I keep getting dark poetry:

The eldritch chains and leather,
The haunting rites of blood,
Instruments of random murder.

Death church.
Sodomy and lust.
Sleepless, no love lost,
Set me free.

Blowing free,
Naked in the rain.
The hanged man,
The pyrrhic victory.
Creepy green light.

Totentanz, the dance of death.
I'm alive - sacrificed.
I'm going home,
Die with me.

Pain.
Burnt.
I'm broken.
Mother, do you love me?

Nightmare lollipop.
Bittersweet.
Red, white and blue.
Witches' brew.

Ruin and misery,
Becoming cold,
Shadows on the horizon,
Death certificate.

Running blood.
I died for you.
Death comes to the Unicorn Prince.
Betrayal. Gloom.

Hero of the day,
Dragged down,
Slaughtered.
Where the slime live,
Where dragons rule.

>> ^messenger:
Wow. I'm surprised to hear there are Christian churches that don't practice sacraments. Do you mean, none of them? No weddings, no communion, no confession, no confirmation, no last rites, no.... the other ones? Especially communion seems a strange omission since you were commanded by Jesus to do so. Or did you interpret, "Do this in memory of me" to only apply to the Apostles?


You won't find the word sacrament in the bible. Marriage, that is fine. Baptism too, although it isn't sprinkling like the catholic church teaches; it is full body immersion. Child baptism is not biblical. Christians should take communion, but not according to the pagan rituals of the catholic church, or regarding what they call the "trans-substantiation". The cracker does not literally become the flesh of Jesus, nor the wine His literal blood. It is simply something we do to symbolize our fellowship with Him, and the body of Christ.

The rest you have mentioned are nowhere to be found in the bible. They simply come from the traditions of the catholic church. It is not a Christian institution, and this is why neither you or your family has ever come to know Jesus Christ.

>> ^messenger:
With my question here, I was indirectly taking issue with your assertion that only if I pledge myself to Jesus can I truly commune with God. So in my question, my intent was to find out if you ever fully give yourself to any religion before Christianity, like become an active, fervent follower. I'm guessing the answer is no. If I'm right, then I don't see how you can say Christianity is the only way to commune with God. If I'm wrong, and you did fully dedicate your soul to some other religion first, then I'd simply like to hear about that experience.


My experience was, that after I became aware that God exists, He led me through the various religions and philosophies of the world over a number of years. He gave me clues along the way, leading me step by step, until He finally brought me to the bible. This was not a natural progression for me, because I had a big resistance to Christianity. It was actually one of the religions I thought was the least likely to be true. But He had given me signs beforehand about truth that was in the bible that I didn't understand at the time, so that when I started to read the bible, I could see it was His book. This gave me enough faith in it to give my life to Christ, and when I did, He supernaturally transformed my life. This isn't stated metaphorically; I mean it in a literal sense.

>> ^messenger:
I think you know what I believe and don't, and what I know and what I don't. At this stage, I think definitions are just semantics, and I'm not going to explain again what those words really mean. So, here's my official statement with all the contentious words taken out: I don't believe that any description of God I've ever heard is true, and I don't know if my belief is accurate.


What that means is that you don't know if there is a God or not. That makes you an agnostic and not an atheist.

>> ^messenger:
Seriously? You cannot claim to understand science, and then state that the burden for a non-claim lies with the person not making the claim. Scientist Anna says, "I believe the Higgs boson exists." Scientist Bob says, "I don't believe that the Higgs boson exists." Neither of them have any evidence. Anna is introducing a novel assertion about something. Bob isn't. Bob can ask Anne to prove it exists. Anne cannot ask Bob to prove it doesn't exist. Anne may, however, ask Bob why he doesn't believe it exists, since the Standard Model predicts its existence. If Bob shows why be believes the prediction is false, either by showing the SM has been used incorrectly, or stating he doesn't believe in SM at all, that's the end of his "burden" for that question. He does not have to scientifically prove the Higgs boson doesn't exist. He can't. It's logically impossible.


I understand I have my own burden of proof, but if someone wants to say that I am wrong, they are making a negative claim. It's up to them to provide reasons to substantiate their claim, and no, I don't think this need constitute absolute proof. If they're just saying "I don't know", then that is a different story. Most atheists don't want to concede that they don't know, because then they would have to admit that God could possibly exist, so they invent a new definition of atheism to obscure their true position.

