Nobody Says a Word About Fight Club

I never saw the movie Fight Club, but I understand that the concept was that a group of guys got together to beat each other up and lived by some kind of code that forbade talking about the club outside gatherings.  It goes back to the understanding between friends in Las Vegas:  what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

In retrospect, it appears that the two orders of the Sacred Order of Living Paganism lived by this code and punished severely anyone who violated it.  By their ethics, it was perfectly OK to hurt each other and cause pain and undue stress to anyone not part of their little club, but if you said something about them, suggested that the Order was anything less than the idea spiritual path, intimated that someone within the Order was untrustworthy, or called shenanigans on anybody, well you and anyone you associate with would be judged harshly.

Some of you might know that as of early 2007, we ceased to consider ourselves part of the "pagan" community.  It was largely due to the twisted values presented by the Sacred Order of Living Paganism that we left that scene.  We discovered its evils for what it was.  Twisted values, a wonky moral compass, absolutely no sense of loyalty to anything but the cult that housed the members, all ran rampant through the Order. 

I personally was told that jenna3 would be judged for exposing shenanigans that were legitimately going on in the Order by her Elder, Stephen Phillips because she could not keep me from exposing shenanigans within the order - as, correctly, the evil that its members did reflected on the order.  But, it was easy for the order's leadership to excuse that.  The fact that I exposed them was even more heinous in this man's eyes.  I was told that exposing these shenanigans was worse than murder and it could prevent jenna3's advancement through the ranks!  How twisted is that?

People are emotionally raping each other, and my wife is being blackmailed because I exposed it.  Anyone whose moral compass points north can see that there is something wrong deep down in the very soul of this little Pagan Club.  "Tell no one about pagan club."  What sort of depraved soul thinks like that?  Who taught this man about right and wrong?  Maybe he learned his lesson from other cult leaders, for that is what he came off as.

As of January 3, 2007, I have not had a single straight conversation with anyone in that order, and I thank God that I have not had to speak with any of them since June that year.  Hiding behind their little priest confidentiality bit, they engaged in conversations with me that seemed to veer off in directions completely tangential to what I was talking about.  It was as though we were transmitting back and forth on separate lines.  I was talking about one thing, and Mr. Phillips would say something, as though responding to what I said, but completely talking about another thing entirely.  I still cannot certify that I understand entirely what he was saying, but I do know that I was totally insulted that he could not bring himself to speak on the straight and narrow.  And he was supposed to be an ordained priest in this order.  In retrospect, the man was hardly a man, but a boy trying to keep from getting into trouble by skirting the real matter at hand.

Before you say, "But this is just one person," let me outline the behavior of Mad Maddy Shenk, who when I was called a liar, could not bring herself to say, "He got it all from me," and then call for some means of resolution.  First, she hid in the background lest Stephen find out that I was upset in the first place based on things she said intersecting with things that happened the night of January 2, 2007, when the stress that those people brought on prevented my wife from being able to produce milk to nourish my child.  Then, when it was apparent that I would not let anything rest until I got some kind of satisfaction, she resolved to stab my wife in the back when she went to the Hearthfire Council seeking justice on my behalf, and the whole council told my wife that she had to choose whether to stay with me and our family or abandon us to stay with the Hearthfire Circle.  Like I was so horrible that the only acceptable way that she could remain with that group was to divest herself of me - or like they  intended to fully brainwash her, and they could not influence her as long as I was part of her life.  Again, this is a sign that Sacred Order of Living Paganism is nothing less than a cult.  Any Order that resolves to force a person to leave their family for their "ideals" is a cult.  Nothing healthy could come of it.

When that did not work, Mad Maddy bad-mouthed both jenna3 and myself to everyone who would listen:  Reverend Donald Southworth, Laura Corey, whoever.  She acted like a woman scorned.  She and the whole lot of them presented themselves as victims.  I had <gasp!>threatened</gasp> them.  I was going to <gasp!>go postal</gasp!> on them!  And everyone that they spoke to believed them, which further made resolving the situation impossible.  It was clear that they had no remorse for the harm that they did to me and my family, and it was also clear that they were determined to turn their evil around on me. 

Evil operates by perversion and deceit.  They knew that I am bound by the truth.  They have no such boundary.  They sprinkle truth with lies, just enough to make their story believable when third parties (such as Donald Southworth) intervene, focusing on specific highlights taken out of context to present just the picture they wanted to paint of me.

