Two days ago I found myself bored and in possession of a pen and pad.
Please note that I was quite tired at the time and may not make completely coherent sense. I tried to weed out the writing that was utter shit (roughly nine-tenths of it) and this is what's left.
Also I got bored so I wrote this.
EDIT: 06/08/08/21
Updated with another chapter of Confessions.
Please note that I was quite tired at the time and may not make completely coherent sense. I tried to weed out the writing that was utter shit (roughly nine-tenths of it) and this is what's left.
I've got something to confess. Tentatively, I sit down before my parents. Uncomfortably shifting in my chair, I try to tell them all that I'm thinking, but nothing comes out. I hope they're as understanding of my sexuality as Steve is.
Finally, the words escape my mouth.
"Mom? Mom? I'm straight."
Finally, the words escape my mouth.
"Mom? Mom? I'm straight."
Everyone is plagued by demons. The little voices in your head that tell you to jump, that urge you to lie to others for personal gain, that little bit of you that uses people and then leaves them... everyone's got 'em.
'Course, some people have more'n others, or aren't as good at resisiting. I've got my fair share, and a little more, but that's not what I'm here to tell y'all about.
See, they feed off despair, then they use that same despair to deepen their hold.
You're probably wondering why I'm tellin' y'all this.
Over the years, I leanred to hunt these demons and make people whole again, for however long that lasts.
Now, I'm gonna have to ask y'all to duck, on a count of three.
They're right behind you.
'Course, some people have more'n others, or aren't as good at resisiting. I've got my fair share, and a little more, but that's not what I'm here to tell y'all about.
See, they feed off despair, then they use that same despair to deepen their hold.
You're probably wondering why I'm tellin' y'all this.
Over the years, I leanred to hunt these demons and make people whole again, for however long that lasts.
Now, I'm gonna have to ask y'all to duck, on a count of three.
They're right behind you.
Do you really believe?
Have you ever believed?
And I don't mean just when you grieve
maybe you've been deceived?
Take a look at your book
For the answers you sook
Take a good long look!
Was that the longest you took?
Have you read it cover to cover?
Oh the things you'll discover
Where'd you get your faith, lover?
From your heart, or another?
Do you really believe half the things that you say?
Maybe if you repeat them every day
You can make all your doubting go away.
It's worth a shot, eh?
Do you really think he's coming back?
Is it that important you lack
a saviour? Maybe you should change your tack
If your faith saves your saints from death and the rack?
Have you ever believed?
And I don't mean just when you grieve
maybe you've been deceived?
Take a look at your book
For the answers you sook
Take a good long look!
Was that the longest you took?
Have you read it cover to cover?
Oh the things you'll discover
Where'd you get your faith, lover?
From your heart, or another?
Do you really believe half the things that you say?
Maybe if you repeat them every day
You can make all your doubting go away.
It's worth a shot, eh?
Do you really think he's coming back?
Is it that important you lack
a saviour? Maybe you should change your tack
If your faith saves your saints from death and the rack?
Also I got bored so I wrote this.
All my life I’ve known I was…well, special, I guess. I’ve …alright, I’ll just come out and say it. I talk to God. And not in the loony-bin way. And it’s not the one way conversation that happens when people pray. I just honestly talk to God.
You’d probably say I’m insane. It’s alright, I’ve gotten used to that. I have some beliefs about God that don’t exactly jibe with the Church, or really most people, to be honest. For one thing, God’s a She. Try telling that to your local pastor. Guess those ‘damn liberals’ were right about something. Huh.
It’s not like we talk 24/7, or anything like that. Sometimes I’ll hear Her asking me something about the world. Newsflash - God does not know everything. She can see everything, but that seems to tax her, apparently, and She can’t concentrate on all of it. So I generally keep Her posted. But mostly, She cries. She’s pretty upset with all the shit humanity has come up with. I mean, we were supposed to be Her best work. And now what? Death, pollution, wanton destruction, you get the drift. We’re not exactly model citizens.
To be honest, I can’t exactly blame Her. How would you feel if your great work came to all this? Not very fucking happy, I’d guess.
So, basically, what I’m saying is that I remind her that some of us have done good things, in Her name or not, things that’d make Her proud. That’s me… confidant to God.
But recently, She did something that struck even me by surprise. She told me to spread the word to the world and remind them of good and right, and basically to do what I could. Pretty fucking twisted, I know.
Anyways. My name is Marcus Carter, I’m sixteen years old, and I’m a Prophet.
This is my story.
