about doubts in my stories. Everything is real and Jesus lives. Angels and demons. And those who have made a deal. But one can repent. I guess a lot of people believe but hate God so much that they do not want to repent. They would rather be with the devil and suffer than love God in heaven and be happy. The witches. Am I a witch then? My brother once said to his friend "we ruled the world". I don't want to rule the world. I only want to be one of Gemma's thousand friends in heaven. And perhaps know the good God. I cannot imagine that. I can imagine being friends with a beautiful girl.

The most beautiful living girl alive who I know is the beautiful Cecilia. I speak about how most people who I see look ugly as sin, but Cecilia looks beautiful as innocence. Remember how my delusion and the first thing that came to me as part of my craziness was the thought that I could see people's sin and that everyone was a horrible sinner. I hope she finds a good husband and lives a happy life and goes to heaven when she dies. And then there is the lovely Helena who plays the organ. I miss going to Church. It has been a month or so. I told Terry about my little devotion. The one I pray for me and my two friends who I love. The Hail Marys. Just a short post. God Bless You. I may purchase an Icon of St. Mary of Egypt to pray before. She is an important saint to me. Babylon.

Bleeding From The Next

The days are bleeding from one to the next. The girl is still here. And my brother.

I really miss going to Church. I want to go to Holy Innocents for Eucharistic Adoration and prayer but mom and dad don't want me going on to the subway.

I pray at home in my basement, my old and current bedroom. I do not have my Mother of Sorrows by El Greco or my Florentine Crucifix with the Apostles. Now the girl has them. I wonder if she ever looks at them. They are blessed. The Crucifix by my SSPX priest and the Blessed Mother by the local Bishop. When I gave it to him to bless he said "El Greco."

I try to pray a lot. Usually kneeling, sometimes sitting. Sometimes speaking out loud, sometimes mouthing the words. When I wake up, at noon, at three, at six, at night, before bed. On my first walk. The Little Office, the Rosary, short morning and night prayers and the Office of the Dead for an old friend. It is good. I probably pray for a little while and then live.

I have little to do other than my prayers. I go to stores when we need food. I go on my walks. I read a few Catholic websites and look at Instagram. While I pray I often look at pictures of Gemma. I do not have many friends. Some of my Church friends send me text messages or call me on the phone.

I am happy with my life, but I worry about the world's salvation. I like to pray but nobody prays with me. I hope I have peace until I die, hopefully soon, or if not soon, I hope to have peace until the time comes. I am content.

Since the corona virus descended upon us I have been drinking beer. Once or twice a week. I do not think it is a sin because I do not drink too much. But it calms my nerves. I am a weak sinner. Even the monks drank wine under saint Benedict.

One thing I often think about is my strange delusion. The delusion of seeing sin in peoples' faces. That sinfulness can be discerned by looking at people. I cannot judge it. But it haunts me. Probably it is not true, but just most people are ugly. Who knows. I think I look good but who am I to judge. Maybe just most people look like devils. But to think of it. Why do most animals look beautiful, at all times and conditions, but most people look ugly? Why else, except that only humans can sin, and most humans are wicked, the fewness of the saved. We are created by the same God as animals. I have never seen an ugly mourning dove but most of the humans I see are ugly other than innocent children. But then one can think of the ugly animals, like water bugs and cockroaches, as not all animals are beautiful.

Someone was complaining about the lack of charity of supposed Catholics. I know, we argue and complain like sinners. What am I to do? I hope I am not uncharitable, but for sure, I probably am. I try to be good and justified, but the fault is mine, is mine, is mine.

I say often, "Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa" though I wonder if everyone is trying to catch me in a snare. To say to me "Aha! Aha! You are a hypocrite! Aha!"

To think of things. Often I think everyone has sold his soul to the devil, who is not actively trying to be good. In their hearts, if not in their heads. Either me or the devil or God, and mostly me or the devil.

I really like my little prayer cards with pictures of Gemma. The best purchase I have made, even better than my Little Office. I can look at them and see my beautiful girl and the mark of the Crucifixion forever and ever.

I do want to be an honest man. But how can I abide in this world? In this world?

I do not hate myself, for God made me. I hate my sins, but I have been trying to be good for a while. I know my try is not good enough. But I am not despairing. My try. I hope to give my God my tithe and hope it is enough on the last day, when the good God judges the world by fire, the world by fire.

The Dead

Everyone is dead. The world is full of skeletons walking. Pestilence is our father. Worms are our sister. Dead bodies enlivened by necromancy.

I like to think of myself as a living creature. The living, the living. I pray for the dead. I hope I am alive. The living, the living. But I am a creature. A creature has a creator. The Office of the dead for a poor dead soul whom I love. One can pray for the living as well as the dead. Poor souls. Among the living as well as among the dead.

There is a famous sermon where a pessimistic sainted priest relates two private revelations where it is claimed that basically only one out of every ten thousand or so people who grow to adulthood are saved. It is something that people talk about on the internet where all everything ever written is kept in digital databases and people share the strangest things. Even I am not so pessimistic. Because these stories come down to us from times when the people were more pious. To think at a time where everyone went to Mass and everyone tithed and they built all those beautiful Churches which I have never visited and never will visit, as I am a creature of New York and will never travel to Europe or South America to see them. But it is frightening. To think that all of those souls who contributed so much to the Church and lived far better lives than we did are damned. Are there no children of God?

