FATHER MARTIN'S INSANITY






When dealing with forbidden texts and questions close to your heart of hearts, there can come a breaking point.

The real-time processing of Nephilim, Rephaim, werewolves and a general re-interpretation of the flood myth would be enough to throw anyone over I suppose. Especially if you're a Jesuit.

I believe that is what Father Martin is experiencing.

While I am thankful for all of the Gonteekwa and King Og insight that he has given me, there is going to have to be a break in our communication.

His musings, and his latest Vatican reveals will be at his website NephilimWerewolf.com

I will always have a deep respect for the man.

-Peter 

#KingOg
#Rephaim
#Nephilim
#Gonteekwa

Missing

Shortly before I returned to LA, Girlfren and I were downstairs resting — well, I was resting, and she was sniffing around, exploring new nooks and crannies — when I noticed Girfren was no longer in my line of sight. I got up and looked in every bedroom, calling her name, but I couldn't find her. I looked in closets and behind doors, and then I revisited every bedroom again, but she was still MIA.

I wondered momentarily if she had gone upstairs, but Girlfren did not know how to climb stairs, so I continued my downstairs search. And then I rounded the corner and saw her sitting quietly, perhaps a bit uneasily, on the first stair landing:



Yaaay, Girlfren! You finally figured out how to get up those stairs!


But how to get back down them?


And how to get up the next 12 stairs?


Another problem for another day.

For now, Puppy Baby is growing up way too fast.


Hopeful, light-filled Thursday, friends of mine.

-SJ


P.S. Thank you for your prayers last week as I traveled. I had a smooth, quick flight; and I generally felt swaddled in prayer, as I always do when you rally to pray. Since being back in LA, I have experienced peace in the midst of some challenges, clear guidance from the Holy Spirit, sweet encouragement from all sorts of places, and hope about the future. What wonderful gifts.



© by scj

Snailio

Pink wispy clouds stretched across the sky outside my bedroom window, signaling the day's end. I had been resting inside all day, so I decided to step outside for some fresh air. Down the stairs, out the door, onto the edge of the driveway: "Hi! Hiii!" a small voice to my right called for me. I turned and saw Peter,* my 5-year old neighbor waving frantically over the hedge.

I smiled and walked over to him. "Look at my new pet!" he gave me a wide smile and held out a plastic sandwich bag filled with bits of grass. I leaned in for a closer look, and there, nestled in the pieces of grass was an empty, cracked snail's shell, held together with scotch tape. "I'm feeding it dinnuh because he's hungwy," he explained, struggling to pronounce that tricky "r" sound.

I admired Peter's new pet and praised his tender care for him. "What's your snail's name?" I asked.

He paused for a minute, his brow furrowed in concentration, before looking up with light in his eyes. "Snailio if it's a boy. Snailia if it's a girl," he announced. He resumed his grass-picking before looking up again. "I think I'm going to put candy in Snailio's house in case he wants dessert later." Peter smiled with glee at the thought of the yummy treat Snailio had coming.

"I think that's a great idea," I said, musing that Peter's generosity — so pure and unnecessary — seemed lavish. Moments later his mom called him inside, so he skipped away, leaving me to enjoy the last few minutes of daylight.

Six years ago, I started observing good moms and dads in order to catch glimpses of God's goodness. I watch them cheer over Zoe's first steps, cradle Janie tenderly despite the smell of dirty diaper, and comfort Paulie after a fall on the pavement. I try to imagine God is cheering for me like that, attentive to my wounds after a failure, cradling me close despite the smell of dirty heart. I suppose I am trying to take my cue from Jesus by situating the abstract assurance of God's love in our bustling world of smells, sounds, sight, taste, touch.

Over the years, I've started watching other caretakers, hoping for more glimpses of God's goodness. I watch sisters make their little brothers lunch, teachers patiently repeat homework instructions for the 5th time, aunts and uncles jump up and down with pride and joy at [not-so] little Johnny's X-factor audition on TV, and I imagine God is caring for me — delighting in me — like that.

