Let’s start with little steps, though.  Today was the decision.  Tomorrow I’ll work on content and effort.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and if it had been left in my hands, it wouldn’t have been built at all.

The show is quite funny, I’ve certainly laughed at the writing, and I do enjoy Christina, as I knew I would.  But, I just don’t find myself drawn to it, or yearning for more.  I’m almost having to force myself to watch the next episode, even though I know I’ll enjoy it. 

That got me to thinking.  Thirty minute comedies don’t really do it for me anymore.  I remember times in my life when they ruled pretty much supreme, from the classics like The Young Ones, Steptoe & Son, Only Fools & Horses, through things like Bottom, The office, Friends, Joey, etc.  But now, I just can’t get into the newer ones at all.  It’s like they’re making me laugh, but doing nothing else.

I’ve been thinking about my comedy tastes over recent times, and I think the problem might be I’ve spoiled myself.  Something like Samantha Who?  just can’t compete with the rush of watching Lisa Lampanelli live, or Comedy Central Roasts, or listening to the old recordings of Bill Hicks and Richard Pryor.  Even the shows i outlined above spoiled me.  I mean how can I get a buzz from watching something like Samantha Who?  after being used to the fast moving hilarity of Bottom, or the extremely well written Office.

Maybe Samantha Who?  just isn’t that good, when compared to other things which were better.  It would certainly explain why I laugh, and enjoy the show, but just don’t really find myself committing to it, or even getting involved with the characters, etc.

I’d still recommend it though, it’s a funny show, and if you have thirty minutes to kill and it just so happens to be on, give it a go.  Maybe you could comment on this post too, and help me come to terms with my situation.

I had a look around a few websites and finally happened upon the Philips DVP5990 with HDMI 1080p up scaling and a front-USB 2.0 port.  Thanks to a nice little find on the internet, I was able to format an old 200GB external HD into fat32 and I have began to fill it with various divx/xvid files.

As I sit here now, typing this, my HD has the first few seasons of The X-files loaded up and ready to go.  I can’t wait to watch them back to back again.  It’s been a while, probably a good few years, since i watched it from the very first episode.  Probably as far back as when I purchased all 8 (as it was back then) seasons on VHS from Amazon for £125.  Since then, I’ve managed to catch quite a few episodes here and there, on Living and Virgin 1.  So it’ll be  a fantastic treat to relive the experience from the start to finish.

The X-files is probably one of my top three favourite shows of all time.  I even love the later conspiracy based seasons, which shook off a lot of fans.  Although, like any other fans, I too agree that the first few seasons are by far the best, with the most interesting episodes and a lot more reason to think and wonder at the subjects covered.

• The event itself:

The event itself wasn’t that great, apart from the main event.  But I guess the main event was so big, and so long awaited that anything else would never match up anyway, no matter how good.

The main event was hyped to be the best fight of the year, certainly the most anticipated of the year.  And it lived right up to that hype, and more.

I was nervous.  I really can’t stand BJ Penn, his attitude and big mouth antics have never impressed me.  I guess that’s why I’m such a Randy Couture fan, i’m a sucker for respect, honour and doing your talking in the cage.  It’s for this reason that I’m a huge fan of GSP.  And it’s also for that reason that I wanted GSP to not only defeat BJ, but to annhialate him.  My wishes were fulfilled as GSP came out and battered BJ for 4 whole rounds, winning the striking game, grappling game, and any other game you wish to imagine. I decided that GSP is becomming the new Randy Couture, full of class, respectful to the end, and even beyond the end, and even more skilled in the cage, with what is possibly the best wrestling in MMA.

• From death threats to crying in only a few hours:

The funniest part of the fight and its leadup for me, was when BJ Penn was mouthing off in the press, saying how it was a fight to the death and GSP would be the one dying.  Then, after the fight, once BJ Penn had been destroyed in every possible area of the game, he and his corner started looking for excuses and crying about overuse of vaseline.

From what I’ve seen of the videos, and reports and even forum posts, the vaseline incident is being blown out of all proportion.  A small amount of vaseline was probably transferred from the face, to the back of GSP, as Phil Nurse massaged his back as part of a breathing routine.  But the amount was minimal to start with, and once the commision representatives saw what was going on, they were quick to towel GSP down, removing most, if not all of the grease.