But they were not my victims.  They were setting things up for their ultimate "triumph."  Who cannot walk into Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship to this day?  Not them.  In fact, it quite sickens me to see that people whom jenna3 introduced Mad Maddy to are now Mad Maddy's people, and jenna3 cannot associate with them comfortably.  The community that once was jenna3 's has become Mad Maddy's, as though she came along and supplanted my wife.  It angers me to think of it.  If any of these people were truly my wife's people, knowing us and knowing what Mad Maddy was doing, they would have told her to go to Hell.  I do not know for certain.  I was told that something might have happened between revkara and her on our behalf, but I cannot certify this.  I wish those people would tell her to go to Hell, too.  I want her to experience three days of misery for every day of misery she caused me.  Is that so wrong?

But most importantly, it must be known that the Sacred Order of Living Paganism cannot be qualified as a religion to be protected by the freedom of religion in our Bill of Rights.  It is a cult, and for it's part, I would urge anyone with the power to launch an investigation into the motives and actions of their leadership to do so.  This is not a trustworthy organization, for what it is.  It is known that the Durham Circle and Hearthfire Circle both disbanded in 2007 shortly after Father Chuck Doebler started to threaten bogus law suits publicly in LJ, and Hearthfire continues through Mary Beth Samsa, one of the people involved in the affair of 2007, but Sacred Order of Living Paganism continues to limp along with their Web presence and their international membership, who are logged on the Sacred of Living Paganism's Web site, run by Shandarramon now that the people who were involved in the ugliness of 2007 have moved on.

If the leadership of Sacred Order of Living Paganism can look at people with a straight face and say that exposing shenanigans is worse than the shenanigans exposed, if they can turn a blind eye to the rot that festered in their core and criticize a man who cared about his family and friends enough to expose the shenanigans, then the very core foundational values of the organization are questionable and must be stamped out.  Those disseminating their twisted message must be kept from doing so.  It is a harmful, cultist message that threatens the moral core of everyone inclined to explore religions alternative to the one and only true God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  If this message can turn a woman away from her husband and family to follow them without a sideways glance, then the message must be stamped out.  It cannot be allowed to spread. 

This is a call to action.  These people are all guilty of terrible acts against me and my family and have not paid.  In fact, signs indicate that some have actually prospered.  I have not outlined everything here.  This is a "top-of-the-head" journal entry, not a full treatise.  To outline all the things that they did to me, my wife, and my children by proxy would take a long time to plot out and write.  It would take several days of writing and then filling in contexts to make sure that you understand why one series of events happened in context with another series of events, who spoke to whom, who emailed whom, and what was said, assumed, and accepted.  If this seems a little disjointed, forgive me.  I am writing in a stream of consciousness in a single session for the most part.  I hope to refine this in future sessions and perhaps publish it in a more robust location, perhaps my personal Web site, with a space devoted entirely to the evils of the Sacred Order of Living Paganism.  Perhaps there, the unfolding of events and the sound bites of "he said, she said" will be made more clear to you.

If you should encounter these folk, steer clear.  They are not trustworthy.  I trusted one of their members, and she stabbed me and my wife in the back for our trust.  We welcomed her into our family, and now, she has all of my wife's old friends.

A Dude in Wal-Mart Tops My Idiocy Radar

The stupidity of Father Charles T. Doebler, Jeff Browning, Christine Fisher, and Maddy Shenk has been, despite my belief that it could not be topped, officially topped this afternoon in the Morrisville Wal-Mart on Highway 54.

We had just gathered all of our groceries and supplies we needed for the week and were coming across the store in search of a check-out lane.  I was busy keeping boys in line, so I did not witness it, but some guy apparently bumped into Jenna without looking where he was going.  Jenna advised him to look where he was going, and she overheard him complain that she was rude.  Jenna told me about it when she joined me in the check-out lane, and I looked up to see him pointing at Jenna.  I asked him if he had something to say, and he charged over two lanes to tell me that Jenna was a smart-ass.  He looked like he wanted to throw a punch at me.

I cannot state with enough emphasis how ill-advised this would have been, I don't care how much physically larger than I am he is.  Not only would assault charges result, he would have been carted out of the store with a broken leg and a broken jaw, I very much guarantee it.  Jenna interposed herself between us, vigorously pushing to keep us from getting within arms length of each other.  Meanwhile, his wife was two check-out lanes away, quietly staying out of the incident.

