May 21st, 2012


"And barefoot in the shallow creek, I grabbed some stones from underneath."

Yes, I am an atheist. No, I do not believe in the soul...or any other "spirit" inhabiting the human body. Consciousness = mind = the function of the brain. Period. No breath of god/s. Meatbags that have evolved a degree of self-awareness, which can only be considered "higher" relative to other meatbags (say gorillas, or frogs, or sea cucumbers).

That said, I was just considering old conversations. Specifically, the ones in which some friend or relative would declare that I was hell bound if I didn't change my infidel's mechanistic outlook on the universe, if I didn't forsake humanism for Xtianity, if I didn't decide creationism makes a lot more sense than the sciences, and so forth, ad nauseum. There was always this wonderful trap, a sort of paradox, into which I could not resist luring the god botherers. Simply stated: a) You're a righteous and god-fearing person, right? And the Kingdom of Heaven will be your reward, right? And, b) because your god is a god of love (or Love, or even LOVE), you will exist in bliss forever and a day, blah, blah blah, right?

Points a) and b) were unanimously met with confirmation. But, then we come to the third and fourth items: c) people who care about, and perhaps even LOVE, will not join you in Heaven, but, instead, suffer damnation for all eternity – whatever that damnation might be – so d) precisely how will you be happy knowing that I will be suffering while you soak up the love of the Big G? These two questions were most often met with sputtering or a flabbergasted silence. But, on a couple of occasions, the person to whom I was speaking would claim that so mighty was their love of god, and His love for them, that they would not question His decision, and would accept His judgment as fair. No, really. I shit you not. Anyway, sitting here, just a memory bubbling up to the surface.*


Yesterday should have been a very fine day off. It was meant to be. But someone (I shall not say whom, only that it was not Spooky) worked me into such a furious state that any sort of relaxation became impossible before we even left the house. We went to West Cove and Beavertail on Conanicut Island. The tide was spectacularly low. There were children swimming, and I wished I'd thought to bring my bathing suit. I considered going in nude. The cold, deep water of Narragansett Bay looked so inviting. There were too many people, too much noise. I sat atop one of the granite cliffs and tried to let the sound of the waves wash away the anger, but to no avail. We returned home very early, and the dispiriting trip was essentially a waste of time and gasoline. I want to throttle the person responsible for putting me in so foul a mood ahead of time. Back to god bothering. (MS Word! Stop correcting my spelling RIGHT THIS SECOND!). So, a day off that became a day lost, despite the sea.

Today, I put a few finishing touches on Alabaster: Wolves #1, then send it off the my editor at Dark Horse. This issue ends the mini-series. Then, I look at my short story deadlines, and figure out what's up next. And I dread my birthday. And stare out at the grey sky. And I listen to more of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir audiobook, because NGP is waiting on my approval. And I dread, too, the impending editing of Blood Oranges

Comments would be nice today.

And if you've not preordered Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart, please, please do so today. Thank you. Think of it as a birthday present.

Oh, and at least Spooky got some nice photos yesterday. Here are a few of them, behind the cut:

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Not a Happy Camper,
Aunt Beast (La Cabrita)

Postscript that ought be unnecessary but isn't: All "believers" are not god botherers. I know that, so I don't need anyone to tell me how they believe, but aren't judgmental, evangelical shitheels. I get that. I was not talking to you. Don't be so defensive.