Day 10

I woke up today and it was already hot.  It's 5:30 pm now and 95 degrees.  No AC in this council flat.  Too hot for the illness to flower.  In this heat a person cannot summon the energy to be criminal, unless directly provoked.  Whenever it is hot like this, and I sit and sweat in my council flat, I forbid myself from feeling unfortunate.  I imagine the people being exterminated.  Slowly, cruelly exterminated.  What have I to grumble over?   Perhaps wickedly (certainly without justification), I congratulated myself for not being a tribesman or a tribal supporter. Their crimes are demonic. My illness is piddling in comparison. It doesn’t even exist in comparison. It can’t be seen. An entire nation participating in a ritual sacrifice. And the Western world denies or looks away. There are still hundreds, perhaps thousands of Christians there under the vicious rule of the tribespeople. When Jesus was crucified only John and a few women stood by. As tribespeople are torturing and murdering, Christians among the victims, the church is nowhere to be seen. Why should I then trouble myself over my illness? So what if I hurt one here, hurt one there, bother one here, bother one there, shame one here, shame one there? Why trouble myself? I cannot be certain I was chosen before the foundation of the world, but I can be certain I was not if I do not hate my life in this world. The effeminate Western clergy and their pew-warmer cultural Christians and *traditionizers* will contend Jesus did not mean what He said and did not say what He meant when He said we must hate our life in this world. They are liars who love the world, love their life in the world, fear death and do not believe in eternity. Probably all nicer people than me, LOL.

There is nothing more pitiful than a human being who denies Christ. What are they really saying? I’m OK as I am. I did the best I could. On balance, I’m good. It wouldn’t be fair to damn me because I don’t believe I need Christ, especially since the Higher Power has been so coy about all these things. My illness brings me to Jesus. Look at the sick people in the New Testament. They did whatever they could to be near Him. They heard His voice. Heal me! I believe! they cried. Look at all the nice people who dismiss Jesus. LOL! I’d rather die in the gutter than live thinking I was OK. Jesus, despise not my prayer though You know me to be a sinner, but spare your people from the demonic tribesmen.  

Intensity: Zero.

Frequency: Dormant.

Factors: Instead of illness, I feel dread.  That I already passed away.  That the last eruption, the last flowering of the illness was fatal.  The death seed was planted.  The dread is the death taking root.  It is not the death I dread, but the dying.  Having to speak of it with four or five people.  The hassle, having to placate or accommodate them.  But why take thought of this now?  Why let tomorrow's burden ruin today?