I was interested in gathering more information about the Kabbalah. I wanted to understand some of the teaching that Jesus Christ (or Yashua) followed and believed.
I conducted a Google! search and put in the true name of God, Yahweh, the English reading of יהוה (the Tetragrammaton), the name of the God of the Jews or the people of Israel.
I stumbled across a website called Kabbalah.com. It seemed so filled with wisdom and hope. I was taken by the promise to show people the way of the kabbalist.
When I called their 1-800 number, a man answered by the name of Moshe. He kept asking me if there were things in my life that I wanted to have changed. I told him that I wanted more of a spiritual connection with God.
“Do you wish to have a certain job, or do you wish to make more money?” he asked me. I thought to myself, WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH HIM? I just told him that I am content with where I’m at as long as I know where I’m going. I wanted more spiritual guidance.
Then he goes on to tell me that I need to purchase their Zohar, which is $490 dollars, or something in the $400 dollar price range. He tells me I need to purchase another book, which is $199, plus shipping and handling on both the books would come up to $40 bucks…
Okay…
Did they honestly expect me to pay that much? I guess, some practices require a lot of money, but any spiritual guidance or practice that costs me over $600 dollars can wait.
These spiritualists say, “There should be no price tag on your immortal soul.” I say, “BULLSHIT!” If I could afford a $600 dollar book I’d probably spend that money to make my own spiritual course, and promise people the same things these phony psychics promise: love, relationships, and money.
Monday, April 30, 2007
I Dreamt. Was America Being Attacked?
I had the craziest dream that last night. I haven’t experienced a dream like this one in a long time.
Dreams seem like fabrications of our imagination, strung together from past experiences to create a feeling and emotion.
Emotions.
Feelings.
Thoughts.
Warnings? But I ask myself, “Self?”
Self says, “Yes, Self?”
“What is the significance of dreams? Where do they come from? Why do they exist?”
I was in a car with my favorite cousin, and a close mutual friend of ours, who passed away last year. We were on our way to a University for something; I can’t remember.
*This section is blank… There is no memory of it*
Next thing I know, we’re walking across the campus, and we hear a loud explosion. It vibrated so hard, sending shivers up and down my body. The impact of the blast caused my vision to become unfocused somewhat.
When I looked into the sky, I saw a ball of flames. I knew, at that moment, the war made its way to America. I panicked, hit the ground and covered up my head. My cousin picked my stiff body up, and screamed, “What the fuck are you lying down for? Do you want to get blown up?”
We started running across the campus, balls of fire climbing high in the sky, followed by a squirting sound. Screams of other individuals rang through the night, causing that elusive feeling of utter terror beyond image and belief.
As I was running toward one of the park lots, I felt the ground shaking underneath me. I looked down and saw the concrete cracking, a glowing, hot stream of lava pushing its way through the ground. Suddenly, the lava trail stopped...
Silence... I realized that these things were not exploding simultaneously.
BOOM! The ground exploded, shards of concrete, rock, and dirt went flying into the air, along with a ball of fire. My heart stopped, but I knew I had to make my way to my car.
When the fire ball stopped climbing to the heavens, it disappeared into the night sky, and this purple-looking liquid sprang from the busted concrete. Some of the liquid fell on my face, and arm, burned the shit out of me.
I ran to the parking lot where my car was supposed to be at, and I found nothing. My car was missing. Contrary to the actions I may have performed in my dream, I am a very nice young man, but during those few moments, I made up in my mind to hot-wire someone’s car and get the fuck up out of there.
A friend of mine started the car up, how, I didn’t bother to ask.
Next, Reese Witherspoon came up to me, hair the color of hay, and looked at me cross. She walked up to this white car that I choose to steal.
“Terry, what are you doing?” she asked me.
“This isn’t my car. I know this. But I am not about to be walking around here on foot while these things blow up right under my slow walking feet!” I screamed.
“As an officer of the law, I’m going to have to ask you to escort the vehicle or you’ll be charged with grand theft auto.”
“What?” I asked. She wasn’t making any sense. When did she go to law school (besides Legally Blonde 1 and 2)?
Then, what saved my life at that moment (because I was going to go to jail or get blown up) happened.
My phone rang, and I woke up. I was grunting and tossing myself back and forth. It seemed like some shit right out of a movie. It’s been so long since I’ve had a dream like that. I wonder what it meant.
Dreams seem like fabrications of our imagination, strung together from past experiences to create a feeling and emotion.
Emotions.
Feelings.
Thoughts.
Warnings? But I ask myself, “Self?”
Self says, “Yes, Self?”
“What is the significance of dreams? Where do they come from? Why do they exist?”
The dream (Paraphrased)
I was in a car with my favorite cousin, and a close mutual friend of ours, who passed away last year. We were on our way to a University for something; I can’t remember.
*This section is blank… There is no memory of it*
Next thing I know, we’re walking across the campus, and we hear a loud explosion. It vibrated so hard, sending shivers up and down my body. The impact of the blast caused my vision to become unfocused somewhat.
When I looked into the sky, I saw a ball of flames. I knew, at that moment, the war made its way to America. I panicked, hit the ground and covered up my head. My cousin picked my stiff body up, and screamed, “What the fuck are you lying down for? Do you want to get blown up?”
We started running across the campus, balls of fire climbing high in the sky, followed by a squirting sound. Screams of other individuals rang through the night, causing that elusive feeling of utter terror beyond image and belief.
As I was running toward one of the park lots, I felt the ground shaking underneath me. I looked down and saw the concrete cracking, a glowing, hot stream of lava pushing its way through the ground. Suddenly, the lava trail stopped...