BJ and his corner men admitted it wouldn’t have changed the fight, the commission themselves didn’t think it worth further investigation, but because BJ lost a lot of face that night and his cornermen were no doubt embarassed and humiliated, they’ve launched an investigation now and complained to the commission.  And as part of that, a few big names in the sport, who have lost to the Jackson camp in the past, have come out and cried foul play, Matt Hughes being one of the bigger names.

GSP, true to himself and his attitude, has almost immediately said he will do the rematch, even calling it for the Summer of this year, should Dana allow it.  Although, quite frankly, I hope it doesn’t happen, the recent fight showed that BJ has nothing to offer GSP, a rematch would be just as bad as the rematches between Tito Ortiz and Ken Shamrock.

Let me proudly announce i am now perched firmly on the nuts of GSP, hugging for all my worth.  He’s a classy guy, with respect for everyone he faces, and in the cage he’s a beast with unbelievable skills, which he’s worked hard on.  This is what MMA should be all about.  I hope his reign continues forever.

I’m pretty sure I’d heard of the show beforehand, but had thrown it aside, because of the name, thinking it was about some person named Jericho, and involved gun-slinging and the like.  I have no idea, what that image was conjured, it just was. 

Wherever i finally heard about the show — where i was finally convinced — I realised it was about apocalypse.  A subject i would never turn my back on.  And as i watched the pilot episode, i was fixed in immediately.

The show was really entertaining.  From the pilot episode and its characters realisation that Nukes have gone off around the US, through the getting to know the survivors, their fears, demons and hopelessness, to their warmth, compassion and hopes.

The cast are a pretty good bunch, characters well written and plot intriguing and as realistic as something can be, dealing with apocalypse.  Generally the writing and its pace is what kept me wanting more.  The pilot episode dealt with not knowing what had happened, was it terrorists, another country attacking, an accident?  Throughout the episodes this subject is dealt with very well, not giving too much information, but also not completely holding back.

Anyone interested in apocalyptic drama, and something that’ll make them actually think, rather than just watch because it’s on, you really should give it a look.  Great show.  Sadly ended before it’s time.

Anyone who’s been watching the site over the last few months, will notice there’s quite a chunk missing, but to be honest I just didn’t see the point in re-adding everything, a lot of the posts were crap, or at the very least, irrelevant.

It was still early in the morning, and as I made my way to the building, I walked slowly, as if trying to prolong the inevitable. I wasn’t fooled though and my body fought back with a quickened pulse and a tightening of my airways. I was expecting it. The air around me was cold, but I couldn’t feel it as my core temperature rose, forming a line of sweat across my brow. My breathing formed a thick mist in the air in front of me, like the fog that often gathered at haunted castles in any given Hammer Horror production.

The appointment was for 9 AM and ironically I was early, my own punctuality serving as some kind of self-loathing treachery. Without giving myself the chance to walk on by the large, blue doors, I walked through and introduced myself to the young woman behind the desk. She smiled, pleasantly, as she looked for the appointment on the computer. Her teeth gleamed white, forming a perfect symbiotic sparkle with the whites of her eyes. A cat probably smiles, as it toys with its prey, before finally devouring it.

“Just go into the waiting room Paul,” she guided, pointing the way with a perfectly manicured fingertip, “She won’t be long.”

On any other day, under any other circumstances, I might have been more appreciative of the lustrous, fiery, scarlet tresses, her hair formed. Not today though. Today it was too close to the colour of blood. My stomach tussled and turned, as I walked into the empty waiting room. The room was dark. Perhaps an omen?

I switched on the light, and headed for the far corner of the room. As I sank into the robust leather chair, I exhaled deeply and closed my eyes. No turning back. With a hurried flick of my left wrist, I pushed the in-line volume slider on my headphones up to MAX. I moved the same hand into the pocket of my coat, and began clicking the “Next” button on my mp3 player, with my fore-finger. My eyes darted, nervously around the room. The colours, shapes and even artwork on the wall, were lost on me. I saw no beauty. A frustration took hold of me, as I continually flicked through the countless tracks. 30GB of music and I couldn’t find a single song I wanted to listen to. The wait seemed like an eternity. Lonely. Bleak. Foreboding.

