Genesis 9&10 Psalms 5 & Matthew 5 In Genesis 9 - God lays down one of the first laws to foreshadow the ten commandments- This might seem off considering this comes after the flood until you realize God is warning them - don't let yourselves descend into an injustice, wicked, debased state again. After all they've lived with a wicked generation for centuries. Noah now off the ark plants a vineyard, gets drunk and something suspicious happens with his son Ham and him. A lot of speculation around this phrase - uncovered his father's nakedness - the latest take I heard was that uncovering nakedness a phrase also in Leviticus- implies that Ham slept with his mom, Noah's wife, and that is where Canaan was conceived - who becomes the most cursed lineage. This actually makes sense and explains why Noah curses Canaan. Matthew 5 gives us one of Jesus’s greatest teachings – in which he explains how deep the law must go - - straight to the heart. I was listening to one preacher teach on this and he said if you follow the pluck out the eye, cast off the hand – you can still live with all these missing members till you get to the root member that sins the most - the heart. Nobody can cut out their heart and live. And that’s the point. Jesus was explaining that you cannot uphold the law with such ruthless accuracy because no flesh would survive. You need a new heart and it’s God’s desire to give you a new heart – Ezekiel 36:26. A very interesting take.
Read Genesis 7&8 Psalms 4 & Matthew 4 How interesting that Genesis 7 includes the flood - the rain of which lasts forty days and forty nights while in Matthew 4 Jesus goes up to the wilderness and fasts forty and forty nights. Forty in biblical terms represents numerous things one of which is trials or testings. Moses also spends 40 days on Mount Sinai and the Israelites spend 40 years wandering the wilderness. Elijah spends forty days to journey to Mount Horeb, David reigned 40 years, and God gave Nineveh forty days to repent – in the book of Jonah. All in all Noah and his family spends 1 year and tens days in the ark. No wonder the second thing he did was plant a vineyard. Do you know what the first thing he did was? He built an alter and sent up a burnt offering to the Lord who vowed never again to curse the ground again for man's sake. I love this verse in Psalms 4 - I will both lie down in peace, and sleep; For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. Next up - Genesis 9&10. Psalms 5 & Matthew 5.
Read Genesis 5&6 Psalms 3 & Matthew 3. - The genealogy of Adam – this is where a lot of people who have never read the bible or have merely glanced at it have mess up. They assume Adam either had 2 sons – Cain & Abel or 3 Cain & Abel & Seth – the fact of the matter is we have no idea how many sons or daughters Adam and Eve had because they’re lumped together in a sentence after Seth is mentioned and this is because only Seth is important to the bloodline of Christ – and for this part – the bloodline to Noah. The rest of their children and great grandchild – 14 generations will be wiped out in the flood. - Chapter 6 – has the notorious scripture that fallen angels are taking earthly women as wives and birthing giants which could’ve gave rise to gods and demi gods legends. I’ve heard some pastors preach that this is why God caused the flood because all flesh had become physically corrupted by their fallen angel bloodline. All except for Noah which would explain his 'perfect in all his generations' line in verse 9. Psalms 3 has an interesting tie in - of David - crying out - Matthew 3 – Meanwhile John the Bapist is telling the Pharisees not to count on lineage but to bear fruit worthy of repentance. Next up - Genesis 7&8. Psalms 4 & Matthew 4.
Read Genesis 3&4. Psalms 2 & Matthew 2. The fall there’s so much here – one thing that stood out was when God put the animal skins on to clothe them. I remember reading in Peter Benchley’s the Island how animal skins were placed on a person’s body with the blood etc still fresh so that the skins would mold to their flesh and fit better. As soon as I read that it made me think of Adam & Eve. Jesus’s blood is the only thing that will take away everyone's sins and yet till he arrives – the blood of animals is the only thing that temporarily covers the sin. Also noteworthy - Satan a.k.a the Serpent's first words in the Bible is - "Did God really say ..." Next up - Genesis 5&6. Psalms 3 & Matthew 3.
Read Genesis 1 & 2 yesterday Psalms 1 & Matthew 1. I like how there are echoes through New & Old Testament - seeds & lineage. Rivers in Eden & Psalms 1 - My favorite scriptures is the creation of Adam & Eve and how after speaking everything into existence God uses his hands to create man and his breath to bring him to life - showing the personal relationship & separation between mankind and animals. Made in God's image though made of the same material. When I was younger and feminism reared it's head - I always wondered why Eve was created last. As I get older though I think it's because God delayed her to create desire. Adam noticed he was missing something, couldn't articulate what and before he could ask - God created Eve to fulfill that desire and Eve being seen by an already yearning Adam would've experienced that immediate rush of a desire fulfilled - perhaps beyond all expectations. Today I'm reading Genesis 3&4. Psalms 2 & Matthew 2. Maybe I'll do another thoughts tomorrow. Chime in if you like!
