Obscure religions series begins!

I have decided to embark on a new writing project on the subject of obscure churches. This will be largely, but not entirely, devoted to religions based on Christianity. When I say "religion" I am referring to a huge variety of sizes of organisation. It can be anything from a couple of people who believe that the moon God is made of Edam and must be worshipped with Cranberry sauce offerings, to a major international movement complete with their own economy and mafia.

Living as I do, in the USA, there are plenty to choose from right on my own doorstep. It seems that on every street corner there are a tribe of people with bizarre beliefs and even more bizarre ways to worship. And I haven't even looked at the ones on TV yet...

 One would hope that religious people could find it in their god-fearing hearts to put aside their differences and unite in their prayers and devotion to their Lords, but apparently this is not the case and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of tinier and tinier branches of Christianity alone.

The reasons branches of churches divide up like this are usually complex, historically significant, and rather dull when written into history books. I usually try to imagine religious scholars, over the centuries, getting mindlessly drunk on monk's brewed wine, and arguing about the finer points of theological reasoning...with swords at the ready to settle the arguments. Perhaps they are trying to decide whether God meant them to wear beige robes with red tassels, or magnolia with pastel pink. The arguments grow, usually because of egos rather than any well-thought out theological point, and eventually churches split up, suddenly creating yet another "true religion" that is more pure and true than the first.

The end result - i.e. the multiple divisions that we have in religions today - typically bears no relation whatsoever to the original reasons for the split. Humans being humans, they find new things to argue about; new leaders come along and rewrite things, and before you know it they are fighting with one another about an entirely new subject that they used to agree upon.

This is great for people like me because it means there is plenty of material for satirical piss-taking! Two caveats.

First, I am unlikely to cover any of the major cults. This is not because I don't wish to - if anything they deserve ridicule far more than the real religions - but they are known to silence critics with horses heads in beds and so on. Not being equipped with either expensive lawyers, a team of gun-toting thugs, or both, I'm not really willing to take the risk frankly....
 
Second, while I will aim to be generally respectful to the spiritual beliefs of individuals, some readers of my work may have noticed that I tend to be undiplomatic at times. If you are religious and easily offended, please don't read these articles. If you do, don't start complaining to me that they should be removed because they offend your God. Major hypocrisy and bullshit is endemic in most of the worlds religions, and that offends my God. Instead, if you disagree with what I say, tell me why and we'll debate it. Maybe we'll reach some common understanding.

Enjoy the series! Feedback encourages more articles ;)

Orit Fox and her snake

I read today in an animal welfare magazine that a python had died in Venezuela. On closer inspection, it turned out that it had died after biting a human being. Even closer examination revealed the following startling snippet. The snake had bitten a supermodel on the breast, ingested some silicone and died of silicone poisoning.
Turns out that this is all over the news, and a quick google will reveal video footage.
The supermodel, you may or may not care to learn, is fine. The bite was superficial and she only needed to spend a few hundred dollars on secondary make-up pampering and a few thousand on a week in an exclusive spa. The only other expense would have been an extra few ounces of cocaine to get over the shock. Obviously her ego was bruised a little, as she had to spend a few days not displaying her stupendous cleavage to the world, thus damping down her jilted confidence to almost zero: but these things heal in time.
The fact that a snake died because of breast implants is extremely harsh for the snake, obviously, not to mention that snakes' best mates; and the story reminds us of serious welfare issues about how well this snake was being looked after. Presumably it was hired for the photo shoot from some "rent-an-animal" agency, which effectively consigns its "pets" to a life of slavery to humans.
The story also highlights the environmental problems of silicone. If a small mouthful of the stuff can kill a snake, (which are known for having good constitutions) what other sort of damage does the stuff do, as it litters the environment - both in implants and a whole host of other products?

Most importantly though, the story highlights this. Have you ever seen a picture of Orit Fox? She looks absolutely vile. The pictures remind me of those horror films where the child's doll comes to life. Her entire face and upper body is constructed and reconstructed with layer upon layer of plastic surgery and expensive make-up, such that, next to her, Michael Jackson would look like the all-natural boy-next-door. What the hell is this woman doing to herself? And do people really worship her visage, call her beautiful etc., or do they just celebrate how freakish she looks?