The Dentist popped her petite head around the doorway, calling my name with a chirpy tone I couldn’t – nor did I want to – appreciate. This is it. I smiled back, my heart not in it. Apprehensively I forced myself out of the chair.

I followed her for two flights of stairs, to a small, clinical and claustrophobic room. A cold, steel table sat beside the dental chair. On it, shimmering wickedly, like tools of the Inquisition, lay a variety of metallic drill-bits, prongs and scrapers. My chest began to pound, violently. As I took my place on the chair, I felt my blood pump forcefully in my veins. The padding on the chair masked its discomfort.

I twisted, turned and tensed, as I struggled to get into position. My neck ached, my arms unable to find a balance on the rests. My stomach lurched, mind racing through things I’d rather not think about. The Dentist spoke, but I didn’t really hear what she said.

As I laid there on the chair, lowered down like a coffin to the grave, she moved a powerful, overhead light so that it was beaming directly into my face, stinging my eyes. Confess your sins, you must confess your sins! I was already thinking of the pain. The needle. The drill. The pushing, prodding and pulling. I could feel my pulse in my clenched fists, as they gripped onto the side of my jeans.

“I’m just going to numb your gums up.” She said it with an audible smile. I’m glad the thought pleases you so much!

I took a deep breath. Exhaled deeply as I stretched my mouth wide to allow the violation.

I gripped tighter with my fists. Held my breath for what seemed like an eternity. The needle plunged into my vulnerable gums, as I lay terrified, waiting for the excruciating agony.

I sighed with relief, silently, as the needle was finally removed from my mouth. Is that it? That’s it!

But before I had a chance to rejoice, I heard the drill. It revved at a pitch similar to that of someone scraping their fingernails along a blackboard. I winced at the thought. I’m not sure which was more sickening. The torturous grind and screech of the drill pulverising the enamel of my tooth, or the smell of said enamel as it dissipated into the air around me, burned by the friction of the drill. My stomach contorted into shapes an Olympic diver would have been proud of.

There was no pain as yet, but I knew it would come. The muscles of my neck throbbed, as I held it stiffly, ready to pull it away when the pain began. My right forearm was readied too, I would use that to catch her attention. She would see my arm waving desperately, then stop the drill. That way there would be less chance of the drill ripping through my gums, as I jerked my head away like a petulant child. I hope.

“OK. I’m just going to take a cast, so we can fit a temporary crown, then we’re done.”

Her voice was still chirpy, but this time I was more appreciative. Her words seemed to flutter in the air like little summer butterflies, then massage my temples as they gently sank into and soothed my sub-conscious mind. My sigh of relief must have been audible, my body, relaxing from its fight-or-flight pre-emptive posture. must have been visible. But no-one mentioned it.

I almost gagged as the cast was placed over my teeth, the abundance of what felt and tasted like putty, oozing out onto the back of my tongue. But I soldiered through. The temporary crown was fitted, and as the overhead light was moved away I leapt to my feet in a move that defied my size and weight. I don’t really remember what words were exchanged, but I do know that my voice was uplifted and the smile I returned was heartfelt and accompanied by a relieved and grateful sparkle in my eyes.

As I sit here now, in the waiting room, to get the temporary crown re-fitted, after an over-zealous bite, I feel my pulse, pounding in my fists, again.

The small plastic chair I’m seated on is uncomfortable, unsteady and situated too close to the surgery. The sound of drilling fills my eardrums. Even over the sound of my MP3 player, on which I can’t find a single song I want to listen to. My mind is already occupied with thoughts of painful prodding, pushing and pulling, not to mention the dreaded drill and the destruction it will cause. My stomach is lurching and my heart beating violently in my chest, like the drums of a cannibalistic tribe in an old Tarzan film.

The End.

• The Question

..You never really said in this blog post, but do you have a rational grounds for rejecting Christianity? We could start with that. ..

• The rationale of my rejecting Christianity

• Need

When i think back to my Christian life, i don’t think i ever really had the thought “Damn, it can’t be real.” There were a lot of little things that niggled me, most of which occured to me in the last year or so, probably because i was more comfortable in general.

