Of Gazing and Gutters: A Shorter Exposition

Sometimes my very existence seems fragile. As though I'm somehow holding on by only a single thread, and the slightest gust of wind holds more than enough power to blow me over. At other times, I feel as though not even a hurricane could unseat me from where I stand on top of the world.

Occasionally when I'm on top of the world though, something will hit me right where it hurts. Sometimes something will stab right through my heart, and I will fall bleeding to the gutter. It is rarer for something to build me up from the ground just as quickly.

In my darker moments, I try to ask myself who I'm fooling. "It is trite but true that we are all lying in the gutter... But some of us are looking at stars," I say. "One never truly stands on top of the world. We're always rolling in the gutter, but sometimes our gaze slips skyward."

I pose an alternative suggestion for anyone who feels as I do often. Instead of focusing on the gutter, consider this: "We are all living in palaces. But sometimes, our gaze slips gutter-ward.''

Sin: I've Got Another Confession To Make

I think one of the nicest things about Christianity, one of the most merciful things, is the leeway offered to sinners. 'Coz, let's face it, who out there has never sinned? If you've never committed a single sin, seriously, post a comment here because I'd love to hear from you.

To most people, I look pretty OK on the outside. That's neat, but it isn't who I really am. Well, that's not true. It is who I am, but there is more. I'll admit that I'm better than I was, but God still keeps showing me new little things that are still between Him and me. And that's without mentioning the big things that I've always known about.

There are certain things about me that need to be ironed out. For instance, often while hanging out with friends I'll slip into a mode of speech and/or conversation that fails to do justice to the pure and utter holiness of my God. And I'm not as honest as I should be. I also struggle with anger. Often when I'm angry, it's to such a degree that I actually scare myself with either what I'm thinking, or with how close I've just come to hurting someone I love. I have only a meager level of self-control that never fails to get me into strife. I'm prone to a hypocritical kind of judgment, irrespective of my various rants on the self-same topic. I can be too harsh on different aspects of my own religion, not unjustly, because I do see a lot of hypocrisy, but often I'll say things intending to stir up dissent, or purely for the 'shock factor'. I too often flaunt my own freedom when it comes to different kind of media. Some Christians cannot cope with heavy metal music, or Harry Potter, or fantasy books in general. And I am one who can see that these things, with suitable discernment, are not harmful at all - yet I choose to parade my freedom around less (for lack of a better word) open minded Christians, often to their own detriment. At times my wit can be a curse as much as a blessing, and has gotten me into trouble on many occasions. Often I can be hurtfully harsh. Often it is merely subtle. I will make snide comments about people that only some 'get', and the one who they are directed against is left feeling uncomfortable, but with no idea why.

These are all areas I need to work on, because clearly I am not in anyway as 'good' a human being as I could (or perhaps 'should') be. But the great thing is that Christianity is not a religion of works. Salvation is not attained by God's score of how 'good' you've been. Because in His books, we all deserve to go to hell. Even one little sin, even one little 'white lie', is enough to damn us for eternity.

Enter Jesus Christ.

The whole point of Christianity is that this bloke, God's son, was sent to Earth to die in our place. He took the price of our sin, so that we don't need to face that eternal hell. All we have to do is accept God's gift of perfect grace, clearly portrayed for all men through the gospels. Once we have attained that, all this sin doesn't matter. God counts it as absolutely nothing, and it is not held against us.

That raises a question though. What happens if we sin after we've been saved? Obviously, we're going to. How does God deal with this? He accepts our confession of sin. When we recognize our failing, and confess to Him, He pardons us so that we come out from the effect of that sin. He forgives us. This obviously means that we shouldn't just sin 'coz God will forgive us anyway. The bible even addresses that very question. It says, (Romans 6:2), that since we have 'died to sin, how can we live in it any longer?' You've left behind old ways by accepting Christ's death. You can't just keep on living like that.

But I just love that about Christianity. We aren't supposed to live in sin any more, and if we do fail, because we are sure as hell going to, God's ready to accept our apology and move on. That's pretty awesome for a guy like me, who would be really screwed if salvation worked on a basis of 'yeah bro, you've been good enough. Come right on in the Pearly Gates.'