>> ^messenger:
The theistic equivalent is you asking my why I don't believe in God. To this I tell you that to me, there's insufficient evidence, which is a position you should understand since it was exactly your own position until you got some direct evidence. That's the end of my "burden".


It depends on what you're trying to claim, about your own beliefs, or mine. Yes, I can relate to your position, having been there. That is why I describe atheism as religion for people who have no experience with God. I too was a true believer in naturalistic materialism until that veil was torn, and then I immediately realized that everything I knew, was in some way, wrong. Can you even conceive of such a thing, messenger? Do you care enough about the truth to be willing to let the tide take your sandcastle away from you?

>> ^messenger:
An equivalent for you might be if I asked you to prove to me that Thor and Ra don't exist. You couldn't. You could only give your reasons why you believe they don't exist. Same here. I'm in the same position as you, except I don't believe that Thor, Ra or Yahweh exist.


I wouldn't try to prove to you that Thor or Ra do not exist. I believe they do exist, but that they are not actually gods. They are fallen angels masquarading as gods, as with every other false idol.

>> ^messenger:
And my point is I wouldn't spend any effort trying to rule it out at all. I would just assume you're another false buried money promiser and move on. The reason I'm talking now isn't to rule anything out -- I never accepted the premise to begin with.


That's exactly the point; your conclusion is fallacious. You merely assume I am wrong because some people have made similar claims which were false. That is not a criterion for determining truth. If you had an incurable disease and only had a few days to live, and some people came to you promising a cure, and some of those claims turned out to be false, would you refuse to entertain any further claims and simply assume they are all false? I think not.

>> ^messenger:
Changing my whole perspective of the universe is an immense effort of mind. It's not "nothing". And why would I bother? Just to win an argument with you? Like I said above, I don't for a minute accept it's true, so I have no motivation for spending any energy proving it.


What effort does it take to entertain a possibility? You could simply pray something like this:

Jesus, I admit that I do not actually know if you are God or not. I would like to know whether it is true. Jesus, if it is true then I invite you into my life right now as Lord and Savior. I ask that you would forgive me for all of my sins, sins that you shed your blood on the cross for. I ask that you would give me the gift of faith, and help me turn from my sins. I ask that you send your Holy Spirit to me right now. I thank you Jesus for saving me.

If you pray that and sincerely mean what you say, then I have no doubt Jesus will answer it.

>> ^messenger:
1. No. If that's true, he gave me my life, and he can take it away if he wants to, but I have no respect for Indian givers.


It's appointed one for man to die, and then the judgment. He isn't going to take away your life, he is going to judge the one you have. Do you believe that you should be above His law?

>> ^messenger:
2. No. I don't serve anyone. He can do what he likes. He made me the way I am -- someone who relies on empirical evidence and sceptical about all superstition, and if he doesn't like it, it's his own fault. He should love me the way I am. And if he does, he should just let me come into heaven because he loves me, not because he needs me to worship him. I don't like egotists any more than Indian givers.


That isn't true; you serve yourself. If God has a better plan than you do, and your plan can only lead to a bad end, why wouldn't you serve God?

Yes, God made you the way you are, a person who knows right from wrong and has sufficient understanding to come to a knowledge of the truth. He loves you, but not your sin. He gave you a conscience to know right from wrong, and when you deliberately choose to do wrong, it isn't His fault. Yet He is patient with you, because He wants you to repent from your sin, so you can go to Heaven. As it stands now, you're a criminal in His eyes, and you are headed for His prison called hell, and He would be a corrupt judge if He just dismissed your case. But He is merciful and doesn't want to send you there. That is why He has given you an opportunity to be forgiven for your sins and avoid punishment. He sent His only Son to take your punishment, so that He can legally dismiss your case and forgive you, but also you must repent from your sins. If you refuse to stop doing evil, why do you think you should be allowed in?

>> ^messenger:
3. Yes and no. Yes, if Jesus turns out to be God, then there'll be no faith required. I'll know it. You can't disbelieve something you know is true. But no, I wouldn't trust him. A god isn't by definition benevolent or omni-anything. If he told me to accept that anal sex is a sin, he and I would get into a debate about what "sin" really is, why he defined sins to begin with, why he created the universe such that people would sin, why sin displeases him, and how those people can be faulted for following God's own design. And if the only way he could convince me he was right was by threatening me with eternal torment in a pit of fire, and promising to reward me with eternal happiness if I agreed with him, then I'd think he must have a pretty weak argument if he has to resort to carrot and stick tactics. I likewise don't like people who resort to violence or threats of violence to make people agree with them.