Plastic surgery is great for people who have scars, or have deformities that cause medical problems. Sadly, it is also used by stupid rich celebrities who all want to look the same as each other, or like freaks. When you see pics of them before the surgery started they were invariably more attractive before, why they can't see it is beyond me.

A python yesterday

The 9/11 Memorial

The time is approaching for the tenth anniversary of 9/11.
Now you may be thinking that Bin Laden did it, the US government did it, it was the Illuminati, it was caused by negative Earth Energies, it was aliens hell bent on revenge for all that rubbish we broadcast on the satellite TV etc. etc. But, no matter what your theory for who was responsible for 9/11, no one can deny that the deaths of all those people was a massive human tragedy.
People like to mark the anniversaries of tragic events, like deaths, with some sort of fitting memorial. Usually these are designed to bring us closer to the spirit of the dead person or people, for example, going to a place that they enjoyed and lighting candles or singing their favorite song.
Not in this case. Whoever designed this piece of crap decided a little differently. In honour of the thousands of people who died on that day, many in states of extreme terror and pain inside collapsing burning buildings, this person decided that a fitting tribute would be to encourage mourning loved ones to spend their hard-earned cash on some crappy bits of cheap metal glued together badly to look a little bit like the twin towers. Adding in a few candles, it looks a bit like the buildings are on fire.
Brilliant. So this will achieve what exactly?
For the people holding the memorial with this statuette: instead of remembering the happy, positive, fun things about their loved one's life, they just get to relive the trauma of their horrible death, and wallow in their own pain and misery as a result, thus making them less happy.
For the spirits of the dead people - if you believe in them - they will also be quite unhappy about it, I mean they died horribly in the twin towers, so how is an image of them going to be enjoyable or help them reconnect with their living families?
(As an aside, I expect Jesus feels the same way about crosses. If you were pondering returning to the land of the living, would you want to come back to humanity, if humanity had spent 2000 years sculpting images of the device they used to torture you to death?)

For the people who designed and built this hideous effigy: Riches. Current retail price is about $18 from the NY Fire Department, though this will likely increase as we get closer to the anniversary. Manufacturing cost, probably a few pennies, since it was made in some sweat shop in China.

Response to my reviewer

 A review of my book "Yoghurt Weaving in a Nutshell" appeared in an obscure church newsletter in rural Switzerland. Here is my response to them:


Dear Mrs Wells

I hope you are well. I am writing in response to a review of my book which appeared in the march-april edition of your newsletter "Contact". I was not sure exactly which of the contributors wrote the piece, so I selected yourself as being, hopefully, the best person to direct my query. If I am wrong, please accept my apologies, and I would be grateful if you would forward this to the author of the review.

Since the purpose of my book was to generate debate, I am keen to enter into discussion about the comments made.
In particular, the reviewer appears to disagree with my assertion that spiritual healing of the planet is possible. I ask, are there any examples that may be cited where spiritual healing has ever actually brought "healing" to the earth?
Also, the reviewer only mentions one of my articles, and there are more than 30 in the book. I am very interested to hear what a Christian would answer to my views on Astral Projection, for example. Is it possible for the spirit to leave the body at will?

Finally, I am most intrigued as to how a copy of my book ended up in Switzerland in the first place...
I wish you all the best

Many thanks

John Broken Willow

Twilight Eyes - Book review

Dean Koontz's Twilight Eyes is brilliant!
A novel set in a world where some "humans" are in fact strange otherworldly goblin beings, invisible to most of the population but visible to our hero Slim.
From an early age he has embarked on a one man war against these strange creatures, who seem only interested in slowly wiping out humans and thriving on our suffering.
Slim has a variety of psychic powers, as do some of the other characters he meets along the way, so the book is packed with visions, prophecies and other psychic phenomena.
Warning to anyone who is a little sensitive - this is a dark book and there are lots of grim gorey bits. It is not light reading.
The only real problem with this book is that the main character is a little unbelievable. He's only 17 yet appears to have the wit and intelligence of someone in their mid-30s. This discrepancy is commented on in the book, alluding to his very unusual childhood and goblin war maiking him "grow up fast" but this can't explain how he seems to have the vocabulary of an Oxford professor.
Nonetheless a brilliant story that will appeal to anyone interested in the powers of the unknown, alien races and fans of the show Carnivale.