Corey Delany: Wanker

Every so often there arrives in the news someone who both proves that celebrities are made, not born, and destroys my faith in humanity. All in the same fell swoop. It should be obvious that I'm talking about 'Corey, the party dude' here, since that's what the title says.

I first read about the party, and my reaction was 'ok, what a retard...' Then articles and articles flooded in, and my reaction changed. 'I want this turd off my news!' I was mildly relieved when a group of Romanians beat the crap out of him. In fact, I was nearly ecstatic when I found out that these Romanians were friends of friends of mine. I'm still waiting on an autograph.

The fact is, this Corey wanker has been getting everything he wants, and nothing he deserves. Until he got beat up, but that changed nothing. I recently heard he is now on Big Brother. Why won't someone tell him where he can shove those godawful sun glasses!?! Instead, we treat him like a hero. I was absolutely disgusted when a friend of mine told me that a friend of hers idolizes Corey. Even dresses like him.

That is not cool. Purely because Corey is not cool. Corey is so not cool, ok, he's an arrogant, stuck up sun-of-a... Witch. What the hell was his mother smoking while she was pregnant!?! It must have been pretty bloody strong for her daughter... Oh, son, sorry, to turn out like that. If I was her... Corey's, that is, dad, I'd have been the crap out of her.. Uh, him... By now.

Sorry to destroy your previous perception of the situation, but the lesson to be learned from Cory is not 'act like a total piece of flea-ridden, dog-trodden crap and you will become rich and famous.' The lesson is 'just... do the right thing, and you won't look like such an arrogant, up-yourself, pathetic-looking, brain dead excuse for a human being.'

If you want to be cool, be COOL! Don't throw a massive, irresponsible, party behind your parents back, and get caught on the news betraying a sickeningly pitiful fashion sense. Coz... That's not cool, ok, it just isn't.

My problem with Corey is that people will look to him and think it's cool to be a retarded, stupid looking, pansy. That's just not true.

kthnxbye

A Poetic Winter: A Soliloquy of Nothingness

Vrykolaka

I embrace the shadow,
Not the decaying fire of the sun
Sweet scent of Allium sativum, my bane
I sleep during day
And at night, drink my fill
Of your own bitter-sweet sustenance

My only fear is your holy relic
And your God is the source of all my dread

I am nosferatu, homo sapiens homovorus
I thirst as you hunger,
And I drink as you sleep

***

I have of late taken to writing poetry. It amuses me. Despite a marked lack of skill, a small part of me wants to compile a book of poetry divided up into four sections. One for each season in the vein of Jon Foreman's EPs. It should come as no surprise that 'Winter' is filling up faster than all the others. And in my defence, I'm loving this cold spell. The coldness, the wetness, the greyness... It is so me! It is not Winter just yet, but it may as well be.

Outside my window right now, all I can see... Besides my garden, that is... Is grey. Grey, almost white, clouds. It isn't raining just yet. I swear I'm not an emo. I swear I'm not a goth. I swear I've discussed this in a previous blog.

It all comes down to taste and preference. If I'd rather drink in the beauty of God's gorgeous winter than burn myself to a crisp in his utterly painful Summer, what is it to you? To be fair, I do like Summer. I like all the seasons. It's just that, I live in Australia. Australia has a 'Summer culture', and I'm not buying it. I guess all these Summery things are great in their own season, but don't complain when it's Winter! As a matter of fact, I think I'd like Summer a whole lot more if I could find a pair of sunglasses that actually look good on me...

I must apologize for this blog. It's really just a random rambling about nothing. But, like poetry, it amuses me. I'll leave you with a question, dear reader: Which is more enjoyable? A cold drink on a hot day, or a hot drink on a cold day? Ah, I think I win...?

***

Office For The Dead

“Dirige Domine Deus meus
In conspectu tuo viam meam.”