Happy New Year! This year I decided to start reading the Bible all the way through again. I like to mix it up though, by reading the OT & NT at the same time with a psalm as well. If you want to join me here's where I'm starting - Reading tonight Genesis chapters 1&2 + Matthew 1 & Psalm 1
Anyone ever look back on their old work and realized they've duplicated scenes? Even bits of dialogue. It's freaky. I've been typing an old story from paper into my computer to preserve it. I haven't read the story - fully - in decades and I'm shocked to find I've duplicated several scenes. In my old work I have a young girl talking to an older man - she asks am I ugly? - he says fishing for compliments? I gave the same scene to my younger man and his director - two decades later. Creepy. I'm starting to think of that crack people make, that writers write the same story over and over again might have some truth to it.
Well, they're going after R.L. Stine's Goosebumps series and it's news to the him because he never gave them permission to change the text. I'm unsure if this is 'sensitivity' writers or editors but they are changing things like crazy to silly and again going after unkind descriptions for the release of his new E-book editions. Scholastic's reason - "keep the language current and avoid imagery that could negatively impact a young person's view of themselves today, with a particular focus on mental health." Yeah, I'm sure the person reading Ghost Beach needs a handholding over mental health issues. Who are the kidding?
Well, the so-called 'sensitivity' readers are at it again. And have been working to change Dahl's new editions to remove everything from gendered language, to 'offensive' descriptions. Even something as innocuous as - The balcony belonged to an attractive middle-aged lady called Mrs. Silver - becomes - The balcony belonged to a kind middle-aged lady called Mrs. Silver. Even more peculiar Augustus is no longer described as fat. Having read Charlie as a morality fairy tale - with Augustus, Violet, Veruca, Mike TV, displaying the worst characteristics - gluttony, stupidity, selfishness, rudeness - making constant disrespectful demands on their parents, they are a direct contrast of selfless, good, respectful Charlie. Watering down Augustus's problem waters down the point. In this weird drive to be non-offensive people forget that not everything that cuts like a knife is offensive, sometimes it's just the truth that hurts. Buy hard copies of your favorite books.
Haven't really come across any writers talking about this and frankly I don't know what to say. I've seen cancel culture be brushed off on other writing sites, rudely dismissed as don't be a bigot and you don't have to worry, with little regard to the concept of who those gatekeepers of deciding what's bigotry will entail. Especially in a world that has weaponized politics. It was jaw-dropping to see so many writers advocate for pre-publication banning, or writer's being canceled for minor offenses as if their own manuscripts were so sanitized they need never worry, forgetting how many writers fought censorship to allow the erotica, graphic violence, or language - that often populates THEIR stories - to be published. Scarier then even the banning of Dr. Seuss's six books is the response of corporations (Ebay - so far) that are not allowing the reselling of old editions as if from now on the books don't exist. Considering these corporations helped to snuff out used book stores making it difficult to find exact books we now have warehouses where editions will rot rather than allow people to make up their own minds. What's next the endless digital tweaking of online editions?
I'm re-reading Pia Pera's novel Lo's Diary a kind of sidequel to Nabokov's Lolita only from Lolita's pov. It was written back in the 90s and she takes it more from the angle of a mother's hatred for her daughter and also incorporates some riot-grrl feminist vibes into the text - Emily Prager did a much better job of this with her Lolita-take book - Roger Fishbite. But it is an interesting read. I'll do a longer post but for now I'm just stunned that Pera took 90 pages to set up Lolita's life prior to meeting Humbert only to have him enter, takeover and this realization isn't shaking up Lolita. She's as acerbic before she met him as his complete takeover of her life. Huge mistake. What's your thoughts? Should major events shake up the mc even if they're a bit twisted or should you maybe tone down the twisted side of your character so you can have them appear shook? I feel like Pera is doing everything she can to have Lolita avoid a victim label.
Just read another story of a woman named Amelie Zhao having her book deal yanked after some people on Goodreads decided her book didn't meet up to certain standards? I don't know how else you'd call it. A fantasy novel - set in a fantasy world didn't mirror certain aspects of … reality. Not shocked … just uneasy. What did she do wrong? Apparently wrote about slavery without mentioning POC. My feeling on this is whoopdee-shit. If I read a book and no characters looked like me - who cares, if they don't represent certain religions, atheism, certain viewpoints, certain real world issues - again, who gives a shit. I'm there to read their take on their world and if it doesn't include anything of, or not of my world - who cares. Apparently though a noisy group of people care and seriously want to destroy a person's career before it even has a chance to flower. Some of the kooks accused her of being anti-black, a plagiarist (and if she's guilty of that she should be called out) and a flat out racist. I think the publishers have pulled publishing the trilogy temporarily which makes me think the books are probably being groomed and reworked to pacify the mob-squad before being sold. Scary. No concrete proof of racism, no proof of malicious intent, no proof of bias. But somehow still found guilty. And the writer apologized. Reminds me a little of Canada when someone bumps into you - you apologize before the person who bumped you. What I used to think as funny isn't so funny anymore. I have no idea what kind of message this sends to writers. I'm caught between terror that we're pre-banning people and possibly encouraging people to write with a certain mindset versus the exhilaration that it's forcing me to take a good look at what I believe in.