Author blog awards

Hi all

Please vote for this blog in the author blog awards, by clicking on the link (big orange square thingy) on the right hand side of the page. Here's what you will be voting for:

"The Author Blog Awards aim to honour the best blogs by both published and unpublished writers. They will recognise the writers who use their blogs to connect with readers in the most imaginative, engaging and inspiring ways. At the same time we hope to attract new audiences to these blogs and help readers find out more about the authors they love, and new authors too. "

Altered States - film report

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080360/

This film spins off from the psychedelic revolution in the late 60s, from the perspective of a slightly mad scientist who is trying to push the boudaries of human consciousness and knowledge by getting fucked up on hallucinogens. (Sound familiar?)

There are a lot of scenes with people madly talking at breakneck speed about bizarre metaphysical concepts, that would not be out of place in the Illuminatus.

Starting with early experiments using DMT the Scientist (William Hurt) then gets hold of some Fly Agaric concentrate from some Mexican dudes, and very trippy shit happens.

It is classic yoghurt weaving from beginning to end and what's more, when the really crazy stuff starts to happen, all the equipment blows up so once again there is no proof of the yoghurt!

Well worth a looksy if you are interested in altered states of consciousness. Definitely not to be taken seriously, unless you are the kind of person who is constantly in an altered state as it is....

Quote from my next book (3)

His office was in the spare room of his house, and of course there was no electronic kit. The layout of the office, equipment in it, and even the furniture, would not have looked out of place in the 19th century. Well, except for the tape player. The walls were lined with dark wood pannelling reminiscent of some stately home; there was an ornate picture rail below which hung mostly rennaissance paintings (though there were only two modern pieces: a large photo of Blackpool taken from offshore somewhere, just before the bombing), and another photo of the current President of Europe, Bearnard Cody, which he would throw darts at when he was feeling frustrated. He had filing cabinets (for storing the few things he really did need to write down) that were wooden, with old fashioned locks to which he kept the keys on his person at all times; a large oak desk with Gillow chairs, salvaged from some of the wreckage of the bombing, and an ornate standard lamp that ran on paraffin.
All in all he had a plush office that, in times gone by, would have been favoured by the elite class that he now sought to destroy. He was pleased with the irony of this. Queen Victoria had once sat in the chair he now slouched on. She would meet with the judges and the lawyers in Lancaster castle and help preside over cases, and help direct the future of the law in England. Her legacy was to bring England struggling from the Industrial Revolution into the beginnings of the information age that had now gone so wrong. Could she have envisaged this world, Boon wondered? She reigned during the time when the telephone was invented; now there was instant video and voice communication all over the planet. She ruled over the British Empire that. despite its faults, brought so much prosperity to the third world. Now, Britain was no more, there were only five countries, that same spirit of imperialism brought war and suffering all around the globe and Boon longed for a more localised world. Victoria's age invented the car, and aeroplanes were the stuff of science fiction. Now even the poorest had cars and the richest had cars that could fly; 12 hours was all it took to get to the other side of the world. Coal and oil production begun to really take off under her leadership, bringing an unimaginable energy revolution. Now there was nuclear fusion energy that was millions of times more powerful. The Victorians started the process of running censuses and monitoring the population, but they knew almost nothing about the lower classes. Now, governments could know anything about any of their citizens in an instant, including their genetic code and hiding from this was almost impossible.
Did she know where all this was heading? Did Queen Vic look out over her realm and wish she knew every tiny detail about her people? Did she want the Empire to just grow, and grow, and grow? Did she wish she could talk to anyone in the world in an instant?
Of course she did. The elite ruled the world from way back before her day. She was just the latest in a long line of rulers of England who joined the ranks of the elite. For centuries the world had been controlled by small groups of very powerful people, having secret meetings in very plush houses. "The only difference now", thought Boon aloud, "is that they have nothing to hide any more. All the cards are on the table. We citizens are actively 'subjects'. We do what they want and they watch us to make sure we are doing it. That's not a secret anymore. It's very difficult to hide. every time you go outdoors, log on, get on the telephone, use any kind of machinery, they are watching, and they're ready to dock you a week's pay if you do something minor and have you shot if you do something major. And in the meantime the wars rage on all around the globe and the only winners will be the elite themselves, from all the five sides, who have probably planned the whole thing together secretly since the war."
This was the mantra of the Freedom Party, and not the first time Boon had spoken it aloud to himself, but in light of his recent experience the words seemed more real to him. He felt a release from the harrowing tribulations of earth-bound life that he could not possibly have imagined before, the notion that he had the power to depart from his body. The perpetual sadness that had gripped him since the bombing, that relentless feeling of powerlessness and resignedness to a dreadful fate, had lifted a little. He was feeling positive, he could see his work really going somewhere, and for the first time in years, he really had the notion that his work might make a dent in the elite and bring a little more freedom for the ordinary people. This made him smile, and he pressed play on the stereo to be met by a wall of sound: hypnotic techno beats that sped up his mind and reinforced his rebellious, cunning nature.