The quiet words are spoken,
Soft o’er your frozen grave
And yet, with strength they pierce
The frozen shell about my heart

Many memories flitter past
But I shrug them off in anger
A single sentence floats through
I know the truth, I’ve come to terms

“It was you, drunken fool.”
If I’d been sober, she’d still be alive

Epiphany: An Odd Form Of Self-Loathing

There are always days when one wishes a hole would form beneath them to facilitate immediate removal from this twisted world. Utter disgust and a sense of loathing settles in, forcing an intense desire to divorce oneself from ones own world. Whether it happens often, or hardly ever, we have all felt this it one point or other in time. For me, it usually happens after perusing the news and seeing yet another murder. Or perhaps some wanker has gone and thrown a party behind his parents back after promising not to. Or maybe someone has cruelly disabled someone else's ability to think, talk, walk, see, or hear, and left them still living - a still greater act of cruelty than merely taking their life.

Humanity's broken state is so self-evident, so painfully obvious, so pitifully displayed, that if one seeks the epitome of dissipation, all one has to do is gaze into a mirror and see reflected... His or her self. A human being drowning in a world full of stupid, stupid bitterness. Just as I find it hard to believe that someone could look at the natural world and not believe in the existence of some kind of creating force, I also find it hard to believe that someone could look at our retarded society and not believe in the principle of total depravity.

It's as if we live to be destructive towards our fellow human beings. It's as though everything we do is recklessly extravagant as far as causing pain is concerned. This is not the sort of world I want anything to do with, and yet it is the kind of world that people believe we can bring change to. Even Christians, which surprises me, because as a Christian, I believe that this world is only going to spiral down more and more into new heights of depravity until Jesus Christ returns.

Which is not to say we should sit by and let it collapse by any means... But we honestly shouldn't talk about 'changing the world' bringing about 'world peace' or 'making poverty history' as if those things are actually attainable. Because we know in our hearts that they are not. I'm not interested in double standards. This world is destroying itself, because that is what God said will happen. You can't redeem it.

The Silent Room

Love's golden arrow at her should have fled,
And not Deaths ebon dart to strike her dead
~William Shakespeare

The room was silent. Not one of the watchers said a word. No one moved.

It was about three o’clock in the morning, and the only light visible seeped in through an open window. The cold of winter crept in with the moon’s pale, feeble light, and a slight breeze brushed against the deep red curtains hanging over the glass.

The room was empty, except for a single bookshelf against the back wall, and a desk sitting in the centre of it. Papers littered the desk, and books had fallen off onto the wood-lined floor. Water lay drenching some of the papers, and its broken glass was scattered around the desktop.

But in the dark of the night, one could see dark stains splashed over the floorboards. An inestimable stench hung over the room like a burial shroud. It was not a normal odor, drawn in through the nostrils and sense of smell, but rather an intense feeling of unease and disquiet. The stench of death.

Lying over the dark stains was a body. The stains seemed to emanate from a dark hole in its head. A gun lay, still smoking, in an open hand.

As a single, silent tear made it’s way down one woman’s face, her husband moved over to the table. Only two people were in the room besides them.

The man’s steps were all that could be heard in the still night air, but they were desperately loud, fighting the cold, quiet darkness.

His hands moved over a note on his son’s desk, and he picked it up. He stood in silence, reading for a few short minutes, though they seemed like hours. When he had finished he dropped the note, and he turned away and screamed. The agony he felt came through in that one single moment. In that instant, a million thoughts flashed through his mind, every one of them incriminating. There was so much he felt he could have, should have, done. So much he felt he should have said, and so much lifeless Jack needed to hear.

As he screamed, the dam holding back his wife’s tears broke, and she fell to the ground sobbing as though she’d been slain. Their other two children rushed to comfort her, though they did not understand.


Dear Mother, Father, Damien, Catie

You never knew because I didn’t tell you. I never told you, because I was afraid. And now it is too late. Too late, because by the time you’ve read this I will have disposed of God’s only mistake. Me. Yes, me, the only thing that God ever made poorly.

I just want to thank all of you who tried to help. Even though it didn’t work, you tried your hardest and I respect that. Tell Rebbecca it was all just a dream. Maybe she’ll realize how much she misses me now I’m truly gone.

In closing, I love you all, so, so much. Sorry about the mess.

Yours truly,
Jack Bennet


***

I guess the bottom line is this: Think twice before you do something you won't live to regret. If you need help, get it. Don't try and fight on your own, because you'll lose. And the loss will be felt by your friends and family, those who love you.

You have a father in heaven. And He loves you. I don't know who you are or what your story is, but I want you to know that if you've been running from Him until now: Just throw yourself into His arms. He will hold you up and sustain you, and He will never let you go.