There'll be no faith required when you die and see Jesus at the judgment seat, but it will also be too late to receive forgiveness for your sins. Neither is God trying to convince you that He is right, because your conscience already tells you that you are wrong. You know that you are a sinner, and that you've broken Gods commandments hundreds, if not thousands of times. You're acting like I don't know you are a human being. What are you possibily going to have to say to a Holy God with your entire life laid bare before Him?

@shinyblurry

I would recommend they avoid any church that teaches sacraments

Wow. I'm surprised to hear there are Christian churches that don't practice sacraments. Do you mean, none of them? No weddings, no communion, no confession, no confirmation, no last rites, no.... the other ones? Especially communion seems a strange omission since you were commanded by Jesus to do so. Or did you interpret, "Do this in memory of me" to only apply to the Apostles?

I did explore many of the various belief systems, philosophies, and religions of the world.

With my question here, I was indirectly taking issue with your assertion that only if I pledge myself to Jesus can I truly commune with God. So in my question, my intent was to find out if you ever fully give yourself to any religion before Christianity, like become an active, fervent follower. I'm guessing the answer is no. If I'm right, then I don't see how you can say Christianity is the only way to commune with God. If I'm wrong, and you did fully dedicate your soul to some other religion first, then I'd simply like to hear about that experience.

Should be good now
In reply to this comment by jonny:
*dead

SREDNI VASHTAR

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dulness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him ``for his good'' was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. De Ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. ``It is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers,'' she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it ``gave trouble,'' a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

``I thought you liked toast,'' she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it.

``Sometimes,'' said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a boon.

``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty comer, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany went up: ``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

``What are you keeping in that locked hutch?'' she asked. ``I believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away.''

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there Conradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol:

Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.

And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the pæan of victory and devastation. And presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.

``Tea is ready,'' said the sour-faced maid; ``where is the mistress?'' ``She went down to the shed some time ago,'' said Conradin. And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house.

``Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of me!'' exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of toast.

Thank you greatly!

In reply to this comment by eric3579:
*promote

They finally finished part two : http://videosift.com/video/Burning-Man-Rites-Of-Passage-Night

Thank you!

In reply to this comment by eric3579:
*doublepromote

Is that the right video?


In reply to this comment by geo321:
I thought you might like... This is one of a two part, day and night.

Burning Man: Rites Of Passage - Day .. . http://vimeo.com/10433670

I thought you might like... This is one of a two part, day and night.

Burning Man: Rites Of Passage - Day .. . http://vimeo.com/10433670

My mom used to put soap in my mouth for saying dirty things ("Ralph went bliiiiiiind"). Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) that happened a lot. One day I smartened up and acted excited to get the soap. That freaked her the fuck out so she used hot sauce. I love hot sauce to this day.

Wasabi is a part of Japanese food/culture. I'm pretty sure this kid will be eating it regularly by toddler age. For all we know, doing this diluted mixture of wasabi is a rite-of-passage for babies.

oui oui, très important d'instruire des seins!

In reply to this comment by hpqp:
'simportant t'edjukate peeps on the eteamologee of everyone's fav'rite word

In reply to this comment by Issykitty:
HI 80085 page!

'simportant t'edjukate peeps on the eteamologee of everyone's fav'rite word

In reply to this comment by Issykitty:
HI 80085 page!

Scientists need to do that thing where they hook your brain and show video from your minds eye...then you need to think of this story and record it.

In reply to this comment by blankfist:
In '99 my graduating class came out to LA for a week to hold bullshit industry meetings and screenings. Not important. One night we decided to hire the kind of strippers that come to your hotel room. Imagine a class of about 30 or so people sitting in a suite while two chicks, one black and one white, danced for us. Mostly they wanted our money so they held these dumb games - one of them being you pay twenty to eat a Twizzler from their vagina. True story.

So I have this really good friend. We'll call him Giant. Giant was a great guy. The best. To this day I keep in touch with him. Sweet guy, but maybe not the most "experienced", if you get me. But a super awesome dude, just not the kind of dude that's comfortable around strippers. This is key to consider.

