The name you go by in every age

God has been trying to get me to figure out what I've been calling him.

That's the code.

Father.

Blasphemy.

Name him and you'll "hear" him. Feel him.
know.

and it's impossible to believe.

can i live forever?

Writing this means trusting someone else?

It has to do with God's experience of himself.
As a parent.

Where people are.
I'm listening to God.
I'm just the only one that can understand what he's saying.
But when I'm listening to it.
It sounds like he's talking to me.
The relationship you have with your parents.

And that's where Aaron comes in.

Aaron is silent. Listening.

I am silent. Not listening. Listening to myself. Talk to God.
Inference.
Being a point. That hears.
And you guys are all out there.
Except the writer.

Atheists

The people that I hang out with and can get close to

are

atheists

that are just fine with that.

or completely pretend to be...

and i can feel their conversation with God.

I'M THEIR MESSENGER.

a lonely place...

but a place where you're not alone.

where there's familiar sounds and familiar heartbeats and amounts of tension in your jaw and falls in the rhythm of your breathing. Finding a comfort in your own skin.

No not a comfort.

There's no comfortable option.

You're at work.

For as long as you put up with this.

The sooner you accept it the less hell it'll be.

Punishment for being yourself. Just for being alive.

Parents.

Taking the job would be hell too.
Why?
Cause I would have to believe that I hear your voice all the time. That even though I'm completely "paranoid".
It's not paranoid.
It's completely self obsessed.
You're trying to speak
...you're own story.
There are creatives.
Some sell-outs, all well-dressed.
Musicians. etc.
There are addicts.
Whose devotion to God is equal only to their feelings of total unworthiness.
And there are schizophrenics.
Whose narcissism is paralleled only by the extremely successful.
And whose failure is only determined by their feelings of complete worthlessness.

If you fall, then you're fucked.

If you're wrong. If you listen. There's some sort of hell waiting for you.

There's a place where we meet...

Right here right now.
Where we're trapped.

There's just choice a now.
and choice a later.
and in the meantime could be hell.
but we would get a lot of pleasure for our punishment together in the meantime.
But that's the point between now
and whenever we finally "go to work"
and in the meantime we're gonna be kids in trouble
anyway, when the work is over
we'll be off the hook
cause god is our parents
and our children
i never thought of that
i don't get it.
anyway,
as you can see the conversation with God is still going on...
and it's driving me crazy.
save me.
but to save me you'd have to trust me.
cause i have to do this.
i only want this.
it's this now or
it's this later.
and for me it'll be hell in the meantime.
i don't fit
you don't fit.
let's find a place we can meet in the meantime.
you remember when i was drunk
the other night?
and i said that God was saying that you have to be okay with me not being around?
I didn't know what that meant because at the time I was "not at work" and was "letting off steam" and i had no idea what God was talking about. It didn't even occur to me that I was supposed to be listening. That's the drug talking. The drug affecting what comes out of the mouth of a girl that never speaks her own words. Just babbles alone with the millions of "voices in her head"
her own voices on steroids
it's a different kind of sense
and it's what you're paying attention to
it's the places that you meet

I'm not a writer.

I'm a prophet.

And there are millions of others.

It's loud in here.

I can hear their conversation with God.

But only because of the way that it plays into mine.

Cause I'm really self-centered.

I'm just gonna keep writing.

Because I have no one else to write this with. Accept Aaron. And I can't ask of him the same thing you can't ask of me.
But we both talk to you constantly anyway.
So we'll connect just fine.
But I just don't want to do that to someone. I feel like I can't be in the same place with anyone at the same time.
I'd have to ask you to pay attention to me like all the time.
It's expensive.
I'm just a child.
Right your parents.
I can hear them.
I know that this is your job too.
Not job.
Work is where you go to punish yourself for not following your dream.
It's my dream to be a prophet or messenger or whatever and it's your dream to be a writer.
Say your parents.
And that you are perfect.
And that with me you are home
and that you are loved and that you're welcome
and you just called me again

Heresy at the Church Pinic

I have had trouble accepting that I was a writer ever since the moment I was born.

Even though, just as strongly, I always knew that I wanted to be.

I've wanted to be a lot of other things just as badly.

Since I've first convinced myself I'd never be a writer.

The thing that I convince myself that I can do keeps becoming more and more...
embarrassing...
IN FUCKING SANE.