Apparently, she was too stupid to realize how close her husband was to being charged with assault and having at least two bones in his body broken in about six seconds in my defense and counter. 

This is the thing.  Before you fly off the handle and come charging across the store to call a guy's wife a "smart-ass," you might want to consider the possibility that he might have been trained to hand your ass to you on a platter on a moment's notice and whether you want to spend the rest of your day in the hospital or in police custody.  You might be looking at me and thinking, "I can take him."  But, you don't know.  You don't know what I was trained to do for a dozen years under the financing of your tax dollars.  You don't know what I continue to train to do even though your tax dollars no longer finance me "being all I can be."

Like the stupidity of the Durham and Hearthfire Circles, this guy could easily have resolved the situation with a more even-keeled approach rather than charging across the Wal-Mart with finger pointing and calling my wife a name I wouldn't appreciate.  As it is, he is probably still complaining about the incident to his wife, subjecting her to hours of his bullshit because he can't control his own temper.

Dusting Off the Cobwebs

I am going through a process of applying for jobs at all of the Top 100 companies to work for, and DreamWorks Animation is number 6. They have two openings that I am confident I could do; however, they want animation reels with all their resumes. Seems a bit extreme, but they have a practice of encouraging employees throughout their campus to try out for voice parts and even pitch stories. So, I started to dust off the cobwebs of my short story file in my home office. I have already pulled in one short story I wrote back in the day to Microsoft Word with the intent of selling it (probably with some re-writes), and I am halfway through another.

The story I am about to share is called "River Crossing." I wrote it my freshman year in undergrad school. I will not tell you how long ago that was. You will have to guess. I will say that I was very enthusiastic about the possibilities of the English language and prosaic convention. So, I wrote very little for commercial consumption. I wrote very experimental stuff then because I was flexing my muscles with fiction and poetry. I was practicing. Now, I am beyond that, and I am trying to get my fiction writing chops back.

"River Crossing" was an extended mythical allusion story and probably could have been used for the challenge we had going a couple years ago when this community was active. I'd love to get this community active again, so please, provide feedback and constructive critique on this piece. I want to know what I could do to make this better than it is. Seriously.

River Crossing

A short tale by Michael D. Moore


A sinewy youth bound in chains stands tall on a riverbank, defiantly watching the river running its indifferent course between opposing shores.  Two armor-clad men stand guard on either side of him, the blades of their halberds flashing against the bleakness of the early autumn sky.  Thick, gray clouds conceal the sun’s rays and threaten to pour gloom upon the ground below. 

On the lifeless far bank, a fortress stands on a hill overlooking the murky waters.  Dried, withered brown leaves fall from trees hanging over the river.  The scent of impending rain wafts in the air.

The youth watches the looming tower in defiance of what he knows is to come.  He is rough-hewn, brutish, hairless, skin glistening with sweat.  No longer caring even for knowledge of his own name, he is cheated, led to an unfair slaughter.

One of the guards rolls ground tobacco leaves in a slip of paper and asks the other, “When is Charley supposed to get here?”

“He will be here in one hour,” answers a man with the accent of a man educated in the King’s English.

Both guards pivot quickly and acknowledge the presence of a man in holy vestments standing ceremoniously on the path behind them.  “We did not hear you, Father Gabriel.  How did you get out here?”

“I am here to give this man his last rites, and, in answer to your question, I arrived on foot.”

The prisoner’s spirits appear to lift as he turns to face the cowled holy man who has come to hear and bless him.  “Father,” he addresses with a weak smile, “You must hear my story.”  He stumbles toward the priest, dragging the weight of his chains along with him and, before the guards can stop him, kneels before the priest.  “I did not do the deed; I swear by All that is Holy.  You must believe what I say.”

The priest bids the young man to rise, helping him to his feet.  “I will hear you, my son.”  Together, they walk away from the guards.  The priest motions to the armed soldiers to hold fast.  The guards duck behind a copse of trees and lounge together lazily, while the young prisoner begins his story, the patriarch listening intently.

“I am a mere fisherman in these parts.  I have no mind to lie.  You must believe me.”

“Of course, my son,” reassures the priest.  “When was the last time you gave confession?”

“Father, I am devout.  I gave confession last week.”  The youth, taken aback, jars from his position, putting space between him and the priest.  “This is not a confession.  It is a correction of the record.  I did not do this.  Those who did it are of higher stature than I, and that is the only reason I am here.”

