Standing in my kitchen I pull out the creature. I call it a creature because it isn't like anything I've seen. Looking at my right arm I see the scar from the entry point for the creature. I hold the creature next to my right arm and let it attach itself.

It uses it's two outer fangs to latch on to my arm. They are roughly 2 inches in length and half an inch in width. The inner fangs, which are about half the size of the outer fangs, start digging in. It looks gruesome but I surprisingly feel little pain. Almost a distant feeling of discomfort. Normal is the word I should use, it cannot be described as painful even though it hurts, it is normal. It appears that the entry point is much like an IV port. Where a needle can enter and re-enter without causing additional wounds.

As the blood trickles down my arm, Tracy walks into the kitchen, flabbergasted by the site she screams and asks what I'm doing. I explain to her that I do this everyday, it isn't painful, it feels to me that this is a ritual of some sort.

She puts her hand on my arm and tells me that I don't need to let the creature attach itself. She gives me permission to stop the letting of blood. I tap the creature to signify it's time to go away. It lets go and vanishes.

My mind is a sponge, no constraints or limits.
Constant stimuli makes me crazy but fuels my life.
People joke about this, people joke about that.
Shut it down, ring it out.
Squeeze my head, unload the pressure.
Planting the seeds hoping to overtake the weeds.
Unfertile soil, no seed could find purchase.
Unaware of my bliss, a convenience of sorts.
Unbeknownst of my self, a future untold.
Silence is golden, says the movie screen.
A moment of silence, for my life never lived
.............................
A quick bout of silence, over matched by the drone.
Opinions are flaring, they're voices in my head
Chemical burns, an existential remorse
Tyler Durden said it best
"Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it! "

So, is there a god? It's a question that has bothered me for some time. Well, I can't say bothered because over the last six months internally I've sorta decided there isn't. Logically I can't put it together. The whole scenario of a god doesn't really make sense.

From the same token it doesn't necessarily make sense to not believe in god either. One person can catalog that believing in god and having a religion makes your life worse. Another can catalog how it makes it better. I can't say directly that it has made my life better or worse but that is in large part due to my inability to choose a side I suppose.

Two factions pulling from either side. One openly defiant of the religious organization and the other one subtly removed but still clinging. Both sides make sense to me. I want to have a belief in a higher power. It isn't a feeling of guilt (maybe social pressure) that drives me. I used to enjoy the religious experience.

God has always been silent, if there is a god. I revisited a poem I wrote a while ago. It falls into sections of the thought process I go through. Starting with my self-righteous indignation and ending in a conclusion.

Righteous Indignation
An ironic slap, to the bumper of life
Is there a god? I wonder aloud
Three months and still nada
From the "big guy" above
Twenty-three and still counting
But who's keeping score?
At least ten to zero if records were kept
The scorekeepers broken, he's got nothing left
He reaches for something, a glimmer, a hope
At last somethings there, could this be promising?
Woops! He got you! it's number eleven

My Legalistic Pleasure
Could this be punishment
for twenty-three wasted years?
Is this not what they meant
when they said I'd cry tears?
I want to believe in him
I want to have faith.
I want it to stop at ten
no matter the stakes.
Does he have more in store?
Or doth my faith fail?
Is it wrong to want more
than my food in a pail?

Cliche of Cliche's
All things work together
in the end for all good.
For those that believe in him
if there's really a god.
But what if there's not
what about all the rest?
Are they all fools?
Or do they know something more.
If all things work out
Then why'd they go bad
life's up, life's down
life is equilibrium

Conclusions
If god doesn't talk to me
then the jury's still out.
Will god be O.J.?
Will he get off scott free
Or will god be Hussein
indignant to death?
Maybe he owes me nothing,
if that be the case.
Why do I owe him allegiance?
Is it all really faith?
It's too bad for god
that I don't believe
There's life after death
Cause he surely needs
Johnny Cochran and friends
to bail his ass out.


The events leading to this poem probably started as a child, but specifically I wrote this on my anniversary night after we got in a car wreck and literally ruined our night. Tracy had to work the next morning so she ended up going to bed at 9 PM on our anniversary and I went upstairs angry.

It's interesting to read through the poem because now I can see the hodge podge of statements. During this time of life Tracy and I were out of control financially. We didn't know where the money for our bills were going to come from. We were piling up debt. I was just turned down on a job that I thought I was going to get and was excited about. But reading the poem again it has little to do with what had been happening in our life.

A cosmic statement, not a personal life statement. Tracy looks back at the last two years and sees god's hand in our lives. I wasn't working, we weren't making as much money as we were spending. And now, we're almost completely out of debt. Things worked out.

Why is it easier for me to accept this as a series of cosmic statistics than to accept it as divine intervention. It's getting to the point where I'm just going to have to decide how to believe. Do I want to have a god in my life or not?