You’d probably say I’m insane. It’s alright, I’ve gotten used to that. I have some beliefs about God that don’t exactly jibe with the Church, or really most people, to be honest. For one thing, God’s a She. Try telling that to your local pastor. Guess those ‘damn liberals’ were right about something. Huh.
It’s not like we talk 24/7, or anything like that. Sometimes I’ll hear Her asking me something about the world. Newsflash - God does not know everything. She can see everything, but that seems to tax her, apparently, and She can’t concentrate on all of it. So I generally keep Her posted. But mostly, She cries. She’s pretty upset with all the shit humanity has come up with. I mean, we were supposed to be Her best work. And now what? Death, pollution, wanton destruction, you get the drift. We’re not exactly model citizens.
To be honest, I can’t exactly blame Her. How would you feel if your great work came to all this? Not very fucking happy, I’d guess.
So, basically, what I’m saying is that I remind her that some of us have done good things, in Her name or not, things that’d make Her proud. That’s me… confidant to God.
But recently, She did something that struck even me by surprise. She told me to spread the word to the world and remind them of good and right, and basically to do what I could. Pretty fucking twisted, I know.
Anyways. My name is Marcus Carter, I’m sixteen years old, and I’m a Prophet.
This is my story.
In the beginning, there was nothing. And then God said “let there be light!†And there was still nothing, but now you could see it properly.
Sorry. Just my attempt at injecting some humor into the situation.
Anyways, I’m Marcus Carter, prophet, and I’m currently in the hospital, watching blood drain from my arm so the doctor could ‘run some tests’.
Always with the fucking tests.
See, I’ve got some weird disease that results in a low red blood cell count. holyfuckthisshitwillkillmeosis or something like that.
Finally, the doctor finishes taking the blood, swabs my arm and tapes on one of those fucking cotton bud bandage things. When she’s not looking I rip it off.
“It’ll be about fifteen minutes, Marcus.â€
I fucking know that, Doctor Johansen. It’s not like I’ve never fucking been here before, after all.
The waiting room. Why are hospital waiting rooms all exactly the same? Light blue-ish walls, uncomfortable seating and a faint smell of antiseptic and what might be almonds. Probably cyanide.
In case you can’t tell, I’m not exactly a ‘glass half full’ kind of person.
Oh, I forgot something. Absolutely nothing to read. All hospital waiting rooms have nothing to do except… well, you know. Wait.
Fuck this shit.
Thirty-five minutes later (they NEVER do this shit on time), a cute nurse pokes her head out a door and asks me to come in. Finally. Fucking took ‘em long enough.
“Mr. Carter? If you could come this way, please? We have some fairly significant news for you.â€
Great. Just fucking great. Probably another complication or something that’ll need more medicine.
As if I didn’t have enough fucking pills, anways.
I’m interrupted by the nurse - she’s talking again.
“..it’s about your red blood cell counts. There’s been a …substantial development.â€
Just. Fucking. Great.
A quick glance at the name tag:
“Look, Nicole, quit beating around the bush, and just tell me what the problem is, alright?â€
“Well… you’ve made a complete recovery. You’re in the best condition of any patient I’ve seen.â€
“So… you mean… I’m healthy?†God this is fucking insane. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and it’ll all have been a dream. This is too good to really be happening.
“Well, yes! Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this were a miracle!â€
Somewhere, God is smirking Her almighty ass off right now.
Sorry. Just my attempt at injecting some humor into the situation.
Anyways, I’m Marcus Carter, prophet, and I’m currently in the hospital, watching blood drain from my arm so the doctor could ‘run some tests’.
Always with the fucking tests.
See, I’ve got some weird disease that results in a low red blood cell count. holyfuckthisshitwillkillmeosis or something like that.
Finally, the doctor finishes taking the blood, swabs my arm and tapes on one of those fucking cotton bud bandage things. When she’s not looking I rip it off.
“It’ll be about fifteen minutes, Marcus.â€
I fucking know that, Doctor Johansen. It’s not like I’ve never fucking been here before, after all.
The waiting room. Why are hospital waiting rooms all exactly the same? Light blue-ish walls, uncomfortable seating and a faint smell of antiseptic and what might be almonds. Probably cyanide.
In case you can’t tell, I’m not exactly a ‘glass half full’ kind of person.
Oh, I forgot something. Absolutely nothing to read. All hospital waiting rooms have nothing to do except… well, you know. Wait.
Fuck this shit.
Thirty-five minutes later (they NEVER do this shit on time), a cute nurse pokes her head out a door and asks me to come in. Finally. Fucking took ‘em long enough.