But in these times I try to have a heart full of love. I am just a poor creature. Of no account. I am of no account. One day a possibly drunken man came up to me and kissed my hand and said I was a good man. No I was a great man. It was so strange that it seemed like a hallucination. I spoke to him for only a moment and then went away. It was as if I was a noble lord and he was my peasant. Though he was an old man. I should have stayed with him. But that was a few months ago.

Nodoby knows me. Prayer in this time of plague. I am feeling okay. On the day after St. Patrick's day, when Michael arrived with the girl, I was so stressed out that I had to have some beer for the second night in a row. My father was worried so he drank with me to make sure I was alright. Then I finished and went right to bed. I am not an alcoholic, but sometimes, and it is not very common, I get stressed out, and when I do, I like to have beer and it cuts my nerves and helps me sleep, and usually I feel better in the morning. This time I felt better, and now, four days later, I am almost perfect. I still would like to go to confession. I did not fall into a new sin, but I was thinking of something I did a long time ago and felt remorse for it and a pain of soul came upon me. But Mass was cancelled and the Churches are closed. I may call a priest and ask if he could meet me so I could confess. I am young and have no symptoms so it would be no danger to him.

Prepare for death. For when it comes, it comes quickly, and the preparation for death is the only thing that matters in this life.

I am not afraid and my nerves are getting better. I just wish things would go back to normal soon. Pestilence is our father. Worms are our sister. Not that I am afraid. But I would rather be praying before the Blessed Sacrament than alone and I would rather eat heavenly bread than mere human bread, even the finest sourdough from the best bakery.

I may indeed go to the Lourdes Grotto again. But not tomorrow for it is supposed to be raining.

I was reminded of the Japanese director Kenji Mizoguchi and how he made some wonderful movies. If I ever get back into watching movies, I think his should be the first ones I watch. I don't like most movies anymore.

In this time of pestilence perhaps I should listen to more classical music. And maybe some old Church music. I have to go pray for the dead now. I am waiting for the time when there will be nothing to eat but rice. Everyone is dead. Especially here in New York City. The whole city is a mirage. A fantasy like the spirit house in "Ugetsu" and we are really living in ruins and desolation but our soul is tricked into thinking we are in a beautiful mansion. When will this veil be lifted?

The living. The living. Everyone is dead here in New York City. Everyone is dead.

I Am Grateful

I am grateful. I am grateful for my family I have, and who take care of me. They let me live with them without paying rent, though I share my meager stipend with them when there is a need. If I were forced to survive on my own, I fear I would end up in the street. But they let me live with them.

My life is simple. I am crazy and I cannot think straight. I cannot remember things and I am always losing things. So I am useless. I can not work. I get a little disability check because the doctors determined that I was a bad case. It is good because it allows me to go to Church, give a little tithe and go out for coffee after Mass with my friends without begging my parents for money.

This is my life, which I am grateful for. I try to live a silent life. I avoid television and movies and the radio for the most part. I like peace and quiet. I do not usually get bored. I like to go to Church to sit before Jesus. And pray. The Church is a block and a half from my house and Jesus is there so I can go visit Him like a good friend. He looks at me from the tabernacle. I go at least once a day, though ideally I would go three times. Once at noon, once at three, and once at six. I say my prayers. Lately I have been trying to pray from my prayer book. In my free time, I do use the computer I am typing on. I think I use it too much, though I do not do anything bad on it. It is an attachment to the world. On Thursdays in the mid-day I walk to the neighboring Church for Benediction. I always see the grackles on my walk there, south of the avenue. I saw them again today. And at night I make my little holy hour and look at pictures of Gemma crucified. On Fridays they have Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction at my local parish so I go there during the day and at night for the blessing. And Sunday is the best day. Now that Mass is in the evening, I go a little early, and listen to Vespers at the indult parish, before going to our little upper room for our Low Mass. There is music now because of the Lovely Helena. And afterwards we talk of things in the Church and in the world and about our lives.

I have a happy life. But my parents are getting older. They will not live forever. Without them life would be difficult. So I am grateful for the time I have with them. My father hurt his knee this week so I have been helping him. He can barely walk. Today he got a cortisone shot and an x-ray. I am happier than I have ever been, since the last time I got out of the hospital in late July. Though I am also alone. My parents do not go to Church with me. They must think I am strange going to Church all the time. And I have no girlfriend or wife. But I do not feel lonely on this account like I used to. I can not explain why. Like when I was a child, I do not need a woman in my life to be happy. The need for a woman is a sign of a fall. It is better to be happy alone, than to have your happiness rely on the whims of a woman. To be able to be happy alone, but still have a woman, is another state. I have never been in that state. I do not worry about it, though, because of my condition it is unlikely to ever happen. I am like a nice young man with down syndrome. Crippled, alone, but happy. I wish I were as innocent as they are.

I imagine I would be happier with a girlfriend or a wife, but I do not grieve it. I still love women and am entranced when I see them walking around, if they are beautiful, or modest. But immodesty is ugly to me and makes me happy I am alone rather than with such a woman. The women at Church dress nicely and decently so it is good to see them, even though I feel like they are above me because of my condition.

I am grateful for God because I am happy. I feel like he is taking care of me. And I feel he has forgiven me for the sins of my youth. So many sins. It was difficult and painful but I feel the suffering had a purpose. But now I have peace. Trouble may come again, but now is a happy time for me. I feel as if I have grace. I have joy. I want to sing and I do to myself when I go out walking.

I do not have a wife, but I have a heavenly mother and the saints, including my favorite, my poor poor Gemma. If I go to heaven one day I will be one of her friends there. They keep me company and are good friends to me when I am alone. I have my Church friends and Julian who I visit and get Father to visit with the Blessed Sacrament.

