THE MEANING OF VALUE

VALUE: And I Did

Well...fuck me.

Fuck...my life.

SATANIC

In the seventh year of attending the church and living in the dormitory, it suddenly seemed I could no longer do anything right in the eyes of God or my pastors.

I was taking a shower one day, and Kim, one of the young men living in the dorm, entered the shower room and said, "Buck's here. And he wants to speak to you after you get out of the shower."

I suddenly felt cold, despite the heat of the shower. My intuition told me that Buck was in my room. And more, he was going through my treasure chest, where I had $3000.00 worth of comic books, and half that dollar-amount in D and D modules, manuals, and tools.

And I was right. Sure as spit. I was so spot-on that the moments that followed seemed surreal to me.

After showering I got dressed and then went to my bedroom. Sure enough, Buck was going through my treasure chest. Shaking his head at everything he saw, everything that he took out and looked through. He was not a happy camper. Apparently what had happened was that due to the comics that I sold and traded with kids in the church, their parents got ahold of what they had in their possession, and thought them to be ungodly, and when the parents asked them where they got the comics, they told them they were from me. Soooooo, the parents talked to Buck, and they told him that I apparently needed to reexamine my walk with God. Fuck the fact that everyone was reading Stephen King at that time.

For this reason I was concerned that I would have to give up my comic books and D and D collection, though initially I knew not why.

Buck told me they were satanic. And that was that.

I tried to explain to him that I was writing and illustrating my own comic books. He told me that a Christian didn't do what it was I was intending to do. So again, another opportunity that seemed right to me was again wrong, in the eyes of God. And another dream dies. Simple as that.

I was at this time an English Advisor for my English Teacher in my sophomore-year of high school. She had a science-fiction writing class, and she knew that my fluency and proficiency in fiction was more than most. I knew there were different types of fiction-- soft science fiction, hard science fiction, science fiction fantasy, epic fantasy, sword and sorcery, etc; my teacher, Sue Dursin, wanted to add the knowledge I had to the curricula of her teaching. In return, she encouraged me to work on crafting my comic books, to eventually be shown to Marvel Comics. I would receive an A in class, and in time an encouraging form letter from J.R. Romitta, who was an Editor of Marvel Comics at that time. He told me that my work showed promise, and that he wanted me to contact him in a year or two—when my work showed more improvement. However, it wouldn't matter; because Buck—before God, discouraged me from pursuing my dream..."It was ungodly...it was...satanic"...

How many times must a man die, before he is finally laid to rest...?

SACRIFICES and CASTIGATION

That was not the end of sorrows. It was nowhere near the end.

Rather it was like a dynasty that wouldn't end.

Buck took my comic books, he took my D and D tools, and he took my dreams that I had for working for Marvel Comics. Everything was burned in a furnace, and I was filled with sadness that was almost crippling. However, if it was what God wanted, then I wanted it too, despite the heartache and pain. I wanted to be a soldier for God. I wanted to be the best of the best. I would have done anything for God.

And I did.

I gave up Melissa.

I gave up on my dreams.

I gave up on everything in the hope for a closer walk with God.

Not long after that, I found myself before the whole assembly, castigated for allegedly being jealous of Pastor Alice's son Tim.

It was because Tim, who was forty, was dating a girl less than half his age. And although I really had nothing against that, I was interested in knowing the parameters for dating in Christ. And Tim gave a sermon while the church had a camp-meeting in Hawaii, on that very subject: Dating in Christ, and I was strongly interested in what the sermon entailed. But people got the wrong impression; they mistook my interest for jealousy, and Buck and Alice were already convinced that I was angry with God, for all I had to give up. What they didn't know was I wasn't angry with God, I was angry with myself, for evidently, not being right in the light of God.

If I had been diagnosed with a bipolar schizoaffective disorder, I would be on medication—balanced, and able to defend myself; being able to say something along the lines of: You are all full of shit, and I shouldn't even be here-—because you make me hate what and who I am...and I unfortunately, because of my disorder, I am strongly influenced by your dogma...and believe what you say to be right...and where the fuck is God at all this time!? My pastors would have me and the congregation believing that I was possessed by evil spirits.—no...I'm just fucking bipolar!!

Now, I no long care if I am right or not. I had to follow my own path. Alone...

And so it was that I left the church, and moved to Anchorage.

JUSTIFIED INJUSTICE

I am as real and humble as they come. So naturally I was thrown to the wolves, thrown under the bus, kicked to the curb--with a ball and chain around one ankle, and a bear-trap chomping on the other, and an albatross around my neck thrown in for good measure, I was swept under the rug, allowed to slip through the cracks, and I had the rug pulled out from under me...does this make my life a cliché'? I guess it would, if it were not all hellishly true. I am what happens when you throw a dead puppy into the party. I tried to keep it real. I tried to be honest, I tried to be true...IT WOULD JUST NOT DO...

So what more could I do...?

I didn't throw stones.

I didn't shoot people.

I didn't steal from them.

Jeez, couldn't I feel the cool breeze comfort more than just periodically?

I have been good. Truly--with it, you know bro; I did the best I could do, that life allowed me to do.

The Demiurge got a lot from the wear and tear on the ground that I had tread; and me...? Well, I was able, and/or allowed to—write this. Was it just for me, or was it for you, too? Did I think solely about myself, or did I think about others? Do you know now, what values you deign to be true? Are they good? Who do you have in mind...? Sorry for the confusing consensus, I grew up living on the streets. So what is the excuse for those who choose to be blind, when I say I want to make this place the best we can, so we want to look at each other, with genuine smiles and tears. That is pretty much the most I have wanted for every one that was good—those with good hearts, spirits, souls...