I love you.

Pentecostalism: Crazy Man's Theology

The only branch of Christianity I genuinely do not understand is Pentecostalism. Not trying to be a hypocrite here by any means, but when I talk to Pentecostals, I find it hard to talk about anything meaningful. They're just so weird, hokey-spiritual, unreal, over-radicalized, fanatical and spirit-centred. They're just so ridiculous, and you just want to tell them (or ask them), "you do realize that outside your spirit-shaped box there is a real life just waiting to be claimed? You do, right?"

It would be nice if I could find something from an Anglican or Presbyterian perspective explaining the 'pentecostal mind'. Oh, good grief, they're like females! Except that I doubt anyone can explain the female mind. (I've even asked a female to explain some things. They just can't do it!) But I digress!

I feel fairly certain that a smart Anglican or Presbyterian theologian could explain 'Pentecosticallity' to me. I just wish someone would explain where these 'spiritual gifts' come from. No, smartarse, not from the Holy Spirit. I mean, where in the bible. 'Coz it ain't in my bible. Is that 'coz I don't read Anton LaVey's 'Satanic Bible'? That's enough slander for now. All I'm trying to say is this: The only description of speaking in tongues, for instance, is in Acts. Where everyone could hear the 11 speaking in their own languages. Not everyone hearing the 11 going 'yarkha lestomania corintebe charlekhtamba es trel gornikhman thani!' Speaking in tongues. Speaking in languages. Speaking in languages. Speaking in languages. Wait... That's more than one language!?! Surprise, surprise!

One other thing that bothers me about Pentecostals is the credit they give the devil and other 'evil spirits.' I believe magic exists. I believe magic is the work of demons. Demons working through people who permit them to do so. I strongly believe that Satan has only as much power as you individually allow him to possess. So if you're fearing an 'attack from the Devil' because you believe he's capable of that, you'd better be prepared for some seriously negative spiritual experiences buddy.

So I guess this is a call for a book on pentecostal theology. I want to know how they back all this bullcrap up scripturally, because there seems to be a distinct lack of scriptural basis for many of their doctrines. I know that you need to be energetic to grab the attention of today's youth. I know that today's youth are after something a little more spiritual than your average evangelical church service can offer. But I don't know if you need to forsake the bible in your quest of souls for Jesus. Seriously, don't worry about that! It's in God's control. You don't need to try and be 'relevant' or anything, at least not to that degree, because God will bring His plans to fruition!

So I'm asking for an evangelical theologian here. Hell, even a sensitive Pentecostal will do! One who understands that other people have more balanced views - and that makes them neither more nor less a Christian than him.

Yes! I know! Amazing, hey? There is more than one mode of Christian belief! There actually is! Wonders never cease...

Disclaimer: My intention was not to cause dissent, disenfranchisement or disenchantment for any Pentecostals who might read this. All I'm asking for is answers backed up with scriptures quoted with accurate contexts. And if I piss off more than half my readers in the process, so be it. Luv yaz in Christ! Keep those hands raised high brother!

Creed

I believe.

I believe in the supreme authority of but one god, holy and pure, incapable of the will to sin,
Himself one of three persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit
Three to be equally worshiped as one, for there is but one god

I believe in His love and how He sent His son to die in our place
While we were still under God's wrath, He sent His son
As a means that we who believe in Him shall live forever
He was treated unjustly, for He was sinless.
He was beaten, and ridiculed for my sake.
To buy my soul, He was crucified, hung on a cross, where He died and entered Hell.
After three days, He rose again from death
After a further forty days He was taken up to be with the Father
All this in order that we might pass over from death to life in His amazing grace

I believe in a second coming of the Son, heralding the end of the present earth

I believe in a second life for those His grace will reach – to worship Him forever in the new heaven and the new earth.
I cannot deny God’s absolute power and authority over everything in Heaven and Earth –
He is in control of all the little things such as every step we take, but also of our salvation, taken from our hands as relief – for I believe that in accepting Him, I was only following a path that He had chosen for me long before. While I chose Him, it is only because He chose me at the first. But I believe that He has a plan for my entire life, not just in regards to my salvation.