So my life is happy. For now. As long as my parents are able to help me. It would be good if I die before they do. I am not afraid of death. If I was right with God I would be happy to die. Get this mortal life done with so the real life can begin. But then I may be damned. I fear that less now than I used to. So I am very grateful.

Roses

Julian today. He has a crush. He asked me to get him roses to give to his aide. He is in love with her or something. So I got him five roses to give to her. I saw his sister too. I love Julian. But he is a funny guy. He is very pious. And his beliefs are strange as a faithful follower of Most Holy Family Monastery. So I visited him. He is my good friend.

He spoke of how he is worried God is angry at him for his sinful past. And I reassured him that he has been trying to be good for a long time. For me it has been twelve years. But time really flies for me ever since I was diagnosed. Twelve years in the blink of an eye. It does not seem so long, but the days are never ending. I am faithful.

It has been a while since I have written anything. I have abandoned my writing. I haven't looked at it in a while or began something new. I deleted most of my writing except for one story and I still have the two screenplays. I know nothing will come of them, but they were my own ideas and my thoughts on life and love of women. It was important to me for a few months and now it is not. I was driven to write them, and now they are put away. When I was a child I had the things of a child, but now that I am grown I put away the things of a child and take up the things of a man. When he was a child she gave him a toy to make him smile but now that he is all grown he has no need of toys.

It has been a while, but I have become very un-materialistic. I live simply. I need food to live. Other than coffee I do not have many non-necessities. Sometimes with my spare change I buy religious items. A cross, a rosary, a book. This month I ordered a missal. I have a 1962, this one is a 1945. I am happy with my simple life. It seems strange to me that many people are materialistic. Perhaps I am wise, I do not know.

But tonight is the last night before Lent. I am celebrating. I think of God, but I am not praying so much today except to give thanks and my rosary. And I am going out to dinner with my mother, and I am having beer tonight before I go to bed. And then tomorrow the time of penance begins.

But like a trappist, or a buddhist monk I am happy with less. I find that once one's basic needs are met, one does not need much to be happy. But I am not starving or being tortured. Sometimes I wonder what my future will be like if I am living in a mental institution with other crazy people when I get older. I think I would like it as long as they don't abuse me.

So it is good visiting Julian in the nursing home. And I will celebrate tonight.

I am happy so I am boring. Only suffering and pain are really interesting. So I am a boring person. I am looking forward to the spring when there will be more birds, more singing, and more bees and butterflies again. I will go on my daily walks when the weather is warmer and look at the beautiful flowers and the life living and the leaves on the trees. But things like that do not interest people, all we care about is sex and kinkiness.

I am a child. And then there is twitter. I hope you enjoy carne-vale and have a happy and productive Lent. For Lent I will fast. One meal at night, most often my rice and lentils, and in the afternoon I plan on having a collation of toast with butter and jelly and coffee. Some people care about the food bits and the fasting. I will not be eating any meat all Lent and no fish.

Think of death. Our only friend. I want to have a human skull on my desk to look at and hold in my hand. I wonder if amazon sells them.

Later: I am back from dinner. I am having my beer now. Slowly, not too much, but enough to make me sleep easy. At dinner, and it was a benefit dinner for the drama club of the local Catholic Church, our priest was there, Father H. He came up to me and said I was a "saintly man". I guess he sees me praying in Church sometimes. I told him he should have benediction more, and if he did, I would go. And he told me that at Saint Benny's they were going to extend Eucharistic Adoration to all day which is nice. More people get to go and look at Jesus. Sometimes I go and read from my prayer books. But it is nice to look into His heart and make little ejaculations or prayerful thoughts and just gaze at Him. When you look at Him, He looks at you. It is real. I don't believe, I know. There are some things you know which don't need explanation. Julian is wrong, Jesus it there in the Blessed Sacrament. I know he is. Julian is blind. I can see. God would not abandon all the world, except for a few thousand people. He is present even until the end of the world.

But I am a boring person. I am happy. It is good to drink beer. I was talking to Julian about sex and we are  both strict on that. I told him, that for sex to be good, the man and woman should get together and pray to God and then say, please give us a child, before they engage in the act every time, and only then would sex be good. To pray for a child. I do not want to have a child, because I am too crazy to be a good Father. The only reason I wish I were sane, is because if I were sane I could support a wife and a family and have children. I would love children. But I am not able to support them and no wife would have me. But I am happy enough, even though I am alone. I used to be addicted to sex, but now I am free of that addiction. I know what sex is, but now I am like a little child who knows nothing about sex and has no desire for it as if it were completely irrelevant to him. Even though I love women still. There is a woman I love, but I do not want to marry her. If anything I hope to meet her one day in heaven and then we can have a long conversation that lasts forever and ever. But none of us deserve heaven. We are wicked little brats fit for nothing but damnation. The priests would do best to lie to us and say that all of us are saved and let us have a little pleasure before our damnation. A little pleasure before the infinite suffering. But I am happy so I am boring. Have peace and give a pence to the good God. I do not hate Him, even if there is a hell.

On Suicide

Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae, sanctis Apostolis Petro and Paulo, et omnibus Sanctis, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo and opere, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelen Archangelum, beatum Joannam Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, et omnes Sanctos, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.

Miseratur nostri omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis nostris, perducat nos ad vitam aeternam. Amen.

