You know, that thing. That time when you first saw the Doom screen melt in front of you at the end of a level. That thing. That thing wasn’t forced, it wasn’t fake, it was as human as you (but not me).

(Doom used to fit on 1 floppy disk!)

I thought about it and I remembered some weirdness again only to forget again. Oh, of nightlights and courtesy.

So I know before you finish saying it. I know in that glance. I know in the look. I know before it was a scream in my ear.

I knew, I suppose. I knew. I knew it was that thing.

But as I was listening to NPR on the way home my mind wandered and I suddenly wondered where the last 10 miles had gone. Next thing I knew, that blinker on the car in front of me was in sync with mine, for about 3 blinks, then it was off again. And I wished I could tweak the rheostat.

I’d like to do that a lot. Twist the fuck out of that rheostat and connect it to my background whims and things and beings and dreams and conspiracies of the mind.

Because Dawkins, you see, says that you can never falsify it, and that’s precisely why it’s a load of shit.

But Harris says that the term is a misnomer, and I must agree but then continue on with the misnomer in a meme of the times.

Then I know more than I should. More than I want to. And I would love to turncoat on them and tell the others what they said. Only then I’d have to pick sides. And I like it here in the middle, muddling and meddling.

So I saw it, and I knew it had to happen, so I wrote it down. It played in my head like the Phrygian riffs in the early Metallica, but not so much like the double guitars of Slayer. It sang to me. And I smiled back at it. I liked it, in that moment. I liked it and I wanted to elicit tears for it. But they were not forthcoming.

You know it, too. You just can’t admit to yourself.

So now here I am, lost between 2 things that I never knew. Searching, finding, wanting to say what I really mean, what I really think, instead speaking in metaphor and allegory.

Did you know that biblical scholars have traced the bible back and know that it’s a work of man? They know, especially about the New Testament, how it was written? They can trace the manly addition of stories such as the prostitute / “cast the first stone” story – that story wasn’t in the original new testament! It’s a fraud. But then so is the whole thing.

No, Virginia, there isn’t a Sinter Kaus.