Remaining In Christ

The battle against the flesh is going very satisfactorily. Despite other long-lasting horrors going on in my life, this is perhaps the most important issue I have. I’m realising what is important and what isn’t. Shocking mental health traumas, although unpleasant, are not the most crucial perils I endure. I can get through it all, so long as I remain In Christ, our merciful and mighty saviour. I’m always talking about Chinese Terrorists and Russian Spies here at the blogspot, but even their persistent harassment is nothing compared to the absence of God. When I pick up the substances, I feel slightly distant from all things holy. So it’s vital I remain In Christ, His one and only son, for as long as possible, preferably for the rest of all time. It’s an eternal deal, making a pact with the Lord, and not one to be swapped for cheap counterfeit sexual pleasure.

Before dabbling with wicked women, I fear I might pick up the cigarettes and alcohol, or, if I don’t beforehand, I definitely will afterwards. For the last ten years solid, ever since I nearly jumped off a high bridge to my death, a fag and a can have never been far from my hand. I derived immense comfort from gurgling lager and toking on smokes. I thought of myself as Cracker, the famous TV detective, who was always at it while solving his cases. He had a ‘burning self-destruct’ button which I both shared and admired. Towards the end though, I started to enjoy it less and less. I was regularly throwing up and wheezing. Not only was it blowing a hole in my pocket, it was also killing me.

I’m aware now that if I return to the booze and ciggies, I may never get over them again. It will be too late. They might usher me to the grave. That’s a scary thought. And it starts with the first one. I’ll never forget it. It’ll stick in my head worse than any voice or hallucination. Many bad things happen to us Children of God outside of our control and they can’t be helped, but what we can limit, like smoking and drinking, shouldn’t be given licence to assist in shackling us. Not by our own hand, surely. We should be looking after the Holy Temple of our body, not filling it with pollutants.

It’s tough though isn’t it, on a daily basis? Personally, I sometimes long to give up the struggle and kick back doing what I’m used to. Part of me says so what, Christ has paid the price, I can do what I want apart from massive sin, there’s no great harm being done, we are submissive in the flesh. As long as I am buggering off to Heaven at the end of it all to escape my oppressors, I don’t really care about a fag or a beer. They’re just fags and beers. They don’t make me a bad person. You know?

The women however come with substance abuse and that’s even worse than smokes and alcohol. Should all three occur I’ll be in a potent relapse and that’s when the demons come out to play with me. They’re completely obsessed about every fibre of my psyche. I’m not sure how many chances I have left. I have another relapse left in my fleshy members, but not another recovery left in my spiritual parts. I’ve always pulled myself back in the past, but this time I don’t want to insult Christ, and knowingly walk out of his presence.

So I’m going to try and remain with him, in Brotherhood. YEAH!

Let Me Into That Goddamn Funeral To Let Me Tell Some Jokes!

I’ve just paid my respects to a Brother in Christ, at a special memorial service. It was held in a local pub which I was barred from. I had to get verbally persuasive with the bouncer so I could gain entry. The bouncer, believe it or not, was a young girl hired especially to stop me coming in. My mission was to say something nice to the daughter of the deceased, as I had a premonition that she would be attacked by negative forces who wished not solely to amplify her grief but make fun of it also. I felt I had to share with her a wee word from the gospel.

Before we continue, I hasten to add that I completed my assignment. I touched the bereaved daughter on the shoulder and told her that her father was looking down from Heaven. Slightly cliché, don’t you think, as every well-wisher says that. What she might or might not have known was that her old man also believed in Buddhism too. So I added that if he wasn’t in Heaven, he was climbing a tree as a Leopard with a Buffalo hanging from his jaws on the Serengeti, reincarnated for his troubles as one of God’s most powerful creatures. Or Buddha’s most powerful creatures, if you suspect he preferred the East. They have a more sophisticated worldview, in my opinion, compared to our all-consuming appetite for cheap plastic nonreturnable goods from China. Materialistic consumerism vs bohemian karma. Know which one I prefer.

The Hotpoint ‘freestanding’ washing machine, in case it needs stating, obviously. Freestanding because it stands up by itself. Forget the 10kg loading capacity. Forget the 1400 spin. For over 700 notes, I expect it to be upright at least. My dad sold domestic appliances for a living, so I know what I’m [tork](kin) about. *Talking about* I’ve never shared about all the antics me and his dodgy employees got up to selling 2^nd hand washers, cookers and fridges. It was absolutely gleeful. Really fond memories, like. I haven’t the time to delve into all those prized recollections presently, because my head is still arse over elbow at the funeral procession I’ve just attended.

It was a wild heated debate with that kiddy female bouncer. She was ferociously awesome. I had to rely on Christ to get past her. I was plopping my pants. How can a child be a doorman? With long blonde hair? She almost had me retreating with my tail between my legs. I was all psyched up for three hurly-burly meathead bouncers. Johnie ‘Kick Doors Down’ Lang, Gunner ‘Double Biceps’ Sinnot, and Anthony ‘Rowdy In The Jungle’ Marsh, for example. They would have posed me no problemo, as I’m back in the gym leg pressing instead of belly building. I’ve been belly building for the last decade watching Vera on the sofa, but now I am active again with a bit of light jogging and resistance training.

She said her name was a~s~T~R~I~d, 4 and a half feet tall. A pocket dynamo rocket, she pinned me against the wall! I said I was spreading the gospel, and the fallen needed to hear. She said now sling your hook lad, coz you’re not having a biere!

I’m mediocre at best when it comes to public speaking engagements, but that doesn’t stop me from trying my best to motivate the relatives of those who have passed away. I learned this by being thrown in at the deep end at my brother’s final ceremony. I wrote a novella about the experience of losing him in the public eye. It was another George Floyd case of Black Lives Matter, unfortunately. He was killed by police and they put it on the news.

This is the 77 blogspot.

The funeral belonged in a touching movie. Funerals scenes are popular cinematically, most notably in the Rocky franchise. The sorrow in the atmosphere is magnetic. The weather is usually unforgettable. It’s something about the importance of the day which registers with us. The last time I was in a graveyard, I saw 14 Cherubs, 2 Angels, and several million Orbs. I KID YOU NOT. I’D TESTIFY THIS IN A COURT OF LAW. Not to mention a beautiful statue of the Hail Mary. No, she wasn’t crying blood. Why would she be!? When I returned home, armed with holiness, I frequented the demonic realm chaperoned by a Sharma and slayed countless legions of super furry animals with a Samurai sword forged by Hattori Hanzo.

During my spoken eulogy speech, I added enough humour from my brother’s life that several mourners were unable to suppress their chuckles. The sound of weeping becoming laughter is a truly, undoubted, joyous sound. One moment everybody is in dire straights, despair even, and then, with a simple funny commemorative gag, people’s ribs are tickled up.

Sorry, been suddenly disturbed by The Muslim. Have to go.