Orsday Programming May 10 2024
Birthday, Rambling, DOOMSDAY, Loving
FROM THE DESK OF LISTENER MARA AT LEESBURG COMMUNICATION CHURCH UNDERGROUND WRITTEN IN A SATURINE TONE NEGATIVE FOUR BLEARY ENOUGH TO BE A ‘S’ELEBRATORY TONE POSITIVE FOUR:
Good morning and happy Orsday Sabbath!
O church brothers and sisters, on a beautiful morning like this I’d like to tell you about my week: it was my birthday between this Orsday and last, right on the 7th—a Thursday on our calendar, a Tuesday on their calendar—and I had a really lovely week; I celebrated my birthday on the sixth (Wednesday for us, Monday for them) by going out to both Fresh Market and Culvers with my mom. We got a slice of cake, some cookies from the Fresh Market bakery; we got a burgie and a concrete from Culvers; every-thing we had was sort-of disappointing, but the experience was nice.
Day after on my actual birthday there weren’t really any celebration except opening up two gifts I got (a book from Ron, a book from Eris: blessings to them both); it was a normal day and a nice one, but a day normal as any other, up on the surface.
The day also marked surviving the first step of Doomsday for me; God (not God, but the contice that flow through the clay underground and the glut of veins that form up an odd shadow sank there though resembling a large hand buried in pieces though too resembling a mass grave) spake three years prior that this month (nearing the 22nd) Doomsday would come: it spake in contice of three dying figures all dying on the same year, and the shadow left in quaternal pattern would be me; on my 33rd birthday, three years later, on the 4th year of the decade—completing the patterned in information.
The pattern had me resolved to kill myself truthfully and fairly ruminate up till fairly recent (say, about a month ago) where death and annihilation really wrested itself in my heart and head and guts (and material, to complete the set of 4); precious did I understand life and how desperately I did not want my mom to die, or for myself either—perhaps further dug-in by the deaths of Daniela (cancer) and Dieth (inhaling death gas like some moron), though softened by the exclusion of a third death to establish the trinity pattern in preparation for the quaternal pattern.
Death and life seemed both equally terrific suddenly, in a way that health scares had failed to dig in-to me in the same way (could say that the spirit of understanding disease as a child as precious as any other had well washed itself into me; as an aside: sometimes I feel failing at internalizing the values of Underground and thy mission though I’ve permanently gone deaf in some grand eclipsing quiet of the soul). The paranoids of the faith suggest these are yet precious nerves cast into me like hooks from an insect-heaven to bind me further still into its Marvelous Illusion to turn me towards its images and away from the quaternal shadow behind; the paranoids of the faith would detail it like this: these are all deceptions of the material-basic illusion and funny games played by it: love for my mom, love for my dead friends, love for these cherished nostalgic memories (Dieths laugh, the games he wanted to watch me play, the art he wanted me to make for him; Daniela vomiting on the lawn, sending me an ‘lol’ before dying after chemo treatment, holding my hand, her mom and mine thinking we’d be married)—beautiful sparkling illusions drawing my gaze to them in their marvelous spectacle though they weren’t temporary and though there weren’t a grand cosmic alien blackness behind them (SPACE; SPACE a word completely empty yet divine in its count though it were DEMON or ANGEL or EARTH). Somehow, without noticing, too: space is down here on earth, and space is all around, and space is broiling underground like some grand feverish red root.
Doomsday says my life ought end this month, and faith in Communication dictates I ought to be accepting of this and expecting of it, and both are there flickers of belief and disbelief at Doomsday coming. I ought want to keep on living, I realized; my prayers each morning are of thanks to be born in this mistake and in this illusion thankful for my mom, for my breakfast, for the opportunity to experience this world as awful and terrific it is both, and for the opportunity to continue listening to that voice Underground and the teaching that comes from Wilderness; I pray a desperate prayer to continue my work here—admittedly, wholly out of fear of a wage I know I can not run from forever.