“Mr. Carter? If you could come this way, please? We have some fairly significant news for you.â€
Great. Just fucking great. Probably another complication or something that’ll need more medicine.
As if I didn’t have enough fucking pills, anways.
I’m interrupted by the nurse - she’s talking again.
“..it’s about your red blood cell counts. There’s been a …substantial development.â€
Just. Fucking. Great.
A quick glance at the name tag:
“Look, Nicole, quit beating around the bush, and just tell me what the problem is, alright?â€
“Well… you’ve made a complete recovery. You’re in the best condition of any patient I’ve seen.â€
“So… you mean… I’m healthy?†God this is fucking insane. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and it’ll all have been a dream. This is too good to really be happening.
“Well, yes! Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this were a miracle!â€
Somewhere, God is smirking Her almighty ass off right now.
The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own brothers. You must listen to him. -Deuteronomy 18:15
As I dazedly walked out of the hospital, clutching a readout sheet in my hand, my head was awash with questions.
Most of them had to do with the small text printed on the bottom of the readout which was ...well, out of the ordinary. It was in a fancy script, and read, and I quote: "Do Unto Others". Of course, I immediately decided to ask God what was going on. Only I didn't word it quite so politely.
Isn't it obvious? You're a prophet now. I can hardly have you near-dead from sickness while healing others, can I? It hardly sets the right image. After all, it's 'Jesus healed the cripples', not 'a cripple healed the cripples'. It's all about image these days, honestly.
I swear, I will never get over God's voice. Well, I guess 'voice' is kind of a misnomer - She doesn't really make a noise which you hear, in the normal sense. It's more like the words somehow arrive at your brain without having to deal with all that tediousness of going through the ears first. So basically, it's freaky as hell.
Also, God doesn't really talk like the Bible says She does, with all the untos and begats and thou shalt nots and shit. Sign of the times, I guess.
Back to the point though. I'm not sure where God is getting all this from, but I'm not exactly prophet material. I mean, look at me - medium-tall, shoulder-length black hair that gets taken care of, pale, gangly from a weakened immune system and near-perpetual illness of some sort... you get the drift. I've got good dress sense, but that doesn't really seem like a plus, to be honest - don't prophets wear those robes or something, anyways? Kinda like a uniform almost. Anyways, I'm pretty much just like every other boy my age.
Except that I'm apparently destined for 'greater things', whatever that means. I was obviously not consulted on this. Me? I just want to graduate, go to college, find the guy of my dreams, settle down and adopt 2.4 children in the suburbs. American Dream and all that shit.
Sentimental, sure, but it's fine by me.
Shit, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, me not being ideal prophet material.
Of course, God chose just that moment to show me something, and holy shit did that ever change my mind.
As I dazedly walked out of the hospital, clutching a readout sheet in my hand, my head was awash with questions.
Most of them had to do with the small text printed on the bottom of the readout which was ...well, out of the ordinary. It was in a fancy script, and read, and I quote: "Do Unto Others". Of course, I immediately decided to ask God what was going on. Only I didn't word it quite so politely.
Isn't it obvious? You're a prophet now. I can hardly have you near-dead from sickness while healing others, can I? It hardly sets the right image. After all, it's 'Jesus healed the cripples', not 'a cripple healed the cripples'. It's all about image these days, honestly.
I swear, I will never get over God's voice. Well, I guess 'voice' is kind of a misnomer - She doesn't really make a noise which you hear, in the normal sense. It's more like the words somehow arrive at your brain without having to deal with all that tediousness of going through the ears first. So basically, it's freaky as hell.
Also, God doesn't really talk like the Bible says She does, with all the untos and begats and thou shalt nots and shit. Sign of the times, I guess.
Back to the point though. I'm not sure where God is getting all this from, but I'm not exactly prophet material. I mean, look at me - medium-tall, shoulder-length black hair that gets taken care of, pale, gangly from a weakened immune system and near-perpetual illness of some sort... you get the drift. I've got good dress sense, but that doesn't really seem like a plus, to be honest - don't prophets wear those robes or something, anyways? Kinda like a uniform almost. Anyways, I'm pretty much just like every other boy my age.
Except that I'm apparently destined for 'greater things', whatever that means. I was obviously not consulted on this. Me? I just want to graduate, go to college, find the guy of my dreams, settle down and adopt 2.4 children in the suburbs. American Dream and all that shit.
Sentimental, sure, but it's fine by me.
Shit, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, me not being ideal prophet material.
Of course, God chose just that moment to show me something, and holy shit did that ever change my mind.
Updated with another chapter of Confessions.
