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Dear God,

First of all, I want to apologize for writing "Christ Fuck," which this is taking the place of. As you must know, I hardly ever take down my literature; I believe that even my weakest thoughts need to be preserved for mankind. But maybe there's just a little arrogance involved with this. I'm not interested in false humility. I've read a lot of books and heard a lot of ideas. I've taken those which seemed the most sound, made them my own, and adapted them to fit what I've seen of th world. And though this society doesn't give me much credit, I feel that as an intellectual, I'm ahead of my time.
But lately, I've had this wonderful feeling of starting to really believe in you, in a benevolent force far beyond human comprehension. And lately, you've blessed me with such good luck that I can hardly ascribe it to chance. And I thank you for helping me to resolve to get clean and to hold with it for two days now.
But... you know what I have to say. Why was I born to this miserable existence? For all the happy days, the artistic voyages and the small pleasures, my life has not been a happy one. I am persecuted by society; they won't accept me the way you made me. If some small part of this is due to my arrogance, most of it is due to things I can't control: my lack of social intelligence, my lack of coordination, and even my creative impulse. My childhood was persecuted by bullies and secluded in pariahism. Now, after all the drugs and dissapointments, even my happiest days, like today, are haunted by anxiety. Why Lord?
But, Lord, whatever form you take, you've created me and I am your servant. I will try to be a better servant. Oh Lord, I will attend to my duties better. I won't distort the mind you gave me. I will treat my fellow creatures better. Give me the discipline to follow through with this. And, Lord, please give me happiness; my cup overfloweth with suffering.

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The following comments are for "Dear God"
by seanspacey

Of Wafters and Waffles
The ending is glistening with sincerity. The whole work is wonderful both as a tongue-in-cheek and as a somber confessional. Now you can partake of the holy wafer.

Happy New Year,


( Posted by: Teflon [Member] On: January 1, 2005 )

Hang in there Sean!
You ARE all those things you imagine yourself to be...good and bad...just the way the Lord made you. Without the lows, we couldn't experience the magnificent highs that surely must come after! You have taken the first step on a long journey...hang in there...and remember, you are not in this by yourself...remember the footprints in the sand!

I have written something that may help you remember this in "His Hand Is On My Shoulder". You can find it in the archives if you like.
In the meantime...hang in are a very special person...and we all love you.

Grandma Bea

( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: January 1, 2005 )

Happy New Year!

I didn't catch "Christ Fest", but this is...
cautiously optimistic!

Don't lose hope's light if at times you can't perceive God. He/She/It is tricky like that(if).

Gratifying to read, this inspired an essay that began as a comment in this box and grew and grew...

( Posted by: drsoos [Member] On: January 1, 2005 )

Sean - Dear God
I admire this writing Sean. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

( Posted by: PETERPAULINO [Member] On: January 1, 2005 )

Dear God
Thank you, everybody. Things are going pretty well for me. This is my sixth day entirely clean. My mom just made me a mocha(she makes the best mochas.) Yeah, the piece is as much a sincere prayer as a piece of literature. Grandma, I'll read your piece.
One thing I will say is that I don't believe in over or under intellectualizing. I have no use for the arrogance and wordiness of so many academians. But I also believe that the world demands us to be thoughtful.

( Posted by: seanspacey [Member] On: January 2, 2005 )

In the Sweat Lodge
In the sweat lodge, all ideologies melt away.
There are no corners and no lines and everybody is a temporary friend.
Furthest from the door, I don't do much talking.
Eyes closed, I walk amid the ruins of my life.
First, there's the void, the answer to my question: "Why?"
Perhaps someday I will understand but that day is not near.
In the dispassion of heat, I see my father differently.
He was not, as I, a compassionate reptile.
I am what he always imagined himself to be, a primarily rational creature.
And in the gentle heat, I can allow myself to feel the pang of my step-mother's cruelty but also see the devotion and love of later years, the seed of which was probably planted from the start.
And the sweat greases my sympathy with my own mother's inspired but irrational positivity, but also allows me to move into my own strength.
For I have always been by nature my own man and therein lies so much of the reason for my tribulations.
For the teachers did not want a thinker, the vendors did not want a teacher, and the authorities did not want a warrior-guru, even though their own line had grown frail and impotent.
Yes, sweat is a salve for even my most recent wound, that inflicted by the girl I loved.
For in the almost scorching heat, I can't mantain the simple picture of Fawn as an evil monster. No, she was in many ways controlling and selfish. Like me, she was an intellectual and a pariah from a conformist society, but not nearly as complete of one.
No, the infection seeped deep enough into her to bring out anger and thought.
But this society wounded me deeply enough to inspire both hate and wisdom.
No, I burn it all away: I am not a thinker, I am not a kind person, I am not a fascist or an optimist, I am not a gentleman of this society, I am not an adventurer, I am not a leader.
The door opens and we all file out, purged of everything too earthly, too divine or simply too sensitive.
And, no, I do not know what I am but I am resolved to be nothing else.

( Posted by: seanspacey [Member] On: January 2, 2005 )

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