“I was fishing on this river the night it happened.  I was trying to catch nigh-fish.  I was pushing my lamplit barge upriver, looking for a suitable place to fish.  Sounds heard in nightmares echoed in the nigh.  I felt helpless as a I floated lonely on these murky waters.  I imagined torment, terror, the screams of countless victims of the evil spirits of the night.  Something inside me said, ‘Man, something is going to happen; something wicked will do you in.’

“I heard a familiar scream from that forest across the river,” the youth says, pointing at the skeletal trees leaning over the water on the far bank.  “I was scared out of my skin.

I looked for the source of the scream and saw nothing.  The deep pit of dread dug into my belly.  And there was this feeling that I knew the screamer.  I didn’t want to face it at first, but I had to be sure.  It could have been my paramour.  Though I didn’t want to think that my true love was in danger, I had to consider it, I had to save her if I could.

“I took my raft ashore and rushed toward the scream.  As I drew nearer, I could hear the alien chants of several men and women mingled with her shouts of pain and pleadings for a cessation of the torture.

“I slowed to a halt to catch my breath as I drew to within sight of the clearing where they stood, chanting repeatedly some mystical, dark rite I could not understand.  Concealed by the night and the trees, I quietly approached the clearing with caution to stay under cover of the shrubbery.

“Three men in robes like your stood in fixed positions around my Gloria – my Gloria!  She was bound to an inverted crucifix, herself in the same position, and she was naked and covered with her own blood.  Some sort of glyph was etched out on her flesh, and the same glyph was mapped out on the ground, where the three men stood.  Three women stood with them, chanting with them in a circle.  I cried for her, and prayed for her.  She still hung there, tears running down her forehead, energy fading away slowly.  One of the men held a dagger level to her heart.  I just knew he was going to kill her, Father, I just knew it!  I had one chance to save her life; I had to take it.

“I lunged at the man with the knife with an absent-minded fury that toppled him and sent us both tumbling to the ground.  We wrestled for control of the weapon as his two cohorts watched us, shocked perhaps that someone actually had the nerve to attack their leader.  It was then that I realized that I might lose my life, but I couldn’t turn back, not then.  Not with the life of my Gloria at stake.

“I pummeled my opponent with my bare hands until the dagger dropped from his hand.  The hood fell from his head, and I recognized him as the baron’s son.  I lept to my feet and backed away, my eyes fixated on his face.

“’God protect me,’ I gasped.  I was frozen, but for the moment, they were too shocked to move, either.  One of the men advanced on Gloria, reaching out to clutch at her hair.  I rushed at the men to get between them and Gloria.  My dagger bit into the left arm of one of the men.

“He clutched her face with his right hand, and I recognized him as the squire to the baron’s son.  As tears slid down Gloria’s forehead, he snickered at me, knowing that he held me at a stalemate.

“I stood on guard, looking for some sign that might reveal his next action, waiting for an opening I could use to my advantage.  He stared at me from careless eyes.  Paralyzed by a fear of death so apparent now that I could taste it, I stood motionless.

“’Drop the dagger,’ he insisted, ‘or I will gouge out her eyes.”  His fingers rested over her closed eyelids.  Gloria pled ineffectually for life.  My heart sank.

“’You hurt her, and I will take your life!’ I cried.  I was desperate.

“The thug applied pressure, and Gloria cried shrilly, ‘No!’  I winced.  My blood froze. 

“’I haven’t done it yet,’ he said while scoffing at me below his breath sadistically.  ‘I’m telling you that you have a choice.  You can drop the knife and save the wench’s life, or you can use it and lose this woman and your own life.’  Almost whispering, his voice sliced at my soul.  ‘Make your decision quickly.’ His fingers applied pressure to my love’s eyes again.  Gloria held her breath to keep from crying out.

“I dropped the dagger.

“’Good,’ he commended.  The baron’s son took the blade and rejoined his comrades.

“Ah, that bastard!” the youth cried out.  “I did what he asked!  I did what he asked!  And he did it anyway!  He dug his fingers right into her eyes!  I watched the blood seep from her eye sockets and trickle over his fingers onto the ground below her head.

“I was angry.  Angry for her, angry for the deception, mad with pain.  I rushed them all at once.

“I fought.  I fought hard.  I shouted curses I have never shouted before.  I could see her in the corner of my eyes.  She stopped moving.  And they overpowered me.  All three of them.