Quote from my next book (2)

Cannabis smoke filled the recovery room of the large house. Shane Boon's body had been on the sofa there for exactly one hour. Shane Boon's soul, well, that was a different matter. He couldn't be sure. He felt sick and somewhat disorientated. He didn't know how his body had got from the ritual room to here, his memory of returning to the house was somewhat hazy; so he was quite confused as to how long he had been back in his body. In fact he was only about 70% sure that he was in his body even now, though to imagine otherwise seemed laughable. He saw that his body was, indeed, laughing.
"What are you laughin' about my friend?" enquired a light-hearted voice from the other sofa. Boon looked over. He was sure that only a few moments ago he knew who was on the other sofa and he had in fact been having a conversation with them, but now it seemed that information had gone. He felt extremely guilty at this apparent failure to socialise properly. He sat up, squinted a little, trying to focus his gaze on the person who had spoken. It was Lizzie. Rowena sat next to her. Both seemed to be smiling. Rowena's hand was extended towards him, with something white between her fingers. He could not make out what it was, and scrunched up his face at her hand in confusion, before burping. He laughed again, at which Rowena and Lizzie collapsed into fits of giggles.
"Mate, mate, I'm saao glad ye came round here, this has been a right entertainin' evenin'! Lizzie'ere's telled me all sortsa funny stories! Saahnds like ye've done yeself praahd mate! Nice one!" Rowena's accent was much more London than before. Boon struggled with this concept as well, was with really the same person he had met earlier? He squinted at her some more. Then he realised what she held in her hand, which was a spliff she was offering to him, and that she held a bottle of beer in the other hand, then he realised that there were empty beer bottles everywhere and that Rowena and Lizzie were quite drunk as well as more than a bit stoned.
Boon laughed again and took the spliff from Rowena's hand, taking a long, deep toke on it before finding an ashtray by the side of him and sitting back again on the sofa. A flood of increased consciousness swept through him, like the spliff had literally topped it up. Suddenly he was becoming more aware of his surroundings and his mind. He was in a brightly lit room with a large window in the ceiling. There were three large sofas, a couple of coffee tables in the middle, a fridge, tea-making equipment, drinks cabinet, and a small stereo with old-fashioned CDs strewn around it. Some sort of slow-beated ambient music gently oozed out of the speakers. The tables, as mentioned before, were littered with beer bottles. They also harboured a box containing weed, various other potions and powders. The only people in the room were himself and Lizzie and Rowena.
"Are you happy, Shane?" asked Lizzie, more seriously. He gave serious thought to the question, which was both very simple and yet extremely complex.
"Yes," he replied. Then he burped again and the three of them creased up with laughter once more.
Coming to, a moment later, Lizzie explained: "We are still heavily under the influence of the psilocybin. It has been three hours in the normal world since we took the drug. You will be tripping for quite some time yet. In the meantime: sit back, get high, enjoy the ride baby. You have passed your initiation test with flying colours. Congratulations my friend! You have left your body and found your astral consciousness. And you have seen how our group does its work."

Homeopathy (part 2)

This week there will be an imaginitive action regarding homeopathy, called the 10:23 campaign. It has the slogan "there's nothing in it" and activists will be deliberately overdosing themselves with homeopathic remedies.

The campaign will be taking something of a swipe at the retailers Boots, who stock some homeopathic products. The campaign feels that Boots should only be selling stuff that works. I'm not too sure why they feel that, I mean Boots have, for years, stocked thousands of hair and skin products that do absolutely nothing, whilst claiming to enrich our souls with pro-vitamin nano-complexes.