I’d pretty much gotten rid of the issue that pushed me to Christianity in the first place, i was no longer suffering panic attacks or in need of my faith, i guess.

I think need plays a big part of any belief or faith.

People who are completely happy in their lives, have everything they want and need, don’t really tend to turn to religion, unless part of their happy life falls apart and they’re left flailing for hope and/or answers.

I can’t speak for every church or every person, but certainly in my experience, most people within Christianity, that i knew, came from one of two factions:

1. Either they grew up in a Christian household and continued in what they’d always known.
2. They’d had problems in their life and at one point hit a low which left them needing to make a leap of faith, or end up in a whole world of crap.

A lot of Christian’s testimoney’s are usually quite sobering, stories of abuse, alcoholism, drugs, imprisonment, violence, to name but a few. Or, like in my own case, something happens in their life which they can’t deal with on their own, and they turn to anything which will make it go away, or at least promises it can. The same, in my opinion, is true of most belief systems.

• Rationality of Belief

My rationale in my belief, was one of not understanding what was going on. I was faced with something i’d never believed before, nor even wanted to (Not even as a child), but that night when i sat in terror, gripping the kitchen table with my shaking body, a woman laid her hands on me and i found peace, i became calm and i couldn’t explain it, at least not rationally.

I didn’t suddenly believe Christianity was real that night, nor did i even think about the consequences of what had happened, as far as i was concerned i hoped i’d get through the night, wake up the next day and get back to my life. Of course i continued to have the symptoms, and so i still needed this womans help, again i say the womans help, because at that point i wasn’t even really considering where the power came from, i just knew it as something from her hands, what she believed it was, didn’t matter to me.

My rationale at that point was purely one of “What the hell is going on?” As it continued i was also thinking about why i was the unlucky bugger getting flash backs, weeks later, from an acid tab, something i’d never heard of before, certanly not without prolonged use.

• A little more background

I even ended up at the Doctors, and they said it was just psychological, panic attacks, my fear of it happening was making me believe it was, etc. So i certainly didn’t really believe the whole “It’s the Devil” argument.

As the woman and a few other people from the church continued to witness to me, and luckily, to my mate too, as he came along for the ride purely because he fancied this womans daughter, i started to take things in, and consider some of the consequences of what had happened, how this woman was able to help me, and if it was true, what other things might also be true.

There was a little fire and brimstone, but not a great deal.

I remember one time where myself and a mate had gone around to this womans house, upon invitation, and were set upon by a few people from the church, asking questions and pointing out the life or death decisions involved in the whole thing. The fact that just going around there and listening wasn’t good enough, and that if we wanted to avoid hell we’d have to make a commitment to God, Ie. Get saved. It wasn’t done in a bad way, but it was a bit eye-opening and made both of us think.

Even now, looking back i think they did the right thing, myself and the friend were relying on the comfort of the current situation, it was something new, sounded a bit cool, the idea of a real God, healing, happy clappy brigade, rather than the usual 70 year olds sitting in an old church building trying to look like their clothes cost more than the persons next to them, religion we’d both known before. The talk that afternoon made us take it seriously, see that it wasn’t just something we could sit on the sidelines of.

So, my rationality for accepting Christ, wasn’t really a breakthrough moment, it wasn’t a Saul on the donkey, moment. It was a slow, steady thought process, with a lot of my own needs thrown in, fears of what i was going through in life and the possibility that Christianity offered me a way out of that, as well as some other great stuff like love, etc.

I became friends with a few of the younger people from the church, playing guitar with them, playing football, etc, getting to see they were actually into the same things as me, and not the stereotypical Christians i’d been used to seeing.

Sooner or later, i came to the thinking that i couldn’t explain the results of that womans prayers, outside of what she said they were. I couldn’t find any other way of making sense of it. It’s a bit like someone not believing in ghosts, then changing their mind after seeing one. I just couldn’t ignore or deny what i’d seen/felt/experienced. So i got saved, it seemed the right thing to do, if i believed, i would become a believer. Even at that point, my actual belief was probably not much over 50%, i was just more sure that it was real, than i was of it not being real. Which was enough for me.

