Today is 04/02/2024, Post #2

Amazing to me that such ridiculous superstition persists in this modern-age

That little guy with the I Love Jesus shirt has certainly now stopped reading this post by me, if he ever started. Because I'm not parroting his nonsense that supports his proud love for his Imaginary Man with the beard living up there in the clouds. He's so enthralled with His puppy-dog eyes, sitting there on the edge of a cloud and watching him 24/7

Recently, they had on national tv-news those people in Baltimore.

They've got their eyes squinted real hard and their hands stretched out and their palms turned upwards to the sky and they are pleading and begging "Please, oh please" to their Imaginary Friend in the sky to not cause them any harm. Because He just killed a few people and caused major chaos in Baltimore and they are pleading with Him to not hurt them, too.

Pathetic.

Really saddens me you morons show no capacity for independent thought.

You're weak. You're scared. You're so easily frightened. You really need to get a clue.









posted by me, Kerry Burgess:

As the Great Perry Mason once said: "Answer a fool according to his own folly".









by me, Kerry Burgess, OCTOBER 02, 2018

Now, you monkeys out there - all you monkeys that claim you are the most special humans in whole vast universe - THE VAST UNIVERSE YOU ARE COMPLETELY ***IGNORANT*** ABOUT - can squint your monkey faces and talk about how everything that happens to *other* persons is ALWAYS coincidence and you can furrow your Little Donkey of Mediocrity brow on your monkey faces and you can - in your cowardly terror of mortality - blame it on your superstitious, kindergarten, sunday school, crayon coloring-book God. That same Bogey Man you learned to cringe in terror about as you stood outside under your ignorant sky above and who you became terrified of the first time you, stumbling about with your diaper full of your own crap, encountered the first instance of DEATH, whether dead dog, dead bird, dead Aunt, whatever. All you knew, standing there, possibly smearing your own crap from your diaper on the wall near you, was that the adults were terrified of Death. And they were the people who were supposed to protect your little crapping self, so if they were terrified then so you should also, as you dumped more crap in your diaper. That's still you. Years later, you're still that little terrified kid carrying around a load of your own crap.

So, when anything happens incapable of being explained in this massive universe that will NEVER be explained to any of you, all you can do is to feel terrified and to fall back on your idiotic superstitions.









The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King

(from internet transcript)

excerpts, Chapter 44

He dreamed he was in a field of corn, lost there. But there was music, guitar music. Joe playing the guitar. If he found Joe he would be all right. So he followed the sound, breaking through one row of corn to the next when he had to, at last coming out in a ragged clearing. There was a small house there, more of a shack really, the porch held up with rusty old jacklifters. It wasn’t Joe playing the guitar, how could it have been? Joe was holding his left hand and Nadine his right. They were with him. An old woman was playing the guitar, a jazzy sort of spiritual that had Joe smiling. The old woman was black, and she was sitting on the porch, and Larry guessed she was just about the oldest woman he had ever seen in his life. But there was something about her that made him feel good… good in the way his mother had once made him feel good when he was very little and she would suddenly hug him and say, Here’s the best boy, here’s Alice Underwood’s all-time best boy.

The old woman stopped playing and looked up at them.

Well say, I got me comp’ny. Step on out where I can see you, my peepers ain’t what they once was.

So they came closer, the three of them hand in hand, and Joe reached out and set a bald old tire swing to slow pendulum movement as they passed it. The tire’s doughnut-shaped shadow slipped back and forth on the weedy ground. They were in a small clearing, an island in a sea of corn. To the north, a dirt road stretched away to a point.

You like to have a swing on this old box o mine? she asked Joe, and Joe came forward eagerly and took the old guitar from her gnarled hands. He began to play the tune they had followed through the corn, but better and faster than the old woman.

Bless im, he plays good. Me, I’m too old. Cain’t make my fingers go that fast now. It’s the rheumatiz. But in 1902 I played at the County Hall. I was the first Negro to ever play there, the very first.

Nadine asked who she was. They were in a kind of forever place where the sun seemed to stand still one hour from darkness and the shadow of the swing Joe had set in motion would always travel back and forth across the weedy yard. Larry wished he could stay here forever, he and his family. This was a good place. The man with no face could never get him here, or Joe, or Nadine.

Mother Abagail is what they call me. I’m the oldest woman in eastern Nebraska, I guess, and I still make my own biscuits. You come see me as quick as you can. We got to go before he gets wind of us.

A cloud came over the sun. The swing’s arc had decreased to nothing. Joe stopped playing with a jangling rattle of strings, and Larry felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. The old woman seemed not to notice.

Before who gets wind of us? Nadine asked, and Larry wished he could speak, cry out for her to take the question back before it could leap free and hurt them.

That black man. That servant of the devil. We got the Rockies between us n him, praise God, but they won’t keep him black. That’s why we got to knit together. In Colorado. God come to me in a dream and showed me where. But we got to be quick, quick as we can, anyway. So you come see me. There’s others coming, too.

No, Nadine said in a cold and fearful voice. We’re going to Vermont, that’s all. Only to Vermont—just a short trip.

Your trip will be longer than ours, if’n you don’t fight off his power, the old woman in Larry’s dream replied. She was looking at Nadine with great sadness. This could be a good man you got here, woman. He wants to make something out of himself. Why don’t you cleave to him instead of using him?

No! We’re going to Vermont, to VERMONT!

The old woman looked at Nadine pityingly. You’ll go straight to hell if you don’t watch close, daughter of Eve. And when you get there, you are gonna find that hell is cold.

The dream broke up then, splitting into cracks of darkness that swallowed him. But something in that darkness was stalking him. It was cold and merciless, and soon he would see its grinning teeth.



- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 06:24 AM Pacific-time USA Tuesday 04/02/2024