So then I had a Twizzler. So did a number of people. It was a rite of passage in a way. But then we all paid for Giant to have his turn. He was apprehensive, but it didn't take much convincing and he laid on his back and awaited his prize. The black chick was hot, and way hotter than the white girl. So lucky him when she straddled his face with the Twizzler embedded so deep only an inch was exposed. She dipped it around his lips, pulling back before getting too close to his open mouth.

All of us clapped and cheered. This seemed to excite and almost inspire her, so instead of letting Giant snatch it in his teeth, she seemed to bait him like how you'd excite your dog with a piece of bacon hanging over his nose. Anyhow, the white chick heard the crowd'd excitement and wanted to get into what the black chick was doing, and so she started unbuckling Giant's belt, and while she pulled it from the loops, he started panicking. Not the serious hyperventilating kind. No. But the "Shit this is embarrassing" kind.

He starts really going for it. Snapping at that small piece of Twizzler just sticking out, but for some reason he just can't quite reach it. True story. So then the girl gets his belt off, and then gives him a gaspedal. That's when someone steps on your junk. Or so that's what someone told me it was called. Anyhow, she steps on his danglies and he freaks the fuck out, snaps the Twizzler like a goddamned ninja from the other girl's vagina, and takes off running back to his seat. All in a blink of the eye. But without his belt, his khakis come down. Exposing his tightie-whities. Yes, it was 1999 and those where tightie-whities.

But the girl behind him, the one who stole his belt, started whipping his ass as he ran away. So. Imagine this, a Twizzler in his lips, he's running away with his pants around his ankles in front of almost the entire class and the girl behind him is chasing him and spanking him in the ass with his own belt. Everyone erupts in this kind of half-laugh/half-scream. And that's when I think about the Twizzler I ate just a couple moments ago, and it was then I asked myself, "What did that taste like?"

"It tasted like what I imagined AIDS tasting like."

In '99 my graduating class came out to LA for a week to hold bullshit industry meetings and screenings. Not important. One night we decided to hire the kind of strippers that come to your hotel room. Imagine a class of about 30 or so people sitting in a suite while two chicks, one black and one white, danced for us. Mostly they wanted our money so they held these dumb games - one of them being you pay twenty to eat a Twizzler from their vagina. True story.

So I have this really good friend. We'll call him Giant. Giant was a great guy. The best. To this day I keep in touch with him. Sweet guy, but maybe not the most "experienced", if you get me. But a super awesome dude, just not the kind of dude that's comfortable around strippers. This is key to consider.

So then I had a Twizzler. So did a number of people. It was a rite of passage in a way. But then we all paid for Giant to have his turn. He was apprehensive, but it didn't take much convincing and he laid on his back and awaited his prize. The black chick was hot, and way hotter than the white girl. So lucky him when she straddled his face with the Twizzler embedded so deep only an inch was exposed. She dipped it around his lips, pulling back before getting too close to his open mouth.

All of us clapped and cheered. This seemed to excite and almost inspire her, so instead of letting Giant snatch it in his teeth, she seemed to bait him like how you'd excite your dog with a piece of bacon hanging over his nose. Anyhow, the white chick heard the crowd'd excitement and wanted to get into what the black chick was doing, and so she started unbuckling Giant's belt, and while she pulled it from the loops, he started panicking. Not the serious hyperventilating kind. No. But the "Shit this is embarrassing" kind.

He starts really going for it. Snapping at that small piece of Twizzler just sticking out, but for some reason he just can't quite reach it. True story. So then the girl gets his belt off, and then gives him a gaspedal. That's when someone steps on your junk. Or so that's what someone told me it was called. Anyhow, she steps on his danglies and he freaks the fuck out, snaps the Twizzler like a goddamned ninja from the other girl's vagina, and takes off running back to his seat. All in a blink of the eye. But without his belt, his khakis come down. Exposing his tightie-whities. Yes, it was 1999 and those where tightie-whities.

But the girl behind him, the one who stole his belt, started whipping his ass as he ran away. So. Imagine this, a Twizzler in his lips, he's running away with his pants around his ankles in front of almost the entire class and the girl behind him is chasing him and spanking him in the ass with his own belt. Everyone erupts in this kind of half-laugh/half-scream. And that's when I think about the Twizzler I ate just a couple moments ago, and it was then I asked myself, "What did that taste like?"

"It tasted like what I imagined AIDS tasting like."