• Rationality of disbelief through a Christian’s eyes

My losing faith was much the same as my gaining it. It wasn’t a moment where i suddenly didn’t believe, or something happening that made me see i’d been wrong. It was more a process of slowly finding more niggles, more things that didn’t quite make sense, and finding it harder to find ways of explaining them.

There was also the issue that i was failing, or at least failing in one aspect of my Christian walk. I couldn’t let go of lust. This did cause me problems, not because of anyone else, because i didn’t discuss it with anyone else, apart from one Christian friend who i discussed it with via emails.

This played on my mind a lot, and i really struggled with the fact i couldn’t let go of it, i think it was partly the reason i lost some of my faith in the first place, because i prayed, i fasted, i tried with all my might, but still it controlled me. I tried to reason with myself, that maybe it was OK, but i just couldn’t. So it was a rock or a hard place.

I think i did start to doubt God in that, wondering why he wasn’t helping me, and shifting between that feeling and thinking it wasn’t his fault, but mine, and that i was trying to blame him to let myself off the responsibility.

It certainly didn’t push me away, as i always knew i would be forgiven, and i was genuinely repentant, every time, i 100% intended to be free. Then i’d end up masturbating again, and the circle would begin again.

This was always in the back of my head, and it did eat at me. It probably made it easier for me to see more niggles, more flaws, more inconsistencies in the bible, etc. I even realised that this itself could well be me looking for a way out, because i didn’t want to be a failure. If God wasn’t real, i wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, that only served to strengthen my resolve, and i kept trying. To no avail.

Because of my problems, i was spending less and less time around Christians, going to church less often.

This in itself is a topic i want to cover in it’s own post, my need to separate myself from everyone, when things turn crap, which really always leads to making things worse!

Things just seemed to pitter out, i found it harder to let some issues go, some flaws and inconstencies stuck in my mind, i tried to find answers but couldn’t. I lost interest, pulled back, took a break i guess. I would even go a month without church, then go one night and feel renewed, like everything was gonna be OK again, and end up at square one again after a few days when the lure of lust was too much to resist.

Then, at some point, i found myself not believing. I’m not sure how it happened, but it obviously dwindled to a point where there was nothing left. I always reasoned that i’d come back to it, probably for a year or two after, always thinking somehow i’d get back to it, because it was right for me and that i just needed a break, or to sort myself out.

• Rationality of disbelief now

As i am now, i probably have more reason behind my lack of faith, or faith in nothing. I look back at a lot of things that happened in that part of my life, and i see what my mental state was. I was in dire need, for anything that could help me.

I know now, that the human mind is a great thing, and in the same way that a crying child can be soothed by a bounce on it’s Mothers knee, or a seven year old boys tears can be stopped with a Mothers kiss to the grazed knee, makes a lot of sense to me, in regards of the prayers of this woman and how i was instantly soothed. I was so in need of soothing, that i can totally see how i would have latched onto this supernatural event, and justified it in my mind to the point where i didn’t feel afraid anymore.

Other parts of my Christian life could be explained too. One of which i’ve mentioned before, where i had strange colours and shapes in my vision, with my eyes closed, praying. Which turned out to be a result of my sinuses.

I was on the receiving end of a few healings, but they were never anything serious, and in some instances they were over a longish period of time, and could be put down to natural healing, over time. What was left could well have been psychological, or luck, and again i’ve seen myself recover from things outisde of Christianity, in similar ways, without anything to thank for it.

The main thing i would always find hard to explain, was the joy i felt, the contentment, the emotion, they all felt very real. But looking back now, as a non-Christian, i can totally understand them. I was happy, i had something to be happy about, regardless of whether it was real, i had God in my heart and if he was for me then no-one could be against me. If that doesn’t make you feel joy, peace, protection, and raise a tear every now and then, you aren’t human.

All these things at one time, seemed supernatural to me, but now, looking back i can see how the truth may have been different to how i saw it back then. I’m not saying it is different, i really don’t know, but it seems different and i have too many arguments against the idea of a God, Jesus, the Bible, to be able to believe now. Too many inconsistencies in the bible, too many real and rational reasons for people to feel the way they do, without a need for God in the argument.