** This is a cut and paste poem I did a while back taking phrases from vintage Harlequin novels -- I love doing cut and paste. Then it happened; they kissed. Shock was like a needle to the irresistible pressure of his mouth sensual lips that knew no mercy Caught in the slowing down of time resistance took a tumble that shattered her fury So intense were her emotions Flame flickered deep burning, burning with a deep fire bodies were melting together to form a throbbing duet she knew the real danger lay within herself and tried to escape the hard demanding mouth “You brute!” she cried “Give in,” he growled. “You are aching to be my wife.”
* Clipped phrases from retro Sears catalogs and some phrases from Dylan Thomas's short stories collection - Adventures in the skin trade. I love doing found poetry. * The Garden of Sears Creation screamed forth in an enchanted garden Of non-conformist comfort. two available in your choice of colors He - lab-tested, excellent resiliency cling-free She - fully immersible, high polish, brass finish. He had been invisible Till, she opened eyes of handcrafted, leaded cathedral glass You were lonely before I came They stood fresh-as-spring It’s got bounce, he thought admiring her pompon elegance She ignored his big 10 “ swivel nozzle The fine-quality, vitreous china Classic had waited for this Sculptura But... One by one the funflowers died as the Fooler purred his way through “Take off your frock of freedom from defrosting and resistant to the effects of smoke, humidity, and harsh sunlight” a spark of wing and fire the safety shell drops leaving a hole in heaven she took his hand and lead him racing over the Magicube truly amazing, they move as though alive and multiply, multiply by 3,500,000 Pattern is protected under a hard glaze for long wear We are chip-resistant digi-matic shock protected! We glory in - a cool-down tumble complete with spill catchers trapping tiny tubular travelers What is death’s music? The stunning modern look! Push button-reverse
Was going to enter this in a contest here ( little black dress ) but as usual I went over the word limit and then haven't finished, yet. I would like to expand on the theme of cowardice & masculinity but I'm not too sure if it's too obvious. Prove Your Y Out of all of them, I kept my eyes on the slimy creature in the little black dress. He/she/it’s craftier than the others. He, I’ll call him he despite his get up, came slurging down the road yesterday like a seal, but when he noticed the others starting to imitate humans, taking bits of refuse to give themselves a frame, a mock skeleton, he broke branches off a tree. He used limbs to give himself limbs. I let out a wild donkey bray, something between a laugh and a cry of hysteria and had to back away from my watch at the upper floor window. ‘Cause whenever they hear noise, they move towards it. This thinking gelatin, this meteoric goo - that some dipshit CNN newscaster two weeks ago had laughed off as ‘watch out people the blob is here’ - had propped himself up, gave himself bones. This was no blob, this was something worse. There were about eighty of them in my neighborhood. A week ago, before their numbers had climbed into the double digits, the troops had come and banged on doors and most of my neighbors grabbed bundles and willingly vacated. Had to do with that Youtube video in which some teenage boy challenged by his friend had touched one of the blobs. That was before they’d begun taking shape, when they were just stewing and sliding along the gutters, like loogies, feeding off the water, ingesting whole puddles ... Growing. The boy convulsed and died. The trolls cried Hoax! Faker! But then the army rolled in. Other hospitalizations became public. News bulletins told the people to stop spraying the goo out of their yards with garden hoses, or trying to bang it into the gutters with rake ends and enough with the bleach. I stayed behind, with my wife Angela. It was her idea to stay. “Those bastards aren’t driving me out of my house. I just put up new wallpaper.” It was hard to tell who she meant by bastards; the invading troops or the invading goop. With Angela it could be either or both. I think there are three others on our block that stayed occasionally in the strange traffic-less quiet, beyond the sticky noise of the blobs traveling, you can hear the wheeze of a screen door. Ten o’clock. Angela is in the house opposite gently opening the window. She got stuck in the house a week ago looking for food. I tried insisting I go ( although I didn’t want to. ) I said stupid things like, ‘I’m the man.’ She just raised her eyebrow and said, “Bully for you. I suppose having a cock gives you an advantage in dodging intergalactic Jello, is it part compass?” I started to defend my angle by stating I’m in better shape but Angela glared reminding me if I finished that sentence her wrath would be ten times worse than whatever those blobs could dish out. I ate the last can of ravioli yesterday. The water still runs. Though I keep the bathtub full just in case. Angela tried throwing me new supplies. She tied them in a little black dress and threw them from the window across to me. I bungled the catch and her package dropped onto one of the blobs below and burst open. The blob spread out like a splat and worked itself out from under the contents. Then it spent most of the day examining the boxes, the cans, the dress and a magazine Angela had thrown in because it had one of my old modeling ads. Later, the same blob, I suppose, after he’d given himself arms and legs and shape and structure, and a mock head from a neighbor’s basketball, had put on the dress. Now it hobbled around like some freaking eerie Jack Pumpkinhead. “Pssst,” went Angela with a wave. How is she always so fearless? I opened my window reluctantly. A couple days ago the blobs started creeping up along the house like snails. Scared the shit out of me. I ran around locking every window, shutting every curtain. Shook for hours. Angela just got a Swifer Broom and tried to pry one off - “No, you don’t you slime balls!” Angela’s plump cheeks have been rouged and she’s done something to her eyes. Glued sequins on, I think. She’s been passing the time playing dress up with the neighbor’s loot. She blew me a kiss. I blew her one back. My eyes kept roaming. They’ve heard us, they’re coming. “How you doing for food?” Her stage whisper could travel blocks. “Shhh. Ate the last can yesterday.” “What? Oh, ouch!” I got the pun. “Funny.” “I’ll run something over.” Too late to find the pun in that -my stomach plummeted. “Don’t!” “Levi,” she began, her tone straining with impatience.”You have to let me try sometime or you have to come over here.” My hand wouldn’t stop shaking. It was sickening to be this scared in front of my wife especially while she remained rather calm. I slouched down out of sight, and turned my back on the window. Just squatted and thought. It wasn’t as if I was some he-man now reduced to a quivering mass with less substance than what was now creeping out there. I couldn’t feel the loss of courage like the cowardly lion. Who knew or rather had, or claimed a rightful place of authority in this world. Nor was I some sensitive journalist who would think it sexist to even entertain the thought and could bluff my sagging ego that this was the ultimate opportunity to show I have no sexist bone in my body and could embrace my cowardice, smug in the knowledge that as a right to equality, I owed my wife nothing, not an ounce of heroism. Bravo, pilgrim. But that was not my ideal to prove. I was no contriving actor counting on tears to earn me the Oscar that my lack of anything else couldn’t. I stood for no one but me, Levi Hammel, an ex male model who spent most of his days in underwear pouting towards cameras and fending off gropes from the photographers. And Angela still seemed to buck tradition even while embodying it. She created and sewed clothes - bohemian hats and dresses. A plump Tinkerbelle who always looked as though she was on her way to a seance. There was never a weirder, more wonderful match-up. Now I was Angela’s model both male and female. I was used to wearing all types of crap and never blinked an eye, so I didn’t struggle and barely protested when Angela shaved my legs and put me in paisley leggings or broomstick skirts or gypsy blouses. Photographing me from the neck or waist down for her ads on Sign of the Owl boutique. This time I longed for a grope from this photographer and she always came through purring, “My very own compliant, anatomically correct, Ken doll.” “Ken Doll!” She hollared now, as if plugged into my thoughts. An idea so eerie and comforting I scratched at the goose pimples she’d raised, and bit my tongue to keep from shushing her. “Ken Doll!” I imagined them slurping into the window. Finding me. “Angel Doll.” My call was much quieter. “We need a plan.” My brain froze at the thought of leaving the house but I turned and looked out the window. They were thick on the ground all their makeshift heads - one used a melon from a garden down the block, another a ticking clock ( from inside a house - chilling thought ), another a trike wheel, an empty mayonaise jar, a wasp nest anything that was round or cylindrical - every makeshift head turned towards us. “What do you have in mind?” “Don’t you have any ideas?” “Have you tried the phones -” “The phones are dead, babe. Dead. We can’t count on anyone to help us.” “Who’s fault is that?” I quickly shot back. The wet flash of pain in her eyes made me instantly regret it. “I’m sorry.” “It is my fault.” “No, I could have - ” “You never give in when I want my way. ” She stopped and snuffed. I was glad she didn’t continue as it sounded rather accusing. It made me feel as though I’d always been weak but had never had to face a mirror and see the weakness. And this is all this situation was one big mirror revealing all my flaws. “Shit, they’re climbing up the walls again. 2 o’clock.” She says and closes her window. She draws the curtains. I follow her lead. I never sleep long any more. Maybe they’ll get in. Maybe I’ve forgotten something: the flue on the fireplace, a cracked window to let in a breeze, the dryer vent, the hole for the cable wires. Can they thin down to spit strings and find their way in like mice? What do they want? They just seem to wander.