“And here I sit, awaiting my execution.  Everyone believes it was I who killed Gloria because he said so.  I threw the guilt on me for me to die dishonorably while he goes on to live his life of sin.”

Spent, drenched in perspiration, the youth looks up at the priest, who gingerly massages his own shoulder.  “When Charley arrives on the ferry, I will be off to my execution in the baron’s castle on the other side of this river.

“You are my one chance, Father.  Help me escape, and I will prove my innocence.  I can show you where I left my raft.  You’ll see.  I’ll not fail the Lord’s justice.  I just want those ruffians to confess openly so the world will know them for who they are.  Please, Father, I beg you.”

Father Gabriel rises, smiling as he answers, “I cannot do that, my son.  It was I that you so brutally stabbed that night.”  He scoffs, and continues, “I’ve come not to give you the safety of the Cross but to ensure that you go to your death, boy.  No one will ever know the truth of what happened.  I control it.  That is the way of this world.  Truth is what the powerful make it.”  He lifts up the prisoner with his good arm and directs him to the river bank.  Charley is halfway across the river on his ferry.  “Ah, hither comes Charley,” Father Gabriel says cheerfully.

Disillusioned, the youth holds back a tear for the living he leaves behind now as he watches the ferry come ashore and tether for boarding.  He steps onto the boat, guided by the guards who follow him onto the boat.  Father Gabriel smiles and waves his farewell, “God’s speed.”

Captain America 21st Century

I've been thinking on and off about Captain America as he'd fit into the 21st Century Army, or for that matter, how a World War II era Cap would serve as appropriate dialogue for a 21st century audience.

There are numerous elements of the hero as he was written that gives me pause about his plausibility as a symbolic entity and as an appropriate role model for 21st century comic readers. Sure, he was a patriot and served his country in a time when courage was needed to fight one of the greatest threats to humanity known to man, but we have to stand back a minute and truly analyze this character bit by bit.

Steve Rogers was a patriotic 90 pound weakling who was rejected by the Armed Services when he walked through their front doors to enlist to become a soldier to fight for his country. He was then called back to serve as a guinea pig for a top secret experimental project wherein he drank a serum known as the super-soldier serum that transformed him from a wimp to a muscle-bound monster of a man with super strength, speed, and agility. Awesome. So, the top brass at the Pentagon gave him a suit of red white and blue super alloyed chain mail armor and a red, white, and blue shield, told him to secretly fight the Axis powers as the symbol of America, and then dumped him smack dab in the middle of an Army unit, where he was promptly ordered to peel potatoes.

So many things are wrong with this story. It is both implausible and inappropriate for 21st century audiences. The super-soldier serum is nothing more than metabolic steroids. We couldn't put Captain America in front of troops knowing that's how he got strong and fast because he'd be called a cheater. Not only that, the question of when he will go postal on his buddies in his unit has to be asked. Don't steroids drive you crazy with the overdose of male hormone?

From a plausibility standpoint, the story doesn't hold water. In the Marvel Universe, Captain America is, reportedly, the most proficient hand-to-hand combatant in the world in terms of skill. Who trained him? Really. Shang-Chi, Master of Kung-Fu and Iron Fist are both dedicated martial artists who train daily to hone their skills. We are told nothing about Captain America's training. If he can kick Shang-Chi and Iron Fist's asses, what martial arts did he study and train to perfection to get there? This is a hole that would have to be filled for this story to make any real sense.

And, finally, there is no way that anybody in their right mind in the upper echelons of the Pentagon would drop Mr. Rogers into an infantry unit to pretend he doesn't know squat about being a soldier while kicking the collective asses of the Nazis in a red, white, and blue costume. More likely, the government would train young Mr. Rogers to become the most lethal, deadly son-of-a-bitch in the world in both hand-to-hand and small arms, hand him an infantry rifle and any other tools he needed for survival, hook him up with a special forces unit, and send him out to massacre the enemy as part of an elite combat force, reveling in the top secret achievement they had created with every enemy casualty Mr. Rogers scores. My Captain America would be loads different from the traditional Captain America, it wouldn't be funny.

So, here's what I would do for a 21st Century Captain America, because we as Americans really need someone we can rally behind and stand up proudly and say, "I am an American, and I am not the great Satan of the world. I am good, I am righteous. And I am not here to tell anyone how to run their country."