I have a friend with his own blog, who pretty much inspired me to try running yet another website, and one of the things he’s been doing is Psychokenesis, moving objects with the power of his mind.

He made videos of himself sitting in front of a chunk of eraser, a tooth pick and a little flat paper cone resting on the tip of the toothpick. The paper moving without any touch.

My argument for this was that there other possibilities as to why it’s moving, indeed my own experiment had moved the paper too, without me actually trying to, because of air flow, heat, whatever. My point was that it may well be possible to do it with the power of your mind, but if it’s possible without that power, ie. through thermodynamics, then why is there a need to find a more exciting reason?

I feel that way about Christianity. Yes it could well have been real, and God might well be what i once thought him to be, but a lot of what i experienced at that time can be achieved without God, so maybe, just maybe, the key isn’t God, but rather a Human sometihng (for lack of a word).

A person with bi-polar disorder can leap between utter depression and sheer delight for no reason other than physicalities of the mind. So it’s certainly possible that my own religious ecstacy was something physical, mental, rather than spiritual and God-given.

As i mentioned above, a child can stop crying in seconds, after a touch from their Mother, even though the pain they were feeling was the worst thing ever (in their reasoning). So it’s no surprise i was able to achieve that purely through the belief of a God who could heal me.

• Conclusion

Rather than me finding rationality in my disbelief, i think i’ve found rationality in other explanations for things i once thought to be supernatural.

So, rather than finding faith that there’s no God, i’ve decided that the things i once experienced through God, can be experienced without him, so they weren’t proof of anything, nor do they make an argument for his existence. And that even believing in a God, regardless of which one, can bring on the feelings i once had. The deity itself unimportant, as long as there’s scope for a touch of supernatural.

I know this isn’t really a conclusive answer, and it spirals all over the place, but that’s my thought processes for you. It should at least be enough to get the ball rolling and maybe a little more sense can be made of the ensuing comments. I hope.

I’m not long back from my second walk of the day, which as always meant my walking around my faithful route, MP3 player on, volume up to MAX and heartrate picking up with each step.

About two thirds of the way through the walk, i make my way through a wooded area, lots of trees, grass and a path that leads through to the estate i live in.

Pretty much every day, twice a day now, while doing this walk, i see Magpies. And, every day, without fail, i go through my Magpie routine; if i see one, i look around for more, if there’s none to be found, i ignore the first one. If i see more than one, i quote the verse, relevant to the number i’ve seen.

• Magpies

One for sorrow, two for joy;
Three for a girl, four for a boy;
Five for silver, six for gold;
Seven for a secret, never to be told;
Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss;
Ten for a bird that’s best to miss.

One for sorrow, two for mirth,
Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret not to be told.
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,
And ten for the devil’s own sel’.

I actually googled for the verse, to save me typing it out, because i’m lazy. I only actually knew the first version, and even then i thought it only went up to 7. So you learn something new every day, indeed.

Anyway, back to the story.

• Superstition against all reason

It got me to thinking, about superstition at first. Even as a Christian i always had this feeling of Magpies meaning something. Even though as a Christian i couldn’t really say the verse, or be afraid of superstitions. It didn’t seem right in my mind, yet, i got around that by quoting scripture, praying or even just thinking to myself “God Bless”.

There’s absolutely no reason behind it, and in all honesty as i sit here typing, i have no idea where the superstition for magpies comes from.

Stranger still, i don’t even really believe that if i see two magpies, i’ll suddenly be blessed with joy. I think i’m just playing safe, just in case there’s something to it.

When i was younger i would have actively sought out another bird for long periods of time, having seen one, just so that i wasn’t lumbered with sorrow. So i guess i did somewhat believe back then, at least for a while. Thankfully now, i only really look half-heartedly, not really bothered as to whether i see more, but slightly happier if i do.

So this belief has stayed with me for a large percentage of my life, through my younger years of ignorant bliss, not really caring about faith and truth, through my anarchic and somewhat anti-Christian teenage years, continuing through my Christian years and again through my agnostic recent years. Through thick and thin, the magpie has been having a say in my subconscious.