Indulgentiam, absolutionem, et remissionem peccatorum nostrorum, tribuat nobis omnipotens et misericors Dominus. Amen.

I confess to almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the Saints, that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore I beseech blessed Mary ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and all the Saints, to pray to the Lord our God for me.

May the almighty and merciful God have mercy upon us, forgive us our sins, and bring us unto life everlasting. Amen.

May the almighty and merciful Lord grant us pardon, absolution, and remission of our sins. Amen.

In my life I only have a few friends now. I count as friends only among the people who I know from Church, (not because they share the same religion, but because I don't really know many people other than Church friends, except neighbor acquaintances and doctors and fellow crazy patients). And of those only one is a true friend and that is Julian. Julian is like a Russian Old believer, only Catholic. I love him dearly. You see he went blind and cannot see. So I visit him in the nursing home where he lives and bring him food. And he likes to pray so we pray the Saint Michael chaplet. There are also other friends from Church, but Julian is the closest. Next is angry Tom and Cora who moved far away but calls me at least once a month and sends me text messages asking me to pray for her. So I have only one real friend.

But there are other people who I love dearly. You see I have heard speak of suicide among two people who I love. I do not know what to say about that. Neither of these people believe what I believe. I hope they do not go through with it. One is more serious than the other. One mentioned it as a reality already attempted but failed with the likelihood of attempting it again. The other mentioned it more like some beautiful ideal, but not a reality to be chosen immediately.

I am not a movie expert. But the most beautifully filmed movie that in my eyes (of the few that I know) was a late silent film called Tabu, the last film directed by Murnau. It was gorgeous. At the end a man swims into the ocean as far as he is able until his strength fails him and he falls beneath the waves and drowns.

Nobody cares what I write and I do not think the person I am thinking of will ever read this. But what must one think of suicide? I do not know what the person believes. Whether atheist, or satanist, or agnostic. What can I say?

To my mind there is nothing worse that one can do than suicide. Not because it is the worst sin, but because it is one's last act. To end one's life with mortal sin means hell for there is no chance for repentance. I don't know if they believe this. I do not know if they care about me or anything or even know that there is a crazy person far away who loves them and would be heartbroken if they did it or if they care. They already know of friends and family who would be sadder so I am not that important. And the pain that is near and deep is more powerful than the pain of another who may know thee and care. The demon that is gripping one seems stronger than the angel that is far away.

I have been through suffering. Everyone suffers. It is as if it is the meaning of life after the fall. I imagine the devils have a lot to do with suicide. I imagine they grab into souls in despair and sadness and tempt them to off themselves, and when they succeed they drag their souls to hell and gleefully, in their agony, can they sense glee? Yes, glee is a wicked thing. Drag them down forever and forever. It must take a lot of egging on. It is something that I not considered even in my darkest moments. I stopped at black-out drunkenness until I could no longer remember. Perhaps I am innocent. And then when I was tormented by my demons for so long I believed so suicide was not an option so I stopped at frantic prayer in my agony. I have my own demons. Even when I was in the hospital lately the priest thought I was possessed and prayed over me prayers of exorcism and now I am at peace so perhaps they worked. My whole psychosis is caked in religious themes of angels and demons and has been since its beginning.

But if someone I loved, and the person is someone I love but am not close to at all so I cannot just call them on the phone like a good friend, were to commit suicide? My relationship to her is like a person who likes an actress he sees in the movies and thinks about her often. I don't want to think of it or have it happen. But it is out of my hands. I hope it is just bluster and not a serious threat. If it happened, then when I thought of this person I would have to think, she is in hell. And if I am saved I will never meet her again and if I am damned I will be with her forever, but I will no longer love her but would hate her forever. Sometimes in one's romantic moments one might have thought of some girl in one's lust and have said to oneself "when I am in hell, I want to be by her side" but if it ever happens one will regret ever having thought of it.

I am just hoping it does not happen. I have no ears who listen to these words but I do pray. Hopefully I am misunderstanding things and nothing bad is really happening (except to the animals in factory farms).

It is a sensible thing to do. If one is in pain and that pain is unbearable, one thinks one can end that pain by an overdose or a noose or even a trigger. But what if it is not the end of the pain but merely the beginning of the real pain, the pain that never ends?

I don't know. I feel that most people these days must be tormented by the demons. I am at peace. Now. The demons are not bothering me now. I wish that I could take on some of the demons that are hurting other people to myself so that they could have some peace. Or have them go away because of prayers. I don't know. I would take a little suffering to ease another person's pain. I could bear a little more than I have now. Are we in this world together?

Often I pensee that we are in hell and we are all damned and that there is no hope for us and this life will go on forever and never end. Perhaps we will die in the end only to be born again in a new hell and the suffering will continue forever. However one might think this world is not all that bad for being hell. A good point. Or I can think that I do not remember my particular judgment by Jesus so I cannot be in hell. But perhaps when one is born into hell one forgets their "birth" as one forgets the beginning of one's life in the world. Often I think that I am already damned but have gone on living. As if my sins are unforgivable and there is no more mercy available and that everyone else is in the same boat so we are all merely waiting for the inevitable damnation (one must say that there was a private revelation where the Virgin lamented that if men continue to go in in sin there will reach a time where there will no longer be any pardon from God. Perhaps we have reached that time. I know I have played my part). "Some drink, some become sex addicts, and some go on hoping." Others kill themselves with this thought: "Yes, it is a sin and I will be punished, but it will end my life and thus I will not go on living, piling sin upon sin, so in the end I will be better off and my eternity will be a little less painful." While I was in the hospital my parents visited me as often as it was allowed. The nurses and other patients pointed out how good they were to visit me so often. One time I thought that they were vampires and they had turned me into a vampire as a child and now I was un-dead and I got angry at them for stealing my soul and condemning me to eternal damnation before I was old enough to choose for myself. One thinks strange thoughts when one is a paranoid schizophrenic (though usually I am not paranoid).