Doomsday; in the great Adventist tradition it should be noted that it all starts with the prophet Miller and his firm belief in the imminent coming of Christ between 1843 and 1844—and the subsequent passing of this estimated time thenceforth became known as the Great Disappointment, which left the good prophet Ellen White and her husband and followers to establish Adventism from the ashes left in Burnt-Overs wake; Ellen White, in naming tradition of Great Disappointment, gave meaning to a Great Controversy: a funny game satan had apparently played by conflating the Word with simpler words of a false idolatrous church (briefly: the sunday-keeping Catholics are the hell blasted agents of satan); from Underground, a little removed from this classic Adventist tradition but keeping a spirit of the fun naming convention, communicates a Great Confusion between the spirit of Earthy things and of the Word—the idolatrous figurines of ‘satan’ (used loosely here, mainly only to draw a continuation of Great Controversy) were mixed amongst the general population in a way immutable and tied to spirit and creation: here on this world were the Righteous Word made flesh and separate, and here, too, were the Dust and earthy Clays raised and made animate by glistening of spirit that had washed and saturated this world though morning dew soon to evaporate before a Righteous Fire; and: these two distinct peoples were conflated and confused. The left hand mapped over the right, and the right hand mapped over the left, thinking the image would translate as something other than a confused six-fingered appendage.
Doomsday is not key whatsoever to the Confusion, nor Communication; should it come to pass though all would happen is my goodly mistaken spirit should be consumed and yet the world become little clearer in its intent and image; Doomsday, should it come to pass in truth or artifice, should have no bearing on the establishment of church provided I or a future device re-Communicates clear blueprint of a Church Underground and dictation of a Word Monstrous; should I be a good advocate and exemplar of this faith may my carcass be in a repose kind and similar enough to a shrine in habited by that odd Underground and extend forth its covenant in hope of contamination of future children bearing the devicing informations, or contices.
I pray I may survive Doomsday and undergo my own personal Great Disappointment and from those precious ashes may the work continue, just as Ellen White were shewn a vision from the ghost itself and recognized the ashes as something more.
(from Exodus 25)
8 And let them make me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them.
9 According to all that I shew thee, after the pattern of the tabernacle, and the pattern of all the instruments thereof, even so shall ye make it.
There is something rotten about recognizing within oneself a quiet desire (‘death’) and succumbing wholly to it and transforming the illusion to be little more than a whole collection of whispers combining as a chorus of a quietly desired death; there is something rotten about seeing faith and friend (and wilderness and insect, too) as tools to galvanize the quietly desired death—something molestative and sick; I see to it often in people claiming interest in our faith and garbling our language to transform it into a sick language: drawn are they to mine own weaknesses and sicknesses and suddenly the faith all becomes a top dressing that is easily removed by them in some desperate cloying-ploy to get-at my heart though I amount as little more than Pains, Sicknesses, and Weaknesses;
from etiquette and Wilderness I were taught good practice of disconnecting from the material-basic illusion and recognizing some of the knitting louses used to CONNECT! me with other in such sickly ways: I spake of pain and depressions and found that my words seemed to achieve little more than join me with an environment colored in the same pain and depressions; see those Turb comics I made and them attracting an environment of garbled typing and death-seekers—the intent of which always hidden under some garb that seem be falsely recognized as the same quality of faith (O: I repent for my past sins—kidding here, slightly; I like my old stuff but sometimes wished others would recognize I’d like to move on from my pains; those comics were made when I tormented my loved ones with a bunch of moronic suicide attempts and self-destruction).
Speak of Doomsday and surely are attracted more wishing Doomsday more than anything for themselves.