I believe that the one true god forgives the sins of all who truly repent and confess

I believe that we, as Christ’s followers, are called to be fishermen
Casting the nets so that God can do His work in bringing others to the light
We are also called to live in peace with one another, to love our neighbours and to love God.

This is what I believe – A statement of my faith declaring the supreme authority of God, His gift of the Holy Spirit and the saving work of His son, Jesus Christ, crucified for sins I and my fathers had committed, and a gift we did not deserve.

Amen.

Reflections on Exactly What I'd Like To Achieve By The End of This Year

Back last December, I wrote up a list of things (in no particular order) I'd like to have achieved by the end of this year. Here it is:

• Produced a full band CD. (Not looking very likely for this year, however the Ghosts In The Rain EP (perhaps LP?) will easily be finished by December.)
  
• Got some decent internet. (A decision has been made, but no options have been explored as of now.)
  
• Got a job. (Looking more and more possible by the day.)
  
• Got an acoustic guitar. (Priorities have changed. I'm outgrowing my electric. If I get a job, this should be achievable.)
  
• Played an actual gig or festival or something. (We played up at Upper Beaconsfield at that 'family fun day' fare thing. Does that count?)
  
• Sorted out what God wants for my life. (He wants me to go to bible college, and I'm taking a year or two off to work before that (after school), but beyond that I still have no idea. He'll reveal more later on.)
  
• Sorted out what's wrong with my life in relation to God. (Short answer: Nothing was.)
  
• Got my Ls. (Shouldn't be a concern.)
  
• Improved my wit. (One can always be better, as good as one is.)
  
• Taken steps toward studying logic. (See above.)
  
• Taken steps toward studying rhetoric. (See above.)
  
• Read at least part of the Qu'ran. (Done. Well, I read part of it.)
  
• Learned to scream and growl in a death metal style. (It's possible. If I actually try.)
  
• Owned a pair of real chucks. (If I get a job, yeah, why not?)
  
• Dealt with certain preconceived opinions certain hypocritical people have about me. (The main problem is, no one gives you a second chance. Ever. So I'm kinda screwed. Unless I save someone's life. Then I'd be a hero. Crap, I sound so bitter.)
  
• Made my life much less boring. (Well... Technically I've achieved this, however it's still extremely boring at times.)
  
• Written the 'ultimate' song. (Working on it.)
  
• Visited South Australia. (Not likely.)
  
• Visited Tassie, if SA is not an option. (A little more likely than SA, but probably not happening.)
  
• Learned at least a bit of music theory. (Achieved. But I want more!)
  
• Taken steps toward learning philosophy. (So far, no steps have been taken. I'm sure there are books I could read.)

So there we have it. A number of different different thing I'd like to achieve, with varying degrees of possibility. To be honest, I could add a whole lot more onto that, but time does not permit. So I bid you adieu.

An Ironic Paradox: What Happens When A 'People-Person' Becomes Hardened And Cynical?

We like to kill each other. We have the strangest ideas about what constitutes 'being a man'. We are just plain stupid. We all deserve to be killed. Like, right now, and (holy crap) I honestly believe we deserve that. That's why when I reflect on what Jesus did, it seems so awesome. As stupid as we are, as messed up, and completely idiotic, someone still thought it was worth dying for us.

I have no words that effectively describe how I feel about humans sometimes. I get these moods where I just wish some huge hole would appear in space and suck us all down into a bloody space/time vortex.

Well, not all of us. Just all the ones that unrealistically believe they're worth something more than a dead fly in a pile of horse crap. Those people upset me so much.

You think you're cool hey? Tell me how you can be cool and wear your jeans about your thighs at the same time? Tell me how you can be cool, and yet objectify the crap out of every girl you've ever met? Tell me how it's possible to be cool and have no respect for the opposite gender? How can you be cool and yet treat everyone else like sh*t? Tell me, my friend, how the hell can you be 'cool', and yet be so singularly 'un-cool' at the same damn time?

I wish I was like Jesus. Because then I could forgive those people. And hell, I try. And, hell, it doesn't work. But the fact is, Jesus thought it was worth dying for us. And if these people all mean something to Him, then they should sure as hell mean at least something to me.

I just wanted to get all that off my chest. Carry on.

