Well, if it isn't hell.

I should consider myself fortunate, blessed I guess, while cursed. I say this because I know that I am in hell. Not everyone gets to know these things. Or perhaps they shouldn't know. I can't say the knowledge has helped me exactly.
But I feel that I should preface any and everything I write or say by, "Well, it's hell after all." I mean what can one expect.
My journey here was of my own choosing, more or less. Or, as it's hell after all, perhaps I have just been led to believe that it was my own choosing, rather than a sentence, or judgement call by the 'big guy , , or gal' upstairs.
Background: Back in the early '80's I got very, very ill. Before the illness hit me, I started kinda hearing voices, or hearing thoughts that were seemingly extrinsic to me. I was not too startled, as I had always carried on imaginary conversations with my self and other, very Walter Mitty-like even as I tried to rid myself of the habit. Besides, perhaps that's just what one encounters through life. Especially as I had recently become involved in researching the paranormal, and comparative religions. There's not much sense here, now, to discuss the voices, save the last one. I was in my trailer in California, just down from the college I attended and the question came, quietly, unbidden, succinct, "Where do you want to go when you die?" And I answered equally succinctly, "To hell." I couldn't see that our so-called 'good' God had been very ably compassionate to those of us on this planet. My response seemed to be received with a weighted silence. And at that moment I realized, albeit subconsciously, a number of things. One of which was that 'someone' or 'something' actually was speaking to me and hearing me. Secondly, while the silence was as non-judgemental as any could be especially given the answer, dooming myself, I could sense it filled with foreboding, apprehension, fear or sadness on the part of the interrogatory being.
Shortly after this incident, I was struck with an acute illness, much like a severe flu. I was in bed for nine days, unable to eat, move. I don't remember going to the bathroom even, but probably did. At the end of the nine days, my partner, who seemed not at all compassionate, grabbed me by my arms and pulled me to a sitting position. It hurt my arms' joints very much, but with that pull, the illness was gone. I arose to go take a bath, and was shocked to find myself stripped of every ounce of fat that I had had going in to the illness. My breasts hung like spent sacks. My ass likewise. I looked like a skeleton or something out of a concentration camp. While I was not a pretty picture naked, when I donned clothes, I looked like a young, trim boy and found that quite a few women and many men now found this skinny me, quite attractive. I was suddenly extremely popular, where before, no one ever gave me a second glance. As time went on, I had to wonder why I would be given such a body in hell. I mean I knew that I had died during that illness and my wish had been granted. In fact, in this new body, almost any and all of my wishes were granted! Why would that happen in hell? Did it mean the devil liked me?
to be continued , ,

CELEBRITY PICS

I just watched a blip on TV regarding George Clooney's mini-tirade on the paparazzi that were following him and his girlfriend and, in George's opinion, endangering them.
I have a thought about celebrity pics: I think a person's image should be theirs to own or sell. One's image should decidedly NOT belong to the person who 'steals' it via photo, video, whatever. Sounds a little primitive doesn't it? Native peoples around the world resist photo-taking believing it steals their soul, or rends it, or something, guess I should research that accurately. But how, in the name of sanity, did we ever come to such a state of paparazzi and tabloids with every star exposing their cellulite, nose-picking, bad behavior etal. as well as their beauty and finery of course to feed our voracious voyeuristic appetites and fill the paparazzi pockets?! I can't say it makes no sense. It in fact makes cents and dollars all the way around, but that does not make it correct, ethical, character-building etc. I think it should cease.I would love to see the strong-enough star to take it to the courts. You know, I can't take a magazine to the copy center and legally copy anything in it without copyright infringement suspicion. If I can't copy a magazine, how much more important is it to restrict copying someone's image? or taping their voice?
I can't see it happening right away if at all, as I guess the stars benefit in their own way from the publicity. Take George for instance. George. The name doesn't stand alone does it, needs Clooney with it to fully identify the owner. And would he be half so famous sans the publicity? I think so, but it's a loaded issue. I recall the shows about Diana. She had a very troubled relationship with the photogs, but they claim that she liked, needed and wanted them. Well, that's their opinion anyway. What if she had had to preview every shot they took before it could ever be sold? Don't you think that might cut down on the frenzy?
Anyway, that's my opinion and you're welcome to it.

PEER PRESSURE

When I was younger, Vietnam was in full blaze. Ima girl, didn't have to think about fighting. My brother, one of 'em, went to Canada. I think about that a little as Iraq drags on. Would I have been strong enough, were I to have been a boy to resist being called a coward? Did I believe in why we fought there? No. Would I have chosen to go and kill or be killed rather than be thought a coward? You know, I think I might have. That astounds me. To fight for one's ideals is one thing. To not fight for someone else's ideals is quite another. To prefer to die rather than have your buds make fun of you . . . . I'm ashamed to think this of myself, to face my limitations. Many want to impeach Bush now for 'sending our young people into harm's way'. Well, they chose to go in their own way. Some really want to fight, to kill. Some can't resist peer pressure. Some really believe we belong there, or believe in the military, whatever.. There's lots of reasons soldiers are over there and I'm not even trying to criticize why humans feel compelled to wallow in the stench of blood and artillery fire storms and amputations and the whole lot of it. I mean it's not like I haven't read history. I was just wondering for myself. Would I long to go and immerse myself in the gore? Would I be strong enough to resist if not?
Some of this comes up from watching David Icke's documentary last night and his talking about how the media storm that accompanied his "son of god" response cured him of caring what people think. I'd like to think that of myself. That I was a bigger person that to let others' thoughts about me matter. But it's not true.
So for what it's worth, there's my confession, one of many. As these blogs are anonymous for the most part, I won't care what YOU think. And oh, by the way, I too am the son of god. Or maybe I should say 'a' son of god, as there appear to be many of us.