Steve Rogers enlists in the Army as a 90-pound weakling. He is not rejected from service. They send him to Fort Benning for Basic Combat Training and find that despite his shortcomings, he is motivated and determined to get stronger. Even though he is recycled because he fails the APFT twice within 5 weeks, Private Rogers makes significant progress, and by the time his third cycle in BCT comes round, he has put on 20 pounds, and through dedicated hard work, is more muscular, stronger, and faster. After completing BCT and Infantry training, Private Rogers, attends Airborne and Air Assault school, now graduating from his course material at the top of his class. Within a year, he has skyrocketed to PFC and then Corporal, and he reports to his first duty unit as a Corporal. His leadership qualities and dedication to Army training are duly noted, and he is recommended for OCS. His record is also noted for his adept learning of US Army Combatives, and soon he is collecting martial arts techniques from several martial arts systems from numerous martial arts schools around post. When he graduates OCS as a 2nd Lieutenant, he is granted a platoon and sent out to Afghanistan to hunt down Osama bin Laden. This is where his story takes the super-hero turn. Lieutenant Rogers then meets countless super-powered terrorists, modern analogues of the Red Skull.

There is no symbol of America element, no steroid element, no costume. Just dedicated hard work, patriotic love for our great country, and integrity, which every warrior should stand for. Lieutenant Rogers should be about all the good things without all the color and flash, and his story should be believable. He should represent our country not as a walking flag but as the ideals we all really strive for in this country: doing the right thing and standing up for what is right. He represents our country for our values and what makes our country good, not the image the world has of us as "arrogant" Americans.


One thing about these social networking sites is that they say so much about connections that prove much more than one might think about the wrongdoing of another.

Sometime late in 2008 I found a post on GodTube by someone named Ellie Ahrens who was very worried about a certain Gnostic Bishop and "the young people who follow him." She seemed quite concerned that this Gnostic Bishop and his followers were all lost and very dangerous. Something about her post expressed a certain fear of reprisal that I had become all too familiar with for two years. I wanted so much to reach out to this person, but I had no means of contacting her except through GodTube (now tangle).

Ever since, I have run across several people with the last name "Ahrens," and I have been trying to find this person because she is the key to proving to the people at ERUUF that I was provoked, set up, and then lied about through "Cliff-Notes" style exaggeration and intentional demagoguery, perpetrated by this Bishop and his followers. First, the involvement of a woman named Ahrens with Carolina Spirit Quest led me to contact her and ask if she knew her. This woman was married into the family and could not tell me who "Ellie" was.

Tonight, searching around a social networking site, I found a Doug Ahrens connected to one of the young followers of this certain Gnostic Bishop. I want to contact this fellow because I think he must have some information about things that this Bishop and his followers did to him or "Ellie" - details that prove that the campaign that was carried on against me was not just a singular incident, but a pattern of behavior.

If anyone has any information about Doug or Ellie Ahrens, please contact me through a comment. I really am serious about this. I might not be interested in returning to ERUUF, but I do have a vested interest in clearing my name and character in the face of this campaigning that resulted in my family losing a spiritual home.


Forgiveness is for me, not the asswipe who trounced all over my reputation.

I forgive you, but that doesn't mean you're not a douche. You have to live with that for the rest of your life, and more than likely in Hell, too. You can claim to be up to good works and asking for blessings for that work all you want, but we both know that your requests for such prayers are full of subtext.

Either you are delusional and truly believe that the bullshit you put me and my family through for two years was a "good work," or you genuinely are asking for blessings of all your good works, neglecting to mention the evil works you do under the radar in your attempt to mask your Satanic workings behind the guise of Christian charity.

If you truly are doing God's work, perhaps you can add to that a full confession to the folks at ERUUF to whom you defamed me and defrauded my family of a spiritual home for two years.

Happy Holidays!

I'd like to take this moment to wish my half dozen readers out there, whoever you are a Happy Holiday season. Christmas is two days past, but in a couple days, we will cross over to 2010, so God bless you all and have a prosperous new year.

The Bishop Returns to School

After three years of proclaiming, "I am a validated bishop in the line of Melchizadech," the Bishop is returning to school, finally embarking on a seminary degree to obtain the training he failed to obtain before his public proclamations. It is my hope that in the course of his quest to earn that piece of paper that will validate him more clearly as what he claims himself to be, he will learn the lessons he needs to learn about proper conduct if he wants people to take him seriously as a Bishop.

