Somehow, we must remove the notion from us of our own infallibility. It is a hindrance like no other. Somehow we can discern the faults of everyone but our own selves, because we always have a reason why this thing of ours went foul, so that we seem always to be justified. We must constantly strive to see the right in everyone else, and see the wrong in us, because the balance is always stacked the other way. Our selves will always get in the way of any selfless notion — by definitions, this must be the case. There was only ever one of us who did nothing wrong, and I think on the day of judgement, we will be surprised — shocked — by the amount and number of the ills we have rendered, the injustices we have overlooked, and all the while pointing at the mote in our brothers’ eyes, seeking all that we thought was unfair to us to be redressed, and all that which we did of the dishonorable overlooked. I do not think this will be how the Judge will look at things.


Of course, at times I have my doubts about this whole Judas thing. It’s natural. Barring the Gospel of Judas, very little has been written that is favorable about him. The Gospels themselves paint him with the same brush as they do the Antichrist, calling only those two “son of perdition”. But I am in a unique position. Not only have I seen things that point me in a completely different way, I have known what it feels like to think myself evil, when it turns out I am not. What it feels like for all indications seeming to point to myself being such a one, a “son of perdition.” I am sure it is not an accident, that I were chosen to spread this message. That Judas was no villain. And that this is part of the Good News.

There was this one time that I made a promise to the Lord, in prayer. I said that if he wanted me to be the accursed, the Beast 666, the Antichrist, then I would accept my place, and be the best Antichrist that I could be. This is an article of faith: the Lord knows better than you exactly what you are meant for. If after all my prayer and Bible reading, he said that this thing was what it was for, I could do nothing but believe him. And in fact, this point was tested in the visions I had. Assuredly, at one time I thought that it was coming to pass, that he was deigning to place me squarely in that role. And I did not fail this test of my faith. Until he let me off the hook, I accepted my fate. He was looking out for me the whole time, of course, and I did no damage, but there you go. You keep your promises. That’s how we roll.


The original document that contained the contract for true love basically held the names of me & Jeanne, in the style of Native Americans. Eagle Feather and Rose. To reach even this, I actually performed what I call a Love Dance, similar I guess to the Rain Dance that you might have heard of. Instead of a beating drum and chanting, I did it to the song, “In Your Eyes,” by Peter Gabriel, a song about Rosanna Arquette. Upon my completion, she had our names ready, me to transform from crowfeather to eagle feather, she from angeleye to rose (there’s also more to this particular name). Later, I had thought that I had written more, and I ended up bringing together heaven and earth, but I remember that dance, or at least, what came about from the motions of love that is true.

About the name “rose”, it comes from my idea of thinking of a flower to all the women I’d been involved with. I’d never found my rose, before Jeanne. The closest I had come was orchid, a woman I almost married, whom I’d believed true love lay with. Rosanna Arquette was oleander, the woman (aside from Jeanne) whom I’d known longest, even if it were just a part of my visions she’d been in. I’d known a tulip, and a daffodil, and lily (who blew the best kisses). Jeanne d’Arc I’d always had trouble with, defining her as a flower. I’d once chosen bird of paradise. I dunno, she never fit with anything. Until I discovered she’d always been in love with me. Then it was quite clear. My rose.

True Love

How long had I been searching for true love? All my life. Maybe longer. That’s what it seemed like. Growing up, yes, I did think about sex a lot. A lot. But I did conceive it were a better thing to have one with whom to share such an experience, than desire a thousand naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at you. I always wanted to be the character in the movie who got the girl in the end. And then I saw The Princess Bride, and I am one of the few who also read the book from which it is based. There was a name to my desire: true love. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the story books say, Prince Humperdink said. Women are captivated by Romeo & Juliet, but that’s not where the stuff is. Everybody dies at the end of that. The Princess Bride is where the guy gets the girl. That’s where the stuff is. They live. And I had a twist to it, no matter what Humperdink said: what if everyone could have it?


there are zero matadors
dancing on zero tables
fighting zero ferocious bulls
zero bloodthirsty spectators
carried by zero flying carpets
yelling zero metaphysical truths
and the zero of the countdown
makes much of such nothings
as zero approaches in secret
the flip of a dread switch
when everything happens
and the crowd goes wild
at the slaying of the bulls
while the matadors dance
while we fly into oblivion


If you have in mind to make sense of things, one should go the path of faith and reason. If you need to pick one of the two, pick reason; but if both are available, put faith first. Further, if you go deeply enough into reason, you will end up in the layer of science. This means you’re deadly serious about wanting to make sense of things. Similarly, if you go deeply enough into faith, you will hit the height of sainthood, which I think is pretty much universally acclaimed as a “way to be”, if we’re talking the real deal. It was thus I set a goal for myself in this life: to be a scientist saint. I might actually get there, too. It’s sort of a scary thought.


I was shown some things about thinking in scale. That there might be a model of an idea in, for instance, the form of a rather plain circle. That idea, however, might be representative of such a thing as how to raise oneself from the dead. Another circle, on the other hand, may be just a circle. Some figures had potence, others were models of those models. Infinite things could be held in words, if those words had potence (for instance, the tetragrammaton: YHVH). The entirety of the Kingdom of Heaven could be expressed as a single yellow dot. This becomes very important, and relates to Philip K. Dick and the secret society of Christians I ended up joining, as he did. Very very important.

Philip K. Dick wrote about a… place… called the Black Iron Prison. My own first experience of it came during a time of high drug consumption. I was tripping on LSD like I was wont to do on the weekend, during my junior year of college in Pittsburgh. This was nowhere near my first time. This time, however, I happened to glance out the window — and it wasn’t Pittsburgh. It wasn’t earth. There were bars on my window, now, where normally… not so much. It was an evil place, the sky was dark but dim with red, the buildings of an architecture of claws clasped over the joints of all the black iron, of which all exterior was composed. I was convinced I was in Hell. “Abandon all hope,” and so forth… I visited the place a few times, and the last time I was there, I got out when I heard a whisper, like someone were letting me in on the secret, “Walt Disney is God.”

Dick wrote about when he started having his own visions how he was explained that the fish amulet worn by the girl delivering his meds was an ancient symbol of Christianity. Whereupon he was told in some secret voice that he were being initiated into a underground sect of secret Christians. That’s how things started for him. I got into it 25 years after I had my light from God experience. That was the day I later went into angel proving grounds. But introduced into it I was, and I was told just after a voice informed me of its presence that I were finally safe if I were to die — only then would I have been able to escape the Black Iron Prison on my death, and welcome in Paradise. And my initiation ended up being that I purposefully peed my pants and actually enjoyed the experience. That was not even near the strangest thing I’ve done. For the faith, or whatever…


The Great Blasphemy