Love... for which to honor

 

Included are seven gifts I have to offer you. It is my hope that you will take the time to study and perhaps, even enjoy, these gifts for which to honor. Please accept them as they are intended.

But before I describe these gifts, there are a couple things you need to know. First, I wish to thank you for such a situation as that which brought about the much needed discussion of reconciliation. I am thankful that God hath raised up a brother willing to intercede for such a situation. 

Second, I know I am a sinner (if you really want to push that narrative unfairly), but if you truly understood how important I am, you need not remain antagonistic toward me. I don't expect your other brother to change his antagonism, ever since I delivered him over to SATAN for the destruction of the flesh so that his spirit may be saved in the Day of the Lord. As with Peter in Antioch, I withstood him to the face because he was to be blamed.

Here are the awesome gifts included, which I made for you to honor my awesomeness:

1. The new "proofed" LAW Catechism. It is not designed to replace any catechism already out there. Instead, this catechism is designed to be really "out there," surpassing even the catechism of Moses himself. It is a catechism demonstrating HOW Moses catechized the people of Israel to love the LAW of the LORD. Those that say otherwise, perhaps, need to study, at length, as I have, the standard within the Standard (Scripture). 

2. Position paper: Let no man think he is something when he is nothing, Part ONE - This exposes the deep, dark secrets of the Papacy and Islam working with Fauci to destroy Calvinism in America.

3. Position paper: The Bohemian Shuttle: "Pretext", Part TWO 

4. "US" - Part ONE - this is about the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child back in the 90's.

5. Satan (AKA the Devil, Dragon, Serpent, Accuser, Angel of Light) did not write the LAW of God, Part TWO. - finishes the same with a hard-hitting conclusion.

6. Homeschools: Militias for mass Reformation - Parts ONE & TWO

7. The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women - by John Knox. Is about men with fire in their bosom.

Four Years

 

I want

to honor 

your life,

but I don't

know how

to say more

without

tears...

of joy?

For yourself

 

None of us were surprised

He came and brought her

And made excuses afterward

 

It was a good time apart nonetheless

Kids puking will become his excuse

To normalize dysfunction

 

He convinced many for a time, times, and half a time

That he really does love us

Just not enough to take us seriously

 

This is because he sees the missing

He knows how nations are discipled

His whole life is one adopted failure after another

 

Old man, you have built very little

Defended quite a lot of your own panache

And sustained absolutely nothing but a reputation

For yourself

Messengers

 

I cried this morning

I changed the wallpaper, too, because of you

It's the perfect picture of the crazy I remember

    with the glow of love for the Divine

All I could say in the moment was, 'I miss you.'

And thanks be to God that you can receive such greetings

    whispered to angels

        or those seated above them

I picture one of them saying, 'Go! Give this to her quickly.'

And at once each one darts off to run their own race

and eventually comes to your mansion

You sense the urgency, 

and so, rush to the door

    and listen intently

        and respond gently

Go tell my son, 'I love you too.'

That's when I cried

and changed my wallpaper

    to the perfect picture of crazy love for the Divine

I really mean it

 

I really mean it

I can't believe you married me

I love life with you

I love you with every piece of me

And I will love you until

No pieces are left

After nothing is left

I will still be in love with you

And every piece of you that completes me

I would disassemble 

Just so I could put you back together again

It's the least I could do

For giving me all of you

I really mean it

Parrot Disease

 

I wish there was an easy way to say this, but John was right about the jailor.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the few whose faith is whole.

 

I remember you well. I don’t remember everything, 

but what I remember from back then is the same I heard today.

 

You are hurt. Nobody responds to your stupid texts.

Nobody calls you, or checks in, or pays you a visit, or invites you over. 

Always deflecting. Always insulting. Always hearing but not listening.

Always gaslighting. Always the victim. Always the expert. Always the same.

 

Fifty-eight minutes is all it took to remember why your four distanced themselves.

In your eyes the four are Stewards. Milk does feed calves and dung does not.

 

Always reformed but never reforming, and trying to make them think.

That milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung.

One is always the soldier at war. One is always attacked. One is always justified.

That one is a horrible human being. Not horrible, as in wicked—

 

—horrible in the sense of pathetic, and mean, and hypocritical, 

and self-aggrandizing, and argumentative, and petty, and embarrassing.

This is why your four don’t bother with you anymore.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the strong whose hearts they break.