Rain, Rain, Go Away... No, Please Don't...

There is something depressing in those typically cold, windy, wet, grey, misty winter days that always lifts my spirits. Call me what you will; 'goth', 'emo', 'satanist', 'creep', or just 'screwed-up-in-the-head.' The fact still remains.

I think it is tied in somewhat strongly with that same morbid part of me that has to fight back a singularly dark sense of humour. The same part that chuckles at ironically morbid headlines but is ashamed to admit it. "Children find severed head on beach." Oh, tell me I'm not alone...?

Believe me, I'm not heartless. It's not funny that this woman was decapitated, and it's certainly not funny that these children had to look at such a gruesome artifact (I love children). What is... Well, not 'funny', but perhaps 'ironic', about the thing is this: The situation. A severed head in a bag on the beach. Isn't that kind of... It's not something I can explain, I'm afraid. Anyway, I digress.

I love the rain. I hate the sun. I hate the feeling of the sun biting into my back, clawing, scratching. The sun hurts. Summer is painful. Winter is not. Winter is beauty, majesty, frosty wonder - No beach crazy chicks tanning it up every other day during winter.

Winter is better than summer from a purely religious stand point as well. The considerably less scanty clothing on women during winter leaves a lot more to men's feeble imagination. More clothing = cheaper cost + less temptation for males. Therefor: less sins for God to forgive. Oh, that's immature. Perhaps I should focus more on the practical, rather than spiritual, benefits of winter as opposed to summer.

It's easier to warm up than it is to cool down. While in winter, you can 'rug up' to a perfectly comfortable level, in summer, it is effectively impossible for one to attain a practical level of coldness.

Did I mention I hate the beach? Well, that's not strictly correct, however when conversing in usual society, I find it's easier to say 'I hate the beach' than it is to say 'I hate the beach in summer, or when 'normal' people enjoy it. Give me winter, with rain, wind, and huge waves. I want the cold. Not some hot chick, who is completely butt-ugly, wearing the smallest bikini she can find. Winter is where it's at, I tell ya!'

You know, I love not being 'normal'. It's one of the things I love most in this crazy world.

The Raven

The raven looked on in silence from his dead tree, unsure what to make of the dark spectacle below him. The rain poured endlessly off the church's roof, splashing and dancing in the mud-bathed graveyard outside it. The clouds were hanging low that night, hugging a certain young woman in their cold embrace. She knelt in front of a newly-placed headstone, freshly engraved with her lover's name. It had not been in place long enough for time to have its effect on the dark, rugged beauty of the simple masonry. 'Sam Devonshire: Beloved friend, brother, uncle and son. R. I. P.'

A single cold tear trickled down the woman's face, but the sad raven could not tell it apart from the rain. Unashamed of mud, and unafraid of wet, the woman could do nothing but kneel. And every time she thought of her now dead lover, a fresh portion of her heart died within her breast. The raven cast his eye on the pistol that lay in the womans hand, and he gave a squawk.

The woman picked it up, and looked at it almost longingly. She raised it up, and held it against the side of her head. She pulled back the hammer, and rested her fingers against the trigger.

There was a loud 'bang' that shattered the steady monotony of the rain. There was a scream, a squawk, a flash of blackness, and a puff of smoke. The sextan gave a start, surprised by the unexpected gunshot. He looked out of a small window in his office, and saw the young woman fall to the ground, and the gun flew out of her lifeless hand.

He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, and ran outside, calling the preacher as he did so. He splashed through the mud and the rain to where the woman lay, and he knelt at her side. He felt her pulse, and saw that it was going strongly. The woman opened her eyes, and looked into his. The sexton noticed a profuse lack of blood, and he closed his eyes in relief.

***

The woman did not know why she had survived her own suicide, and the sexton and the preacher put it down to God's grace. But five years later, the woman and her new husband visited the church to see the place where God had decided to spare her life, and save her from herself in her darkest hour.

As they walked under the raven's dead tree, they heard a squawk, and looked up. The same raven flew down from his perch, and winged around the couple a few times. He finally came to rest on the woman's shoulder, and almost lovingly caressed her neck with his beak.

In that moment, she knew that the Lord had sent the raven. The raven had knocked the pistol from her hand at just the right moment.