Sunday, October 4, 2015


"All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you if you obey the LORD your God…”

--Deuteronomy 28:2

As I’ve mentioned before, I lost my old house through foreclosure. Most of my other belongings are in paid storage, but some of them were and still are in my former neighbor’s garage. About three weeks ago, when I moved into my apartment, my VA case worker gave me a ride over to the old neighborhood to pick up some things from the neighbor. So I got to see the reborn house.

I knew that it had undergone an extensive remodeling and had been flipped, because I looked up the address via Google. So, when I was in the neighborhood, I decided to knock on the door. A pretty, young woman named Carmen answered the door and, when I told her who I was—with some confirmation—she was thrilled to allow me to see what had been done.

My former home is beautiful.

Carmen said that when she saw the house for the first time, she hugged the walls and told her husband, Pierre, that she wanted to grow old and die there. I didn’t get to meet Pierre that day, but Carmen invited me back for a gathering they were planning and that gathering was yesterday.

I had totally forgotten about the invitation—due to my storage situation, now resolved—but I received a text message reminder from Carmen. So I got on the bus and went over there.  Carmen and Pierre are originally from the Philippines, so their gathering featured some delicious Filipino food, of which Carmen would not let me leave without a container.

I have many things about which I’m grateful to God. But I never expected this quiet, peaceful feeling I have about my old house being owned by someone else; I grew up in that house. But seeing those two beautiful, generous, kind people in their house makes me happy.

Thank you, God, for the unexpected blessing. And, thank you, Carmen and Pierre, for being the agents of it.

Thank you, family and friends, for helping me save my earthly inheritance! You are the best!

Old School

Friday, October 2, 2015

Less of Me

Many of my Facebook friends and Twitter followers know that, a couple of weeks ago, I posted that I have lost 30 pounds this year--from 194 to 164. I probably weigh less than that now.

When asked how I did it, I said that I used a modified South Beach diet along with another method. That other method was fasting,along with, of course, prayer.

To be sure, losing weight wasn't my goal for the 8-day fast. This was the collective goal--->to get the Holy Spirit's guidance in three areas: 1) my personal relationships, 2) my then-upcoming move, and 3) to boldly intercede in prayer for an individual even with push-back from that person and from another person.

So I got what I prayed for and lost a little over a third of that 30 pounds as an added benefit. My flesh has been changed in more ways than one.

For now, donations will go toward my storage fees. Here are some of the things I have there: my great-aunt's Vintage Crystal, a valuable chalk rendering of my great-uncle, a 52 volume set of the Great Books, 2 computers, vintage refinished bedroom furniture, vintage table, chair and mirror set, most of my clothing and...well, you get the idea. Please help me get it out so I can put it in my new apartment!

Old School

My Walk Through the Valley of Baka, Part I

I made the same reference in the last post; it's from Psalm 84. Baka (בָּכָא) means 'weeping' and the operative preposition is 'through.' I didn't do much weeping, but you get the idea. This has been on my mind for the last few months as I watched the behavior of many people at the homeless housing. And it's interesting that my sojourn in homelessness occurred in the San Fernando Valley.

Almost on a daily basis, I read or listen to Christian commentators. Many of them discuss eschatology or break down scripture. But one topic has interested me: missionary work in Third World countries. Oh, I don't feel lead to do it, but I find a consistent observation fascinating: that the evil side of the supernatural is often more undisguised and overt in African, Central American, South American, Middle Eastern and Asian countries than in the USA and Europe, due to the prevalence of non-Christian and/or occult practices in many of these places. Observers have also said that this often makes prospective new converts in these places more open to God's supernatural manifestations than is so in the First World.

We "sophisticated" Westerners--even Christians--tend to scoff at the otherworldly. But what are incidents like this, this and this (ad infinitum), but supernatural manifestations? Jesus healed demoniacs; and I bet that, if those demoniacs had lived in the 21st century, they'd be posting manifestos against God and everyone on social media before they went out in a blaze (pun intended) of glory--or before the Son of Man had mercy on them.

But I saw nothing so horrendous. However, I saw things that my previously sheltered state rendered me powerless to explain using "rational" means. Was the homeless facility in which I lived a portal for the Enemy? I'm sure it was; it was an aggregation of fear and hopelessness, which is what the Enemy is selling. That much I know.

Day after day, I could sense the evil working in the homeless facility, as I mentioned in the last post. Occasionally, I would allow those feeling to affect me, but it was never for very long. Prayer, reading the Bible and regularly attending church would push those feeling back. But it was a constant effort. (One of my prayers is that I don't let up now that the attacks are not as overt.) I'd say that I wasn't all that successful, as my writer's block might indicate.

And a few times, I got to see the works of the Enemy up close.Let's talk about a guy named Dean.

 Dean,* a Navy veteran, was slim, had long brown hair and blue, glassy eyes. He walked around the courtyard of the facility in full ramble mode. If one actually listened, it sounded like gibberish--usually. And, usually, it involved Jesus. Dean's main theme: that he, himself was Jesus.

I heard of one supernatural incident in which he was the star and saw one myself.

I was sitting on one of the benches in the smoking area having a conversation with someone else and Dean was behind me, babbling. The facility appears to have once been a hotel. The smoking area is a small, area in the corner of the courtyard. It's boxed off by planters which are separated by wooden benches and in the planters are trees in various stages of growth. (Interesting aside: if one sits under the trees, it feels as if it's raining; the trees "weep.")