• Not just magpies

Upon further thinking (while walking and listening to Metallica), i realised it’s not the only aspect of my life and beliefs that doesn’t make sense.

Like most people, when the chips are down and i’m in dire need of help, i try to turn to things, out of pure desperation, for a helping hand, or even just a hope.

I remembered how a few years ago, my middle Brother got himself into some trouble with another lad linked to the paramilitaries. It was pretty worrisome at the time, for the whole family, especially my Brother himself.

My Mother took it upon herself to get it resolved, and spoke to a few people. In that time, for some entirely unknown reason, i made a deal with someone, something, i don’t even think i knew what it was. I didn’t pray, or call out for help, or even concentrate on where help could come from, i just made a deal, probably with myself, that the situation would be ok if i didn’t masturbate until it was over.

Let me point out, i don’t see masturbation as a bad thing, in fact, for someone who hasn’t had sexual contact with another human being for quite a few years, it’s not only OK, but bloody essential!

My reasoning at the time was more of sacrifice, giving up on something i liked doing, for some sort of global reward. There was absolutley no belief behind it, no God-figure, no thought of karma or justice. It’s just something my mind conjured up, for peace of mind, i guess.

As it turned out, the situation was dealt with swiftly and easily. I never even fooled myself into thinking that my sacrifice had been the reason, i knew it was merely a silly little thing i’d put my faith in, to make it easier.

• Christian remnants

Another strange occurance in my thoughts and life, is the remnants left behind by my faith in Christianity.

For example, although i have no problem with being a sinner, and doing sinful things, realising that if the Bible is real, i won’t be getting into heaven and instead will be spending my time getting buggered by pitch-fork weilding imps, once dead, i couldn’t bring myself to blaspheme the Holy Spirit. Nor, in all honesty, would i or could i, bring myself to bad mouth Jesus.

Speaking badly of Jesus, may be more reasoned, than just a quirk, as i genuinely don’t feel any bad feelings toward my time as a Christian, in fact i enjoyed it immensely and will always look back on it with a smile, and perhaps a disappointment that i can’t have it back. So i don’t really feel that Jesus deserves to be bad mouthed, if he’s real.

Blaspheming the Holy Spirit though, is all about the Bible claiming this act is unforgiveable. Most sins, according to the bible are just sins, someone who steals is no more guilty than the man who murders 20 children and eats them for his tea. But, blaspheming the Holy Spirit is said to be beyond repentance, something that just can’t be forgiven, ever.

Thing is, i don’t believe in God, i don’t believe the bible is the true word of God, i don’t believe in heaven or hell. So why the hell do i fear blaspheming the Holy Spirit? Again, i’m playing on the side of caution. It doesn’t really have an effect on my life, it’s not like i’d go about doing it anyway, again i have no reason to, but i know the thought is there in the back of my mind, careful, make sure you don’t do that.

• Christian Remnants 2

Another little thing that irks me in the back of my head, and something that i’ve mentioned before in my posts, is the fact that when i was with my Ex, and going through a cancer scare, i turned back to God, briefly. I begged for help, made a deal that if i didn’t have cancer, or he took it away, i’d never turn my back on Him again. Then, once i got the all clear, i swiftly reneged on the deal.

My relationship with my Ex turned pretty sour, not long after this, and finally led to a personal catastrphe which destroyed my every belief, hope and understanding of life and people, as well as squashing my every dream, smile and hope (Mmm, gotta love the drama).

I’ve often looked back at that moment and wondered if my turning my back on God, was the catalyst. Which is weird really, when i don’t actually believe in a God.

I don’t even spend an awful lot of time on it, maybe a few minutes here and there, scattered amongst the years, but enough to make it worth mentioning.

As i sit here typing, i don’t really believe God had anything to do with what happened with my ex, it was more about her being a mentalist and me being naive, submissive, weak and deluded by the promise of romance, love and all things nice.

Conclusion

I don’t really have a conclusion on this, it’s just me thinking out aloud, writing about something i thought about and not really any clearer as to why i do these things.

The human mind is a wonderful thing, which of course can be used for good and bad, both in relation to others and yourself.

War the quirks of my mind.