Everybody, including townsfolk, have known it all along--except for the prisoner of the garage, the only one of them who may enjoy the ironic truth that he is not the only sick creature dwelling mainly in memories never experienced, physically trapped forever in a cage. But he is a dog, and never expects truth from any quarter.
My question remains why? but as a question it has some redeeming value. It suggests the topic of the only successful novel I will ever write. It may be a shocking revelation, but I continue to love her deeply--even if she would've made a smug widow. Luckily, out-and-out murder is against the law.
But I have had quite enough law in my life, and herein cry out for realization of happy self-prophecy--not out of drunken vanity or swinish intent, but hopeful determination for enrichment, an enhanced reputation, and recognition for my originality as a trainer of children. I further ask that my justifiable recompense for such dogged persistence be noted and unselfishly supported by the beloved Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, his brothers Lucifer, Yahweh, Jehovah. Allah, Brahma, and all the lusting Elohim still screwing among us; and I pray with eroding morality to the most-maligned God of them all, Satan (actually the most honest of Her brood).
These offspring of the Creator Godmother all know that Rachael and I are bound forever, eternally hitched for better or worse, and that our fate is recorded in ectoplasmic leaf on the wall of some distant cosmic courthouse. The local release of my earthly obligations means nothing to anybody but disgruntled postal delivery persons.
The far more worrisome obligation for me is the eternal recompense due to Lucifer--and Satan, the blessed Virgin, Jesus Christ, Yahweh and Jehovah, Thor, Brahma, and the whole divine staff of their unknowable district court--for the usurious flame is held by Senor Diablo, to whom I prayed en Espanol (to confound the English speakers at the crap table).
I plan to retain the best lawyer ever to fly out of Pandora's box (once he is released from prison), and as I wait, I hope and plan. I am working up a Talmudic defense for bilking the Diabolical One, and it centers around the classic be-atch Lilith. She was Adam's first wife, thrown together with him by scriptural oversight. Be it remembered that the Almighty created two (male and female) of every species, including the human, and then dropped the whole menagerie onto Earth, before taking off to sculpt the rest of Creation.
My question remains why? but as a question it has some redeeming value. It suggests the topic of the only successful novel I will ever write. It may be a shocking revelation, but I continue to love her deeply--even if she would've made a smug widow. Luckily, out-and-out murder is against the law.
But I have had quite enough law in my life, and herein cry out for realization of happy self-prophecy--not out of drunken vanity or swinish intent, but hopeful determination for enrichment, an enhanced reputation, and recognition for my originality as a trainer of children. I further ask that my justifiable recompense for such dogged persistence be noted and unselfishly supported by the beloved Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, his brothers Lucifer, Yahweh, Jehovah. Allah, Brahma, and all the lusting Elohim still screwing among us; and I pray with eroding morality to the most-maligned God of them all, Satan (actually the most honest of Her brood).
These offspring of the Creator Godmother all know that Rachael and I are bound forever, eternally hitched for better or worse, and that our fate is recorded in ectoplasmic leaf on the wall of some distant cosmic courthouse. The local release of my earthly obligations means nothing to anybody but disgruntled postal delivery persons.
The far more worrisome obligation for me is the eternal recompense due to Lucifer--and Satan, the blessed Virgin, Jesus Christ, Yahweh and Jehovah, Thor, Brahma, and the whole divine staff of their unknowable district court--for the usurious flame is held by Senor Diablo, to whom I prayed en Espanol (to confound the English speakers at the crap table).
I plan to retain the best lawyer ever to fly out of Pandora's box (once he is released from prison), and as I wait, I hope and plan. I am working up a Talmudic defense for bilking the Diabolical One, and it centers around the classic be-atch Lilith. She was Adam's first wife, thrown together with him by scriptural oversight. Be it remembered that the Almighty created two (male and female) of every species, including the human, and then dropped the whole menagerie onto Earth, before taking off to sculpt the rest of Creation.
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| He got no nuthin'. Some Adam! |
Scholars aver that Lilith was Adam's first wife, even if they had been hitched accidentally by Almighty God--or Jehovah, or Yahweh, or I AM, or whatever he was calling himself those days.
More to the point, nobody even scolded this first breaker of divine contract. Instead the angels rewarded him with the friskier, more compliant Eve. My opinion is that she was a covert women's liberationist masquerading as a good wife, and her forbidden fruit episode was just history's opening salvo in Woman's struggle for equal employment opportunity, an enforceable ban on cat-calling, and a mechanical device that will let them make the male animal squeal like the pigs so many of them are. Word is that its in prototype development at Goooogle.
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| You must admit he's a handsome devil |
One post-ark hippopotamus put it to me onerically: "You live, si, on Noah's arc, but a tub crash ao no is evil. U oy." To wit, it's not the boat (the contract), not the goat (traditionally representing dark forces), not the note (financial obligation), but clearly the fault of a terrible palindrome.
From these and other factitious ethical principles, I declare that ancient precedent will exonerate my breach of contract regarding a terrestrial divorce from Rabael--whom I still love with the same unworldly intensity.
One Power can refloat our wrecked vessel and refurbish our marriage (or remarriage) by arranging a long period of comfortable stability for this woman, her children, and me-not to mention an air-conditioned dog house with golden fixtures for that incomprehensibly ever-caged dog. That one power I speak of is our female Lord of all creation.
No dreary, small-county civil court or flatulent municipal official--no slicked-up divine pretenders to universal creation can do it either--although that damnable bunch of phonies better lend assistance or I will tell their mother. The creator and first cause of all is woman. Mention of Her among the demi-divinity swells at the Club Pantheon but is made in awed whispers anywhere else.
She may be hard to reach, but I can't help feeling She hears my every word, and in the end will act with balanced motives and infinitely more compassion. I know She can do it. I pray She will do it. And I ask all those humans sick of haranguing male gods to think of Her as I do, and by all means lets start calling God "She." I humbly beseech Her: how 'bout it?
I publish this poor plea, addressed to the female deity and Her sympathizers:
One Power can refloat our wrecked vessel and refurbish our marriage (or remarriage) by arranging a long period of comfortable stability for this woman, her children, and me-not to mention an air-conditioned dog house with golden fixtures for that incomprehensibly ever-caged dog. That one power I speak of is our female Lord of all creation.
No dreary, small-county civil court or flatulent municipal official--no slicked-up divine pretenders to universal creation can do it either--although that damnable bunch of phonies better lend assistance or I will tell their mother. The creator and first cause of all is woman. Mention of Her among the demi-divinity swells at the Club Pantheon but is made in awed whispers anywhere else.
She may be hard to reach, but I can't help feeling She hears my every word, and in the end will act with balanced motives and infinitely more compassion. I know She can do it. I pray She will do it. And I ask all those humans sick of haranguing male gods to think of Her as I do, and by all means lets start calling God "She." I humbly beseech Her: how 'bout it?
I publish this poor plea, addressed to the female deity and Her sympathizers:
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