So I do not blame one for committing suicide, more than any other sin. I do not think it is the act of a coward. But the effects are unthinkable as I believe . . . and in my mind, I know. Perhaps one can think that after they swallowed the pills and before they passed out they repented and called out to God and were forgiven, but they also say one generally dies as one lives and such repentance is rare. I am a nobody. But I cry out in the wilderness and nobody hears me. Nobody has crossed the Jordan to receive my baptism. Perhaps because I am not a saint. I am a fool. Yes, but a fool who loves, but I have converted no one. Perhaps I strengthen the faith of a few, like Julian, who knows, but I am a little man. A poor fool of no account. All alone. What God cares of my prayers? How many have prayed for those who they loved, yet despite their prayers, the ones they have loved were damned?

Yes or no. Nobody reads this anyway. I hope out loud, but nobody hears me. I hope and pray. It is Christmas soon. Merry Christmas. Go to Church and pray, even if you do not believe anymore. Don't hate life.

Depression

I have never suffered from serious depression. I should be depressed materially speaking. I am alone. I am crazy. I have little money. I have no girlfriend and doubt I will ever marry (I certainly have no prospects) or have a family. But I am happy. I am fortunate that my psychosis is not supplemented with depression so that while I might end up in the psych ward again I will likely not kill myself.

But thinking more about my life, this is not entirely true. I had a short period of time where I used to be extremely depressed in the past. For a short year or so before I went crazy I felt very lonely without a girlfriend or meaningful relationships and fought depression with booze and sex. It did not help. They were just distractions. And then I had my year of hell. But now I am happy.

What changed to make me happy? Two things happened. (Well three, I went through hell). One, I went crazy. And two, I became religious. Perhaps there is something about being crazy that makes one happier, but that does not seem right. But I think my being religious helps me be happier. I have come to the conclusion that making a good confession is more helpful psychologically than any other factor in my life, or else, something about the ritual has such a very strong placebo effect that it is extraordinary. I am not consumed and oppressed with foreboding and guilt and regret. And feeling that I am not alone, even though I am so very alone, but have a God and the saints to give me comfort and friendship is very helpful. Also avoiding strong addictive physical stimulations such as sex and alcohol also seem to help me be happier. I have a measure of peace now, more than I have ever had and I am generally happy. I do not have as much pleasure as I used to have, but in the dead of night when all is quiet I do not feel miserable or wretched, I can sleep without booze and am content and happy. And while I have daily cares and worries, all I have to do is look at a tree or up at the sky or at a bird and I will have joy. Even the homeless can look up at the sky and at the clouds or at the moon or at the stars (even in the city we can see a few of the stars).

I am materially okay, not in need. This is an important factor, so I am not on the street or in danger of being on the street (for now, but not forever). But this was also the case when I was miserable.

The picture is Danica crying because I was thinking about depression because of her. I learned that she is having a sad time in her life. Nobody reads this blog and she probably will not see this so I hope she won't mind me using her so very beautiful picture here.

At one time in my life there was a boy who had a crush on me, but I was only interested in women, but I unwisely was friendly with him, and he once overdosed in my company on purpose, perhaps over me, or just out of depression, I am not certain, so he was on the floor of my room as I waited for him to wake up. I do not know if he truly meant to try to kill himself, but he survived. It was such a strange time in my life, chaotic, my time of misery before my year of hell. Our relationship did not end well, but it did not end in suicide for either of us. I am such a wretched person.

So my cure in general for my own depression was to make peace with God and go to confession (as despair and guilt was a large part of my sadness). However this only works if one believes in God and no longer wants to do those things considered to be sins and is willing to change one's life and one can not force this. And this does not work if one is already at peace with God and is still depressed or if sin is not in part the cause one one's depression. I also think reducing the amount of sensory pleasure also makes me happier and less depressed, though this does not make sense at first. The hangover is always worse than the high is good in a way. I do not know if secular therapy is helpful for those with depression. I go to secular therapy and it does not help me, but my problem is psychosis and not depression. Medicine is helpful for me and I like going to therapy because I don't have many friends and it is fun to talk to people but it is no cure. But I imagine it is helpful for depression for those who do not have other meaningful relationships where one can be honest and cut to the heart without being afraid to show one's weakness and one's ugliness. I would think that talking about one's wounds must help if one's depressed, but there is no absolution so the guilt remains. And there are wounds where there is no guilt at all which still bite and cut so what happens to such wounds as these? I know my wounds were mostly of my own making. I was guilty and was not innocent. I was not solely a victim like a girl abused.

I do not know if anti-depressants work or if they are only distractions like alcohol (though I doubt they are as destructive as alcohol). I only know that some psychiatric medicines work to some degree because my psychosis is helped by the medicine I take (usually!).

My life is not as tragic as most people's, so I do not have as many wounds or as many reasons to be depressed. My greatest wounds were my guilt and then the terrors of the demons from my year in hell (which to me was as harsh abuse as most suffering from the hands of men).

I am not a teacher> I am only a fool. I have no followers. I hope to have a quiet peaceful life followed by a happy eternity in heaven. But many believe that such an eternity does not exist. For the past four months I have been well. And if there is no after life I hope to have the same quiet peaceful life.