Silence... I realized that these things were not exploding simultaneously.
BOOM! The ground exploded, shards of concrete, rock, and dirt went flying into the air, along with a ball of fire. My heart stopped, but I knew I had to make my way to my car.
When the fire ball stopped climbing to the heavens, it disappeared into the night sky, and this purple-looking liquid sprang from the busted concrete. Some of the liquid fell on my face, and arm, burned the shit out of me.
I ran to the parking lot where my car was supposed to be at, and I found nothing. My car was missing. Contrary to the actions I may have performed in my dream, I am a very nice young man, but during those few moments, I made up in my mind to hot-wire someone’s car and get the fuck up out of there.
A friend of mine started the car up, how, I didn’t bother to ask.
Next, Reese Witherspoon came up to me, hair the color of hay, and looked at me cross. She walked up to this white car that I choose to steal.
“Terry, what are you doing?” she asked me.
“This isn’t my car. I know this. But I am not about to be walking around here on foot while these things blow up right under my slow walking feet!” I screamed.
“As an officer of the law, I’m going to have to ask you to escort the vehicle or you’ll be charged with grand theft auto.”
“What?” I asked. She wasn’t making any sense. When did she go to law school (besides Legally Blonde 1 and 2)?
Then, what saved my life at that moment (because I was going to go to jail or get blown up) happened.
My phone rang, and I woke up. I was grunting and tossing myself back and forth. It seemed like some shit right out of a movie. It’s been so long since I’ve had a dream like that. I wonder what it meant.
Aren't We All Entitled To A Fuckin' Opinion?
I can’t image not ever seeing the movie Déjà Vu. It was a wonderful story, in my opinion. Of course, this is just my opinion. But what words don’t I put on my blog that aren't opinionated?
On to other news…
*Turns and faces another camera angle*
The high school I attended and graduated from, Toledo School for the Arts, wanted a grant in order to do some programs for local students. They wanted to get more frosh high schoolers participating in activities involved more in the arts during the summer. But guess fuckin’ what! The $200,000 dollars they needed in order to start the project isn’t available because it’s being sent to participate in the WAR THAT OUR PRESIDENT THINKS IS AIDING EVERYONE!
Ya know, I think Bush thinks those real people fighting in the war are like his human G.I. Joes or something. Who really spends 2 BILLION dollars a day on a war and nothing is getting better?
And how in the fuck were people actually actively trying to impeach former president, Clinton for getting his dick sucked, but we can’t do shit about Bush-
Now, wait. I know you’ll say, “Tee, man, it’s hard as hell to get a president impeached.”
But I find it FUCKED up that Lincoln and Kennedy were assassinated, but Bush is still throwing motherfuckas overseas to fight in the war. This doesn’t mean I wish any harm to our president. I just don’t like the way he is running the country (You say, “Tell us something we all aren’t thinking.”), and I feel good presidents shouldn't have deserved to die while one of the worst presidents waves his arms in the air and speaks bullshit with enthusiasm.
I'll admit, he must have studied Adolf Hitler, because he used the same tactic that killer used: he spoke well and deceived. But I tell you my opinion, because, like I said earlier in this post (go on and look at what I said in the first paragraph), this is an opinionated blog.
P.S (post-script). Can someone please tell my how Clinton getting his dick sucked by some slutty looking woman was costing us 2 BILLION dollars? Was he using gold covered condoms or something?
On to other news…
*Turns and faces another camera angle*
The high school I attended and graduated from, Toledo School for the Arts, wanted a grant in order to do some programs for local students. They wanted to get more frosh high schoolers participating in activities involved more in the arts during the summer. But guess fuckin’ what! The $200,000 dollars they needed in order to start the project isn’t available because it’s being sent to participate in the WAR THAT OUR PRESIDENT THINKS IS AIDING EVERYONE!
Ya know, I think Bush thinks those real people fighting in the war are like his human G.I. Joes or something. Who really spends 2 BILLION dollars a day on a war and nothing is getting better?
And how in the fuck were people actually actively trying to impeach former president, Clinton for getting his dick sucked, but we can’t do shit about Bush-
Now, wait. I know you’ll say, “Tee, man, it’s hard as hell to get a president impeached.”
But I find it FUCKED up that Lincoln and Kennedy were assassinated, but Bush is still throwing motherfuckas overseas to fight in the war. This doesn’t mean I wish any harm to our president. I just don’t like the way he is running the country (You say, “Tell us something we all aren’t thinking.”), and I feel good presidents shouldn't have deserved to die while one of the worst presidents waves his arms in the air and speaks bullshit with enthusiasm.
I'll admit, he must have studied Adolf Hitler, because he used the same tactic that killer used: he spoke well and deceived. But I tell you my opinion, because, like I said earlier in this post (go on and look at what I said in the first paragraph), this is an opinionated blog.
P.S (post-script). Can someone please tell my how Clinton getting his dick sucked by some slutty looking woman was costing us 2 BILLION dollars? Was he using gold covered condoms or something?
Pushing This Book from My Vagina...??
I found myself on the floor, literally, cursing Writingup for not allowing me to post about my thoughts, problems, and concerns for the past two days. I don’t know if it was just the location I was in, but I wasn’t able to access anything.
Guess what, ya’ll…
I have written 75, 536 words on my novel, A Bitch’s Gospel. I have 5,000 more to go before I am officially finished with the first draft. I’m so happy I could just shit. This is like pushing an eight-pound baby from my imaginary vagina.Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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