Journals of Lord Malinov

the poetry of madness

anxious

"Do not be anxious," saith the Lord.  Matthew 6, I think.  Let me check.  6:21? 

I hate to keep repeating myself, but after watching a doc on MaryM, I feel compelled to restate the obvious:  There is no historical evidence that Jesus of Nazereth existed.  Not a word, not a card, not a splinter or fragment.  Which is not to say Jesus didn't exist.  Lots of undocumented people existed.  But the mythology seems to believe that Jesus was a big deal at the time.  Nothing from that time indicates he caused even a ripple.  His name isn't even listed among the crucified, a list the romans and jews took care to memorialize.  No bureaucratic evidence.  No current writings. 

Was he married to MaryM?  We don't even know if he existed.  How can we pretend to know whether or not he was married?  As a matter of faith, the story should go as you wish it to go.  As a matter of history, the question is absurd. 

It's not my fault.  But I am amazed when people get fiery over the historical truths in what could very well be a piece of fiction.  The gospels, even the non-canonical ones - were not written to be historical documents.  Stories to teach.  You know, parables.  Not news.  Lessons.

It's like the pre-Ice-Age civilization theories.  We know the water level rose by over 400 feet when the ice age ended.  But some refuse to believe that there could be the remains of civilizations beyond the shore.  Does someone need to kick these dudes in the head?  What is their problem?

Homeostasis - the urge to keep things the same - is one of the most powerful forces within humanity.

The biggest problem I'm encountering is amphetimine withdrawl.  Having cured my anxiety and ADD, the adderol serves no legitimate purpose in my blood.  But after two years of living on the stuff, it is painful to let go.  There are effects on the body, mind and even the ego.  The paranoia that tends to strike long-term amphetimine use is felt strongly in withdrawl.  I am coasting down the hill, but it is a bumpy ride. 

Lexapro tends to dull stimulations, so the sexual transition involved with going off the stuff is a bit strange.  Life is so much more . . . stimulating.

When I walk into a room now, I move with the confidence of knowing that I could seriously help every person in the room.  What I have discovered is going to change everything and everyone.  It is amusingly frustrating to watch the ignorance slowly dissipate from those around me as they begin to recognize what I have done.  I am enjoying the show.  Who will be next?

I have done more for the human race than anyone since the Nazerene.  Believe me or not, you will soon discover my truth.

Gonna take the kids to Galveston next week, bask in some sunshine, visit some rockets, hang out with the new Sicilian branch of Clan Cain.

I awoke screaming in the middle of the night, sending Cats scurrying to the sofa to sleep.  In my dream, we had located the Evil One.  My scream was a blood-curdling war cry as I charged our enemy, screaming to pull strength into my sleep-paralyzed body.  It worked by waking me up.  The Evil One escaped.  Curses, foiled again.

Enjoy,

M

posted by: Malinov at 09:40 | link | comments |

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