This evening I watched Peter with his empty, cracked snail shell and his big plans for dessert, and I thought I saw a glimmer of what God looks like in Peter's tender hands and shining eyes. I wondered if I might create a variation of Matthew 7:11 to better understand how much God loves me:

If you then, who are but five years old, know how to give good gifts to your empty, cracked snail shell pet, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!

Lately, this has become a prayer of sorts. When my trust in Jesus is etiolated, I think about Peter and God, and Snailio and me, and I feel hope lifting its tired head. And oh Jesus, thank you for 5-year old neighbors that image you, and pet "snails" that image me, and a promise that your gifts will be wonderfully, unimaginably lavish — because you love us.





*Not his real name.


© by scj

THE GONTEEKWA LIVES COLLECTIBLE CARDS

So my writing partner and general ne'er do well Magpie visionary showed up with these last night. These THE GONTEEKWA LIVES cards are in perfect condition and NOT FOR SALE.

There is more to come.

www.gonteekwa.com
www.thelostbookofKingOg.com
www.PeterDemmon.com


Questions? Hit me up on THE_DEMMON Twitter page.

Don't forget that the story is so dope that Chaos/Apocalypse Theory Christians have run with what I have online concerning that Rephaim KING OG OF BASHAN.

Steve Quayle and King Og Of Bashan

Realtalk: A publishing deal that i was hoping for fell through. But who hasn't received a rejection letter or 20? I know what i have written. I know that the world of horror fiction hasn't taken this particular tact. I also know that I hav e written something that would CREEP ME OUT. This isn't about breasts, profanity and splatter (though there is some splatter). This is a tale of being powerless in the face of a new evil. This is about the loss of faith. This is about a force that I seeped in Biblical lore to give teeth too. Oh, and a whole bunch of other things.

More to come.

#SendAPublisher
#KingOg
#Gonteekwa
#Demmon
#Maldidta
#TalkingMagpies
#Raphaim
#Nephilim
#NephilimWerewolf



THE COSMIC EGG OF FNARK by Philip K. Dick


It's kind of a relief to just throw that title, THE COSMIC EGG OF FNARK out there. I have been guarding that word "Fnark."

Let me re-tell you what I told you back here with some more details.

When I graduated from the University of Victoria in 1996, the gift that my father gave me was huge.

He'd mentioned for years that he'd collaborated with Philip K Dick on something, but never mentioned what. I'd asked him more and more over time as I studied Dick's work and bumped BLADE RUNNER up to one of my all-time favorite moves.

[I am going to call BS on Dick though. That quote of his "It is just as I imagined it!" as he watched some dailies of Ridley Scott's BLADE RUNNER has got to be a bald-faced lie. DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP does not even come close to the tone that SCOTT set. But hey, I guess it's subjective.]

So my father sent me his only copy of THE COSMIC EGG OF FNARK. In the satchel of papers that I received, there is a publishing contract, and a note from DICK's himself suggesting directions to go in.

Now I don't know exactly what my father went through with this thing, but he never landed the fish. There were no notes of his additions to the thing, it was all DICK's words.

The advice my Dad gave me was to "take a run at it." His take on it was that this was a big exercise. That there was talent of my own to sharpen. I asked him regularly what format he saw me producing it in. His response was to just start writing.

At the time I was working as a secretary at a real estate office. On-shift I pieced together a re-telling of the 26 page treatment through the eyes of a much younger man. Its nothing I'm proud of. I never let it see the light of day and parked the thing.

There have been opportunities and paroxysms of interest over the years, but nothing interesting.

A few years ago, I wound out clocking a lot of time with the TALKING MAGPIES. Those guys know how to write and have comprehension of plot and nuance that I appreciate. In fact, the draft that we wrote is one that I am proud of.

However, as we loaded up the war machine to get it published or into the hands of someone who really cares about ushering DICK's hidden writings into some sort of media form, stuff got wonky.

We got a lawyer on the job. We looking into copyright law and rights. The whole time we were pinging the DICK estate nonstop to see if they were interested in it on any level. My ultimate thought had always been that the kids of PKD would want to know something about their old man that they might not have known before. I'm left to consider that pre-production for Amazon's THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE was in full-swing and they couldn't be bothered.