But I have been crying a bit lately. But my tears have been happy tears for the most part, or meaningful tears. Crying over my sins or the sufferings of Our Lord or with happiness at the grace of God or His redemption. Perhaps these are fantasies. But I would not give back these tears.

I am so very alone. I have my parents but they are not a wife or children. And soon they will die. I hope to have peace and I wish you all have peace as well.

For a while before my last relapse I was feeling very lonely and I was not always happy. I also was drinking a bit which was likely on part the cause. I would think how my life had no meaning without a wife and a family of my own, and while I was writing my stories about a relationship I did not have in reality, this added to my sense of sadness. At times I would want nothing more than a wife and children. And most men are made for family. Yet I will likely never have this and certainly do not have it now. It is one thing to be sad because one loses a lover, but it is another to know that one will likely never have a lover again. But now even though I am so alone, I am happy now (but not always).

Anyway I am no teacher> I was just thinking about these things and hoping for the best . . .

Going to Doctors in Old Age

Lingering on to a life
Not worth living
Till death comes.

I was talking to my mother about how she is going to all these doctors and how she could afford it. Medicare pays for it she says. I love my mother. But thinking about it I wonder how it is sustainable. If all of the fifty million old people go to doctors as frequently as she does and doctors want to make their quarter of a million a year and the insurance companies have to make their billions and the drug companies have to make their billions, and it is all paid for by the government, doesn't that seem unsustainable? I have a good doctor, but I do not know who are the greater leeches, doctors or university professors, or public employees? I am a leech myself, but I am infirm, so the leechness is not of my own making. But all of those old people contribute nothing to society according to the mind of the utilitarian (the old retired people). So they are only kept alive for nostalgia sake if one wants to be a utilitarian. I am also only kept alive for the same reason. But somebody has to pay for all of this. I only take a little, but what of the doctor who makes his quarter of a million and all of his clients are on Medicare being paid for by tax dollars? This is why I imagine pretty soon they are just going to deny care to old people to save money and let them die off in large numbers. Disabled people as well. I am not a libertarian, but sometimes I think like one. I can not decide if the world is threatened more by the governments or the big corporations, so I can not decide if it would be better to be a socialist or a libertarian. Perhaps our society has reached the point of no return as I suspect. I do not foresee an environmental catastrophe, but rather the boot stage. So far I am left alone and am able to survive for the moment. I do not have to watch television and I can be quiet and pray and they let me go to Church. I have food and shelter. I do not go to public school so I am not indoctrinated for six hours every day. I have my share of peace. But there is Twitter.

Nobody told me it would be this way. It is interesting going to benediction and adoration at the local Catholic Churches. It is mostly Spanish women. A lot of the people hold out their arms as if they can feel the grace of God flowing into their hearts from the Blessed Sacrament. There is one strange man who mumbles prayers in a low voice and often he brings a Bible to read and write in. I can recognize the Novus Odro version of the Confiteor but the rest is to me only mumbling. An old woman with a machine that makes creaking noises that helps her breath through a tube. A man with white hair who is handsome. And the beautiful Polish woman. Sometimes around noon there is a young man with black hair who reads the Breviary on his iPad. I imagine he may want to become a priest. I do not talk with the other people who go to pray. Except for the one time Christian came to talk to me. But I remember what they look like. I hope they are good people. Some of the women wear veils or hats, but not the majority. At Holy Child on Friday nights when there is Benediction, there is incense and it is usually presided over by a deacon. The Spanish deacon, when it is his turn, makes a big deal over it, praying the Rosary, giving a sermon, chanting hymns, and then the Benediction and the Divine Praises. The other deacon just does the Benediction and a prayer for vocations. I like when the Spanish deacon presides even though he prays a lot in Spanish and I cannot understand it. He seems to have the faith, or if not the faith, he believes something. With his Jesus and his demons.

God is patient
God is kind
We are always
On his mind.

One, Two, Three, Four
Someone's knocking on your door.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight
Someone's waiting at your gate.

Into the sea, Into the sea
Mother is waiting
We go to the sea.

Everyone has their beliefs that are dear to them. One of mine is the belief that God created the world as is recorded in Genesis. I get upset when other Catholics reject this, and so many do, probably most of them. I feel as if they are crucifying Christ with their infidelity and it is an infidelity that none of them recognize and they go on and act as if they still have the faith. So I see them as very dangerous to believers. Little snakes within the sanctuary. I say this because I got upset at someone online for this reason the other day. Snakes in the sanctuary. Often these snakes think they are enlightened and that those who have faith in the scriptures are ignorant little children and that they are the superior elite. They are snakes, so I got upset. A bunch of asps biting Christians like the Jews in the desert, and dragging them to eternal ruin with their venom. I am not an important person and nobody listens to me.

Our Church is now at five o'clock in the evening. It gives me a lot of time to kill during the day. So I have been visiting various Churches to pray before I go to our little mission in the upper room. It seems as if not as many people can go out after Mass to eat like we used to in the afternoon. Yesterday it was me and just one other man, instead of six or seven or eight people. I hope this does not continue as I rather enjoy the talking after Mass. The more the merrier. Next week I am looking forward to meeting an old friend from Church who has not been there for a while. So I will be happy to see him.