 

Seven letters plus I

 

I see your lines, circles, crescent moons and stars, all commenting on your new creation

Looking closely at each letter to learn what's in them for you

Of the holy one, the true one, you underline with dark blue ink as one who knew life itself

Vindicate them, you highlight, as one who appreciates the lord's faithfulness to his people

Every page is saturated with ball-pointed feelings of childlike curiosity and trust

You valued the cost of the crown of life more than the acceptance of this world

Over and over, and over again, a star marks wisdom for your own application

Unlike the one who abandoned his first love, you now shine like the son, having been faithful unto death

Unscramble

 

Seflak is such a strange name

the odd letter functioning like a grade

upon its academic work.

 

I see the CD in the Ugandan’s hand.

And I don’t know how critical I should be.

Will that, too, produce another failure?

 

One can only hope my restructuring in pdf will be read

not just downloaded and tucked away down F’s memory hole

as another box checked to boast and know it all

Perhaps when my publication is for sale

Seflak will start paying attention 

and stop ignoring our differences

and adopt me as a Sealak

Dots and Caps

 

The adopted one speaks like her Papa. Always innocent until proven guilty. Always the victim. Always the humble and wise apologist, asking useless questions related to imaginary foundational gaps, accompanied with poor grammar and reasoning. Always tearing down strongholds made with privatized perception within the echo-chamber of Dr. Pops. Then come the dots...

As the Papa is predictably defensive and insecure, yet overly confident inasmuch as he overcompensates with ridiculous anecdotes of self-aggrandizements, so this newly adopted daughter is blinded by her own conceits. Blinded by his, too, they remain an embarrassment to all those who truly care about them. At least for now. Maybe it will remain forever. Maybe it won't. Then come the all-caps.

I certainly hope not. Just as I hope she learns, before it's too late, that she's not his daughter or covenant child, and he's not her father. Her actual father is not evil, as her Papa claims. The only way out of this mess she impetuously plunged into is to think for herself, and question big Papa's authority. That's what his real children did. They grew tired of playing his stupid games, which only won them stupid prizes. Then comes the position paper. 

Tonsured for Christ

 

In the midst of the congregation the praise of Christ is hymned because of you, O Reader Joseph. Through your life at the kliros, the humble path to exaltation is made manifest, illumined with the transcendent beauty of angelic melodies. By your constancy and loyalty, standing in praise and prayer, the way of salvation is guided and guarded for us. In keeping vigils, you brightened the path leading to our unending joy. Therefore we celebrate your light-giving and holy memory, and we cry aloud in one accord: Intercede with Christ our God that our feet would be made to stand dutifully in all divine allotments of service, with our hearts stationed on Him within the Great Congregation of ineffable praises, so that we, too, would be kept from straying onto evil paths and all attain the unity of faith and the knowledge of God’s unapproachable glory. 

—S-E-L-F-C-O-N-T-R-O-L—

 

 

I’m working on it

Nibbles of taste buds at a time

don’t seem to be as effective

as jawbones lopping off lengua

and knitting it back together

with toothpicks

Bite your tongue, they say.

I have, many times. 

See this stitch?

And this one, ad infinitum?

If you pick these sutures apart

I bleed, too.

And so would she.

That’s why I wear the beads of her hands

of gold and white,

elasticated and easy to snap,

suffocating my skin every day.

We actually feel pain, you know.

Sincerely

Dear Katie,

I’m listening now

Twenty two years of vibrations 

And six hundred thirty six miles of string unwound

Now your tin can is touching my ear

I hear that you don’t trust God to change you

You’re not alone

Life feels lonely and powerless

When everything hangs on obsessions of ideas

I heard what you said about fear and depression

But phobias are products of actual organic illness 

You also were not the only person depressed in that household

Everyone was depressed along with you

I heard what you said about needing change and happiness

You’re much stronger than you think

Not many are resilient enough 

To carry such burdens as yours for forty years

I heard that you had a tumor

It’s shocking to learn about that now

Having never heard about it before

Is anyone surprised that David cared less?

I heard your foot was in bad shape

Another summer of fun ruined because of it

Even though you’d like to blame others

The kids were not safe or happy around you, so get over it

I heard that you’re moving to Cedarburg

That sounds like a lot of work to prepare for

Packing last minute sounds emotionally draining

Are you sure you’ll be pleased with any house they can afford?

I heard you really want to choose the house or see it ahead of time

But what if no one can read your mind or satisfy your expectations?

What if everyone is exhausted by your manic depression?

Wouldn’t that be painfully ironic, if true?