I have just come off of a 3 week braintrust with the Magpies again, trying to lock the story down sans DICK. We like the work that we have done. The window-dressing around the spine of the plot is stuff that makes me excited. Its some of the best sci-fi I have dealt with in awhile. I know that I am biased because it is my own (combined with the Magpies') writing, but I'm telling you, the ramp-up that we do to the story is enough to keep you on the edge of your seat. We ramp up the mystery and the chaos up until the 3rd act, and then the revelation of the FNARK is made known.

Here is where I am finally at: The spine of plot in THE COSMIC EGG OF FNARK is corroded. What PKD originally presented was a twisting, convoluted story that ultimately questions the value of human life and immortality.  In fact, a lot of what he was wrestling with in DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP is present. However, that corroded spine isn't strong enough for the muscle that we want to hang on the limbs. That corroded spine is the last of DICK's DNA in the project, but it doesn't really hold up. Also, I find that with all of the shackles of the copyright lawyers, its hard to smooth over some of the sutures that we have done with the plot.

We're tossing in the towel.

We have a cooler story we're working on anydamnways. One that touches on such grand subjects such as immortality and infanticide. Its much truer and closer to the zeitgeist than THE COSMIC EGG OF FNARK.

So for all of you who surfed in here based on the title of this blog, yes, its true. There is another PKD manuscript out there and I have it. The MAGPIES have a copy of it too. That's it. We really tried to get it out, but we couldn't do it. The story captivates my imagination, but without the DICK estate involved, its dead in the water.

I have to bring it all back to my old man (who died in 2007). I followed my marching orders. I did in fact "take a run at it." I know he would have liked what we did. He also would have liked the TALKING MAGPIES as well. At the end of the day, this project was a salute to the old man. I feel I did right by him.
  

Prayer Requests and Support

My friends,

My time here in the Pacific Northwest has come to a close, and tomorrow I head back to LA where I will continue to rest. Though my work load has been minimal the last six years, I'll carry an even easier load this fall as I try to get on a healing trajectory. I'm hopeful the rest will be productive in the best possible ways.

I continue to remain hopeful that God will use DNRS, along with my other treatments, to completely heal me with time, but in the meantime, this journey continues to be more like a quest through sawtooth mountains than a zipline through the jungle, and I covet your prayers:

Here are my most pressing requests:

1. For special grace as I prepare to fly tomorrow after/during a very challenging week.

2. For protection from the Enemy who wants to kill and destroy.

3. For encouragement in Christ and comfort in his love.

4. For laughter and joy.  

5.  For peace and trust in the good things God is preparing for me in the future.

6. For physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual strength as I forge ahead.

7. For something unexpected to bring me joy the way my parents' puppy has. She has been a therapeutic companion and tremendous blessing this summer, and I will miss her.

8. For complete healing sooner rather than later.
 

Thank you for your prayer support, my friends. It's an immeasurable gift to me.

If you'd like to support me beyond prayer, my brother recently put together a site to raise medical funds for a year's worth of my  medical expenses, as the cost of my doctors appointments and treatments continues to be well beyond my means.  If you feel moved to contribute, or you're able to share this link on social media, I thank you in advance! And a big thank you to those of you who have already contributed. I feel overwhelmed by your generosity.

https://www.payit2.com/fundraiser/86102


Hopeful, light-filled Monday, my friends.

-Sarah

© by scj

Thief

When socks go missing, I think most people blame the washing machine and dryer. "They're sock thieves," they say.

Not in my parents' house:



Note that we also have a slipper thief


Our sock thief is so cute, we don't mind all the missing socks.
 

© by scj

Reading

Yesterday I was reading by the fire, and The Child decided to join me.

Reading, Take One; alternatively titled "Somebody is a Pillow Hog":


Reading, Take Two; alternatively titled, "Snuggle Bug City."


Reading, Take Three; alternatively titled, "I Gave Up Reading So We Could Snuggle."


Hopeful, Light-filled Monday, my friends.

-SJ

© by scj
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