Principalities and Powers

I live in a world all of my own. I am protected from the world by my family. I hope that when they leave me that I will find new protection. Perhaps a kind social worker or my brother. But currently my brother is in no place to protect me. In fact it is more like I am protecting him as I am giving him money to eat. My brother. I am as happy as I can be. Not ecstatic, but content. A quiet joy in everything I do. But that is because everything is going well for me. I am healthy, except for being insane. We have enough money to eat as always. I get to go to Church regularly to pray. The only problems are my brothers which effect my father as he is always begging from him. Strenuously because his life is falling apart.

Perhaps I will die before my parents. Or if not, I hope to find help. I get disability money, so that is something. Hopefully I would have a place to live. A wall to hang my crucifix and my Mater Dolorosa on so I could look at them as I am lying in bed. And you know what else. So I live in a world all on my own. It is strange to say what I believe. I believe in God and am a Catholic. I believe the world is controlled by principalities and powers, fallen demons who give orders to their minions, various non-believers who control us in an attempt to ensnare every soul in the world so everyone goes to Hell. But they do not have complete control because God is also there and he does not allow them to do everything they would wish to do. But he is allowing us to fall into the hands of the fallen principalities and powers because of our sins. And the sins of our parents. "His blood be upon us and our children!" is what the Jews said, but his blood is also on us. It is not all the Jews, as we are guilty as well.

I wish I was innocent. I am not innocent. My hands are stained with blood. But I recoiled in horror and am trying to be good. With some success. But I look back at my life sometimes and think of some of the bad things I did. I do not long for my sins. I hate them. I cringe at them. So I guess that means I am penitent. If there was a sinner who stopped sinning and went to confession, but he still looked back on his sins with happiness, would he go to hell? I would think so. As one must hate one's sins, or at least the worst ones.

What is the point of this blog, but to show my heart to a few people. If anyone cares they can read this. It is so strange that I doubt I have many repeat readers. It is not meant to be interesting but to be a record of my thoughts. A record that will probably not stand. If I wanted to be popular my shtick would have to be yet another traditionalist Catholic blog. There are quite a lot of them. Considering how few people go to the Latin Mass it is as if ten percent of them have blogs. I could talk about the news, how bad the idolatry in the Church is and how horrible that article by the writer in the liberal Catholic press's hit piece about the Latin Mass was. I don't think I will ever convince anyone. I pray but nobody cares about me. I have not even convinced my parents or my brother. So how will I ever convince anyone else. They do say that a prophet is never accepted in his home town. But I am not a prophet. I did have my one vision, so if I stretched the truth I could call myself a mystic, though the truth is likely that I am merely crazy. I admit it. But nobody can take my world away from me. It exists for me from the hands of God alone. And I am the only sane man in the world, yet I am crazy. Or one of a few. And I do mean that but it is probably a delusion.

So some bloggers want to be popular. I want to be an unknown outsider. I want to remember my thoughts and maybe a few others will like me. I would like to have friends.

There is one blogger I like to think of. He is a sedevacantist for those who know what that is. I once questioned his faith because he believed in evolution and he gave a response that was frankly not convincing at all. Basically saying that the "days" of Genesis could mean long periods of time. This is disingenuous because he does not believe in the proper order stated in Genesis so instead of believing in scripture but disagreeing with the meaning of the word translated as "day", he rejects the whole thing as a pious fiction. I can see no honesty in such a man (without naming him). Guile. As if one can nitpick people and call the entire hierarchy heretics while daring to believe in evolution. Evolution is a nuclear bomb to the modern man's faith and ecumenism is just a little musket fire. Lately I have even been in a geo-centrist mood, but in my mind I do not go so as some of the proud few do.

There is a woman who bought the house next door to me. She is a Spanish lady. I do not even remember her name. But she is always talking to me. She goes to therapy at the same clinic I go to. I saw her there once but I did not think it was her. She told me the other day that I was her best friend. Either she was lying or she does not have a lot of friends. She always tells me to go to the gym. I talk to her. My parents don't trust her. But what bad motive could she have for talking to me. She knows I cook for the family and like going to Church. She asks me why I don't have a girlfriend. Last time we talked I said because I am poor and because I go to the hospital. She did not offer to be my girlfriend herself. She has a young daughter in the local Catholic elementary school. If I had a girlfriend we would have to be virtuous. Two little saints. But I do not want to get married because I do not want children. Not that I do not want them, but I am not able to take care of them because I am crazy. And no good woman would want a crazy husband. Memento Mori. Is that how it is said? I am not afraid of death. Not at all. If it were to approach I would probably be afraid. Not of death, but of the pain. But probably of death as well. Memento Mori.

Vermin

"I am a worm and not a man." I remember reading about that phrase from the greatest of all the Psalms and the priest said that the word worm, "vermin," referred to a specific type of worm that was crimson and lived in wood and had little legs kind of like a centipede and that it was a symbol of Christ on the cross.

So when I was younger I took magic mushrooms and wandered through the woods and fell deep into darkness and sin.

When I converted I had to find my way back out of the woods. So I prayed and I wandered and I prayed. I remember wandering through the woods, chasing birds and licking mushrooms and smelling flowers, wandering blindly, praying the Rosary constantly, sometimes in tears, sometimes consumed with joy, thinking I was led by the spirit of God. Walking around, praying, carrying stones, climbing trees and fighting trees. I did many strange things, trying to be humble.

And I remember deep in the woods picking up an old rotting stick seemingly at random and breaking it in two. And I saw a red worm curled up within the wood now exposed and I thought it was the vermin that I had read about and I had encountered Christ in my prayer, the Word made flesh. The symbol in nature as I found him while wandering through the woods. I did so many strange things and now I think I am among the living. I am trying to be good now.