I heard you wanted to go home to your mom

That’s another seriously depressing thought

Things were clearly so bad that you just couldn’t stop entertaining

More depressing, imaginary desires

Then there was Jonathan

Did you know he was a drug addict then?

Did you care that he needed help?

Just imagine how worthwhile a drug addict teenager must have felt, too

I heard you mention twice your need to be “productive”

You need something to replace what you dwell upon obsessively

You know, things you can’t change

So you can blame God for not changing you

I heard you mention burnout

You sound exhausted and hopeless

Consider how everyone else feels too

Especially those you blame and whine around incessantly

I heard you want to live, work, and be happy?

Well then, what are you waiting for?

But don’t forget the list you left behind

With dozens of reasons for why you can’t work or be happy

I heard that no one knows the truth about your health or desires

And no one talks to you, and you’re not allowed to talk to them

That’s another depressing thought I can forgive now

Brought about because of your extreme mental illness

I heard that you’re scared, and concerned about anger

You want help but you’re not allowed to ask for it

And you’re “probably” not supposed to accept it

I call bullshit

I heard that you felt hopeless and did’t have help

You had no recourse, and couldn’t talk to anyone

But I know you gossiped to everyone all the fucking time

I call bullshit again

I hear that you wish you could start life over differently

If you could you would surely choose another destiny

Surely, Satan is to blame, or David, or God

They all work overtime, so they all qualify

I’ve really been trying to listen to your prayer

And what I have gleaned is this

The Lord did come to your heart and redeem and restore

Now it’s your turn to pray for whomever

Sincerely,

Whomever

Between the liens

I wear my emotions on my sleeves

I'm as transparent as it gets

What you see is what you get
Correct me if i'm wrong

Whence did I receive rationalizations galore of righteous indignation?

I got my foolish zeal from you

There I inherited my infatuation for justice

And my great pride?

My boldness in the face of evil?

My extraordinary self-confidence?

All from your example

My phobias come from her 

My pushiness from her

All empathy from her 

My pity from her

My cunning—all hers

Nobody knows as much as you though

She was severely mentally ill

You were completely and stubbornly sane

Her illness would manifest a complete manipulative two-faced bitch at calculated times

You were just a self-aggrandized asshole caring more about the prized stallion more than tony the pony

She received treatments for a time, and then adamantly refused because she was fucking crazy

You never received correction or ever accepted therapy though

Your excuse? 

You didn’t want to lose your kids

Your excuse?

There were no counselors Christian enough for you

Your excuse? 

Secular psychologists couldn’t or wouldn’t empathize with you

Her excuse? 

Does she even need one? 

She was sick

Her natural personality was triune

The frenzied wrath of a father, the fleeting wind-likeness of spirit, and passibility of the son all wound together in one flesh

She was fucked up

She was literally insane most of my life

But you? 

You’re a prized stallion

You’re a former athlete 

You’re a soldier and patriot

You’re sovereign and national

You’re a prophet, priest, and king

You’re a martyr, shepherd, preacher

You’re now a doctor, too

A man after God’s own heart

Look at what you built

Look at what you defended 

Behold what you have sustained 

Your career of presuppositionalist herem had much success

Like the late great Mr. Pink

Sipping communion at home until his dying day because no one was as prized as he was

No one sustained what he had

Not one soul on earth fought tyranny and built walls of estrangement as high as him

Praise Obama 

Remember that letter of her excommunication that my brother and I wrote? 

Me neither

I remember you writing the whole thing and telling us to lie for you to the session 

Remember how good at chemistry, and math, and history I was? 

Me neither

I didn’t have to be

You either left the answer key lying around or you were too busy building God's kingdom to follow through with love and attention

You left all that for an insane woman to take care of—absolutely brilliant

Why did I become an addict at age fifteen? 

She bought me cartons of cigarettes

Bribing me to steal from you

You modeled resentment and bitterness
You sculpted an image of war propheteering
You recited the grace of God's Law
You delivered the real goods nobody else would
You denounced all cowards for their pablum

Whose habits do you think contributed most?
Perhaps that's a false dichotomy?

The great irony of puritans is that they can’t r/e/a/d

The great tragedy: they insist they can

Because they know they’re clever

And they truly are

They wave their God-in-paperback around in ways that would still make John Knox proud

Upon the first blast of the trumpet
Against the monstrous regiment of women

She received the capital punishment you thought she deserved

To which is added
The contents of the second blast

You became sovereign and she became homeless

Death is right here—Be sober o soul, and read between the liens