So, please send your prayers to the Bishop that he will learn that manipulation, maneuvering, and deliberate imposition to gain false respectability are unbecoming of a man of God, no matter how much of a heretic you claim to be. Provide for him the energy he needs to see the light of God and the means to understand that truthfulness without embarking on a campaign of threats and intimidation are the better way to Heaven, and the only way to lead a flock to salvation is to lead them on the right path, not along a path of heresy and false practice. Pray that the Bishop learns to put to practice the true path to peace proclaimed by him on the Internet so freely, pray that he will become the peaceful man he has led so many to believe he is. For, in the two years I knew him, he conducted a campaign of secrets, falsehoods, manipulations, lies, and intimidation for the sake of victory so that he could dominate a pagan (not Christian, as he claims to be) group for his own purposes, whatever they were. Pray that he learn that Christ died for him on the Cross so that he might find his way back to Him and to Heaven above. Most of all, pray for the Bishop's soul, that he might find a release from the grip of Satan and his agents of Darkness, who have had a grip on his mind, body, and soul these past few years.

I am not bitter toward the Bishop. I recognize him for what he has been. I hope that others came to recognize that, too. I also pray that he is on the path toward changing his ways now that he is on a path toward formal training.

Yeah, We Know...

An email date stamped November 11, 2008 arrived in my wife's email in box - well, a year ago, around that time, probably. I have only thought about it occasionally, really, but I got to thinking about it today because so many themes in television shows seem to be resonating with some of the manipulation that preceded that email, manipulation that on one hand resulted in ladymoondance "unfriending" my wife (about a year before) and the Reverend Don Southworth of the Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship informing my wife that we were not welcome in that church, and on the other hand was, in the big picture, so ineffective and pathetic when you penetrate to the heart of it that you cannot help but feel sorry for the person who would publicly state in his own blog, "You should see what I do when I really get mad."

Yeah, we know what you do when you get mad. You smear a guy's name to everybody you figure you can turn against him, then you try to fabricate criminal charges to bring a false investigation against him. I wonder, has this guy done anything like this before to anyone else? How did that go? Did you win your little pissing contest? Or did people eventually figure you out? Is that why you shopped around for another venue and landed in the church where my wife and I got married? So, did ladymoondance ever figure you out? Really. Did she?

You know, the new TV series, V on ABC has this bunch of aliens led by this creepy lady named Anna, who preaches US Army Civil Affairs and Psychological Operations doctrine of "control public opinion," convinced that success hinges on keeping the people whom they want to make into their food in their favor. That really was a big part of this clown's goal, wasn't it. So, ladymoondance, has he eaten you yet? Oh, my - that was the wrong question to ask, wasn't it? Given your history and your likely motive for selling out the best friend you had in this area, that was probably quite ill-worded. No, let me ask this - has he turned on you yet? Did he decide that the best way to impress people enough to get them to kiss his ass was to smear your name and reputation among everyone you knew or cared about?

It really is laughable how pathetic you are, accepting everything this guy says at face value after over a decade of friendship with my wife, after over a decade of knowing me, too, and not once comparing the picture this clown presented you of me to the one you knew for all that time. What can I say? I seem to recall that someone attacked you on the Internet a few years ago, and the only person to step forward to defend you was my wife. What was it that person called you in a PUBLIC forum? I believe the name I recall coming my way through third parties was "cum-bucket." My wife defended you. She was quite vocal about how this person stepped way out of line, even after earth_mystic told her not to get involved, saying, "You don't know what you're getting into." And how did you repay her, much less how you felt you had to repay me for being there and not once having an ill word to say about you.

And when this bastard came along and manipulated a civil strife between two factions in this group at ERUUF and then, for the sheer joy of it, instigated and manipulated both factions to turn, one after the other, on me, isolating me from anyone who might have brought about a reasonable resolution to the whole affair, you decided to add to their voice, not even offering a little defense or succor to someone who was a friend to you for years. So, let's see. You knew me for, like I said, over a decade. You knew this guy, for what, a year? Maybe two? And what proof did you have that anything he ever told you had a hint of credibility in it? That he dressed up in a bishop's frock? Did that make him a good friend to you, ladymoondance? Good for you. How has hooking up with this guy worked out for you? How has turning your back on jenna3 worked out for you? Really.

I hope you feel good about yourself. And, oh, these are kind words. The friend you sold out, well, she is not nearly so charitable. Have a nice life.