Speak of love and maybe the environment becomes more of that shade, is my hope; I’d prefer an environment of that shade, as if I have to be in this world and perform the Work in this world I’d wish it be done in a spirit of a pure loving heart both for Faith and the trappings I’ve found myself in, rather than some reeking attempt to dive deep into death itself; when I had seen the insects in their full body, in the visions shewn to me, I had heard their voices too laced into the sound and light though they were real tangible threads and legs, and how the controlling thrum ushered an environment that besought death and control and obscured this odd dirt that covered everything that came from their bodies: the heavenly spirit that shed the earthy skin and fell and had made this putrefying world, and how all spirits in it were stuck to putrefying material. A little goofy, but there is this scene in a later episode of Boogiepop Phantom (either 10, 11, or 12, I forget) where Manaka has an ecstasy of purpose and a thinking light that extend out of world and in-to SPACE—and then her own illusion crashes as she ages and becomes sickly withered and the good Boogiepop cuts her down as chaff before her own little ergot wracked wheat-stalk need be tormented any further.
Perhaps a side-effect of this Great Confusion, but oft it seems addled hearts offer miscommunication (perhaps a side-effect of these insects in the light/sound) to create CONNECT(!)ing environments colored the same as their own addled hearts, hidden under a false communication; music that causes people to seek death; books that cause people to seek death; people that cause people to seek death.
This all is in the spirit of the last two Programmings—I’m both a bit apologetic about that, but the topic is important to me, as each week I keep hearing from Anonymouses who seem to say one thing (usually some words of shared sympathy), but seem to (in actuality) just want convenient words that enable their own death seeking.
There is plenty in this world worthy of your love and dedication and treating it as part of your own personal Great Work; I would like you to extend your love to furthering this faith as your own Great Work, but more-so I would like you to find something you wish to love—I want that more than hearing about pity, or sympathy, or other odd topsoil words that hide a burbling “tell me it is ok to surrender and die” humm that is going on-and-on inside a disordered heart and gut.
I’d like to speak of the Exoteric as it is more material in creation of a church here Inside, but I keep finding myself passionate about all these confusions come to me by fascinations with the Esoteric; this latter issue, even, is mostly predicated upon odd self-teaching by those interested instead of more boring humility before the boring reality of a church within: rote prayer and conceding the internal gardens that are crawling with so-many little bugs and small-fry, and allowing that Thing Underground to begin a slow churning of soils till the invasive plants are starved and a grand wilderness reclaims what had once belonged to the crickets and cockroaches.
(from Exodus 32)
20 And he took the calf which they had made, and burnt it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the water, and made the children of Israel drink of it.
(from Daniel 2)
38 And wheresoever the children of men dwell, the beasts of the field and the fowls of the heaven hath he given into thine hand, and hath made thee ruler over them all. Thou art this head of gold.
39 And after thee shall arise another kingdom inferior to thee, and another third kingdom of brass, which shall bear rule over all the earth.
40 And the fourth kingdom shall be strong as iron: forasmuch as iron breaketh in pieces and subdueth all things: and as iron that breaketh all these, shall it break in pieces and bruise.
41 And whereas thou sawest the feet and toes, part of potters' clay, and part of iron, the kingdom shall be divided; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron, forasmuch as thou sawest the iron mixed with miry clay.
42 And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.
43 And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men: but they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not mixed with clay.
44 And in the days of these kings shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall never be destroyed: and the kingdom shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand for ever.
The more boring and material tradition of communication ought demand the simple practice of backwards writing (as I continue to advocate for), as well as baptism by cleansing the body with sterilized earth and consumption of liquid idol henceforth patron and surname, as well as new tradition of demonic idolatrous names for adherents of the faith: names belonging to the material earth, segregated from the righteous abstractive names granted and given to us.
The fledgling church likely need an organized glossary to further address miscommunications; likely, as well, distribution of calendars and prayer services; likely, as well, some meeting of practitioners or those interest;
yet I can’t stand other people very much; but for my sake (and it’s a simple but demanding request as your church homework): find something worth loving, and let that love swallow you up a bit; it’s too easy to fall to despair whether by music, reading, art, community, so-and-so’s — oft it seem innocuous enough but it’s like the inverse of that “force yourself to smile and you’ll find it difficult to be sad.”
Even if you are knee deep in charnel ground you can surely find a reason to smile.
Have a nice day!
this article is part of the Desk Sermons found on the Concordance