Listening to my parents. I want to be like a little child like Christ said we must be. Like the Little Flower, who I follow, though I stubbornly prefer my Gemma.

I am bad to my parents. I will try to honor them more and obey better. I get frustrated at the mess.

A Ghost on a String

A Ghost on a String. I think I am alive. But I do not understand the world. I am not wise. I am a fool who knows nothing and lets everyone bleed me until my veins are dry. But I have hope. Despair was a bitter pill, but I do not feel that way right now. When I was in the hospital I thought I was in Limbo and then I thought I had descended into hell and then I escaped. The onion did not break on me. I was there for three weeks. I thought it was one. What did I do in all those times that were erased from my memory? My parents visited me every day. Was I alone? Were all of the other inmates phantasms, imaginary people who did not really exist or were they demons or were they lost souls? Were they all just ghosts on a string? Or were they real? Who is real? I do not even know what I am doing. Reality is something I can not grasp. Everything is enchanted. Are my eyes open or am I blind? The doctor from Cornell was there with all the other lost souls and he said of me that I was the most innocent person there. He could read my soul. Everyone can read my soul. My Father told me that people could smell my naivete. I do not think that is true. I do not think I am naive. S'Blood! But I know enough to know that they can smell it. I can not smell but I have eyes. I do not understand. There were a few people in my life. Should I reach out to them? Does anyone ever think about me? And most of my old friends were (Secret).

I saw Andrea and we had a wonderful time. Laughter is the best medicine (laughter and tears). I never had a lot of friends. Who would want to talk to me now? I have so little experience. I have Church friends. They are good, The older folks are carrying heavy crosses. But there are some who are young. The Lovely Helena should be coming back to New York soon. She is perfect. And Cecilia is so very beautiful. And Marie Therese has the perfect name. I have to get my act together. I am out of the hospital. Now I have to grow up and stop being a child. Hopefully I get work soon or learn how to multiply loaves so I can support myself somehow. I don't have a lot of connections. I don't know people who can get me ahead in life. But I am alive. That is more important than having work.

The Mayor of Kew Gardens

When I worked at Cafe Bliss I met "The Mayor of Kew Gardens". That was what he went by and was not an official title. He was on old, bald Jewish guy who lived in an apartment building in the neighborhood. He would hold court in our cafe and all of his men and women would gather there and I would serve them. I made a promise to him. That when he died I would take a bialy and a cup of coffee and put it on his gravestone (It would be a toasted bialy with butter and a small light and sweet coffee. That is how I like it and not how he likes it). He said he was to be buried in Maple Grove Cemetery, which has an entrance on Lefferts Blvd. and Kew Gardens Rd. It is a famous cemetery and they give out maps with markers for where the famous people are buried. Most of them were from a century ago. It is like Kew Gardens died when Kitty Genovese was murdered. She died right in front of the Cafe where I worked at, near the Long Island Railroad station. It is like she is haunting us and has unfinished business. His name was Aaron but I do not remember his last name.

The Mayor had a good friend named Stanley who was as ancient as the morning dew on Mars. He would show up early in the morning, always before daybreak as he could not stand the light of the sun. He would come in before sunrise at six in the morning and I would serve him. He only came on special days as he was weak and old and weary. They say he was a painter. But now he is old and his blood runs thin. Just a little more blood. In the mornings before the dawn. I never saw him under the sun, only under the moonshine before the sun peeks out over the horizon. Poor Stanley. I hope he enjoyed the coffee I made for him, and the little food. A life lived from a coffin only to rise on a blue moon in the few minutes before the day begins. He was a painter. I do not know whatever happened to Stanley. I imagine he is dead by now.

So I have to close the door on the past and find out where Aaron is buried. What was his last name? I can not remember. I went to visit Cafe Bliss which is under new management but I did not recognize anyone. And even if I did my parents don't want me talking to strangers so they will have to recognize me and talk to me before I talk to them. "The Mayor of Kew Gardens". Like "Da Mayor" in Do The Right Thing.

I used to serve him at the cafe. Working there was what led to my nervous breakdown combined with praying the Rosary and the death of my older brother. I want to put the pieces back together and exorcise the demons but to do so I have to find out where Aaron was buried, if indeed he is dead. If you have any clues let me know. Tell a little birdie and he will send me the message. I will hear it in their morning song. Or better yet send your guardian angel. They never fail, though I may fail to understand the message as I am not Padre Pio so I can not see my angel. But he has helped me so often that I know that he is there.

Angel of God, my Guardian Dear,
To Whom God's Love Entrusts us Here;
Ever This Day be at Our Side,
To Light and Guard, to Rule and Guide.

Who Is Gilgamesh?

That is the Question? What is his name?

Psalm 22

[1] A psalm for David. The Lord ruleth me: and I shall want nothing. [2] He hath set me in a place of pasture. He hath brought me up, on the water of refreshment: [3] He hath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice, for his own name's sake. [4] For though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they have comforted me. [5] Thou hast prepared a table before me against them that afflict me. Thou hast anointed my head with oil; and my chalice which inebriateth me, how goodly is it! [1] "Ruleth me": In Hebrew, Is my shepherd, viz., to feed, guide, and govern me. [6] And thy mercy will follow me all the days of my life. And that I may dwell in the house of the Lord unto length of days. Thy rod and thy staff they shall comfort me. As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. I do fear, though I still have faith in the Lord. Not enough. Not yet a mustard seed.