The Guise of Faith

“The easy confidence with which I know another man’s religion is folly teaches me to suspect that my own is also.” – Mark Twain

devil inside


Throwing the covers over my seething nature, I burrow beneath religion, hiding who I am. Pops said, “Religion is for the weak”, that may the case, but my reasons are that I’m fucking scared of who I really am. If my soul had a window, I’m sure there’d be a line to watch the horror show. Damn humanity, they love to watch insanity in action, paying millions of dollars to watch all kinds of degradation on the big screen and drooling, lonely, over their computer late at night. I’m sure people I know and haven’t known have stayed around only to see what kind up fucked up shit I’m gonna do or get into next. The guise of church and God is the ultimate facade. I really do believe in God, but I feel like I’m a fake when I act according to my faith, and almost feel like I’ve been duped when I “do good things” not because I want to, but because my beliefs tethered me into obedience. Being good is desirable, but only because I’m scared of whats inside me. I can honestly say that God is real to me and that I try to listen and obey, but (there’s always a but in religion) damn if I don’t feel like it’s a trick. I’m religious not out of love for God, but from fear of who I’ll be if I don’t “obey”. My soul is filled with many violent and revolting perversions, and most of my self destructive behavior comes through that realization. I don’t want to hurt anyone, to cause mayhem and destruction, I don’t want to be what I am. My detractors, the greatest of whom reside in my head, taunt me saying, “how can you write all these hope filled articles about God and His work in your life while being a whole different person inside. Your the ultimate hypocrite.”. It’ll be known when all things are known that my battles where never seen by humanity, and my greatest victory will be to go to the grave without fulfilling the deviant nature that claws at and through my robes of righteousness.


In Defense of Addiction

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
Edgar Allan Poe
“The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame.
He might get burned, but he’s in the game.
And once he’s in, he can’t go back, he’ll
Beat his wings ’til he burns them black…
No, The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame. . .
The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real,
‘Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal.
And nothing fuels a good flirtation,
Like Need and Anger and Desperation…
No, The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real. . . ”
Aimee Mann
An expression of wisdom from an ancient text declares anxiety in the mind of a man causes depression. From this I understand addiction‘s hold on me. My world is so complex with worries that it sickens my body. Worries about about self esteem and retirement, about wealth and sickness, about bills and responsibilities, about women and sex, about an endless list of subjects, a thousand times a minute, every waking moment in the day. However, when I’m in my addiction, I worry about nothing but it, for hours, for days, possibly for weeks and months. Imagine the rest I feel when my tormented mind, harried by anxieties and thoughts assailing me without mercy, becomes suddenly disconnected. The plug is pulled, no more crazy anxiety, only my addiction. 
This sounds like a crazed rendezvous with a forbidden lover, but like those trysts, its the lure of the taboo that brings the rush delivering me from the madness of mind plaguing my troubled soul. It’s asked of me, “How can you do those things?”, the accusation being made that I should know better. Those interrogators have no idea of the energy consuming me from the inside out. Were they to know, the question would be irrelevant. I want rest from my mind consuming itself. Be kind to those in addictions, you have no idea what they are capable of if they were not consumed with that thing they desire. What if you knew that because of an addiction, you were delivered from harm? Would you then criticize that which saved you? 
Rest assured I know that some addictions result in violence, and I in no way pretend to support that lifestyle, but if only to enlighten the non-user, the pure and undefiled soul that never craved the forbidden to the tragic end of ruining their life, and make them understand that in my case, be very thankful that my thoughts were arrested by an addictive lifestyle; for were they to come to fruition otherwise, it would be a very messy picture. Take a moment to step in another man’s shoes before you criticize an addicts lifestyle, they may not be doing the worse thing possible…there are abnormal and hugely deviant alternatives that are, shall we say, detrimental toyour health.

A Whispered Confession – Exasperation of temptation

A friend called the other day, confiding in me some very deep thoughts. I thought I would share them with you, point blank, and in the first person. Here is his voice…
A soul is born with certain, shall we say, tendencies. Some good, some bad, but it behooves us to know which way our inner man leans. Myself, I lean toward dark and violent. That’s all I was exposed to growing up. Love, acceptance, belonging, and positive thoughts were not part of my environment. My sails are now set, with this nurture of darkness, to be driven on seas were men ought not find themselves. My struggle forever set to battle not against ordinary tendencies, but against hugely deviant and depraved paths. 

In my adventures I’ve come across souls such as myself, they brought me huge pleasure as I saw the wake they made through their blackened seas. I conferred with one, telling him how I admired the fear he inspired in any crowd. He looked at me with forlorn eyes, “I wish to be like you” he confided. Tired of being feared, tired of being constrained by the course his sails set him on, he wished to be compassionate and feel, to engage normally with strangers and innocents. But, he said, telling me the way to path I wished, “if you wish to be like me, you only need touch the hate in your heart. You can be the baddest, if you hate.” At that time, I denied and refused my hate, my whole being swallowed up in the religious pretense of love. I knew what I was destined to be, but I hid it in the grand facade of religion. His words stuck with me. Now, I have a contradiction raging in me. I should be, an abuser, a murderer, a violent and unmerciful man engaged in many other criminal activities. But, I encountered God. I embraced Him out of fear of my path. Still I hold on to his hand, knowing what I can be, what I was supposed to be. Swinging way past center, I find myself soft, and complacent, letting people go when they should be punished and resisted.

This is where I find myself, the hate rising, demanding my attention, telling me to act according to my destiny, but, God stops me, guiding me in a different way. I am so tired of the battle. Tired because people don’t quit, they keep pushing, disrespecting, and teasing, mocking me. The expression, “going postal”, bears relevance. There are persons in society who finally snap. They seem mellow, gentle, placid and weak. Then, they flip the script and kill. Kill many, kill few, but kill nonetheless. Everyone shakes their head in disbelief. How can this happen? I know how this can happen, it happens in me every day. Having not killed, not pillaged, does that make me weaker? Or stronger? Having resisted those impulses and being kind and forgiving, where does that leave me? 

This argument is moot at this point. My breaking point is near. I can stand no more insults to my manhood. No more disrespect to my humanity. No more glaring down the nose, daring me to act looks. I’m shoved, and it builds. I’m ripped off and it builds. What they don’t understand is, is, that, I am nothing like how I look, how I have made myself appear. I am evil, violent, malevolent, and disgusting. How much more Lord, will you make me bear before I come apart. I can stand no more. Be prepared you sly cons who think you have me pegged. Something evil this way lurks.