Dean had an odd habit of pulling the leaves off of the trees and tossing them randomly. But, this time, he was pulling them off and tossing them on my back. I cut off my conversation, turned to him and said, "stop that." I was looking him directly in the eyes.

Suddenly his glassy stare cleared and he responded.

"Get off my land. Go back to your husband." I felt a chill go down my back. I could only think to rebuke him in the name of Jesus the Christ and that's what I did. On the mention of Christ's name, Dean stalked away from me.

The second incident involving Dean is second-hand, but, to me, it's more jarring.

Two other residents of the facility--Rodney and Janice--got to see what I'm about to relay. Neither person is particularly religious (though, after the following incident, Rodney began attending church with me).

The two watched as Dean climbed up on one of the planters described, babbling as usual about Jesus. Then Dean put up his arms in Crucifix fashion and began to exclaim: "I'm Jesus, I'm Jesus!"

"Get the f*** down from there," Rodney said, and, just as he finished speaking, both Rodney and Janice say that they felt an unnatural wind blow between them and Dean; so strong that it pushed the former two back. They saw the wind hit Dean directly, knocking him off the planter, and onto the ground--on his backside.

The word in Hebrew for 'spirit' is ruah (רוּחַ). It is also the word for 'wind.' The Holy Spirit smacked Dean.

Weeks later, Dean ended up getting kicked out of the facility for violence against security and, for months, he hung around on the perimeter of the place--as did several others who had been ejected for various offenses. (Just as I was about to leave, he was allowed back in, as were several other similarly afflicted persons who had been kicked out. And I could feel the level of spiritual chaos rising.)

There are a few other things that happened while I was there, and I will write about them.

*All names are pseudonyms.

For now, donations will go toward my storage fees. Here are some of the things I have there: my great-aunt's Vintage Crystal, a valuable chalk rendering of my great-uncle, a 52 volume set of the Great Books, 2 computers, vintage refinished bedroom furniture, vintage table, chair and mirror set, most of my clothing and...well, you get the idea. Please help me get it out so I can put it in my new apartment!

Old School

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Alone Again

My stint in temporary homeless housing is over. And it was a blessing. But those of us who are familiar with how God operates know that blessings don't always feel good; and many times this one did not.

What I discovered in my personal Valley of Baka was how good I've had it nearly all of my life--and how good I still have it. I've been hesitant to say the following about my former residence, but I can't hold it in any longer: it is a portal for the Enemy, for Satan.

And why wouldn't it be? Many people there had been there for years, or had multiple stints of homelessness. Additionally, not only was it a hub of drug usage, but drug sales. I can't prove it and I don't want to do so. But I heard and I saw.

Of course marijuana usage is prevalent there. It's legal here in California and all one needs is a "rec," provided by an on-site doctor at the various weed shops around town. Before my homeless stint, I had nothing against weed smokers. I had known some before and they were pretty regular people--actually a bit calmer and more fun than most. But there's something about the equation of weed and homelessness: it seems to produce obsession. Many of the weed smokers at the shelter stayed high night and day. One could get up in the morning and smell that odor coming out of someone's room. (Allegedly, no smoking was allowed in the rooms. Like almost all other rules at this facility, this rule was spottily enforced, however.) Another proof of obsession: this was all some people talked about: what kind gave the best high, which store had the best deals. Talk about boring conversation!

Other things are used by the residents, however--things I'd barely known about before my arrival: "spice" and meth. And all too many people would sell their prescription medications. (There are a lot of Department of Mental Health clients.) Through these pharmakeia, I got to see zombies. Yes, that's what they were. The worst thing: watching the descent of someone who had been relatively normal.

Hopelessness, drug usage, fights, theft...and cold-heartedness. I observed/experienced all those things. And through these opened doors, I got to see the evil side of the supernatural without its usual cloak. Needless to say, I put on the Whole Armor of God everyday, but I could still feel the harsh, coldness that permeated the place--the unchecked fear. And I wasn't the only one who felt it--symbolized by the perennial knot in the pit of my intestines that is only now going away since I moved into this apartment on the 17th.
My New Living Room

And it is only now that I am able to write.

So I am grateful to God for the opening of my eyes and for the physical and spiritual sustenance while in my own little taste of pseudo-Hell.  Of course, I'm never alone. He's here.

For now, donations will go toward my storage fees. Here are some of the things I have there: my great-aunt's Vintage Crystal, a valuable chalk rendering of my great-uncle, a 52 volume set of the Great Books, 2 computers, vintage refinished bedroom furniture, vintage table, chair and mirror set, most of my clothing and...well, you get the idea. Please help me get it out so I can put it in my new apartment!

Old School

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Blog Posts I'm Reading Today (9-29-2015)

Trying to restart an old habit: giving other bloggers/video creators some traffic. Not that I have much anymore, but it's the gesture that counts, and, in my tribulations, I forgot this. No more.

Here's a Catholic who is not fond of Pope Francis.

Pat Condell outlines the 21st century Invasion of Europe. (mild language alert; thanks to American Power)

Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama reenact their 2008 contest.

The Clockmed Hoax. (see here also; coinage courtesy of a member of the Moron Horde)

A History of  Diversity.

View from the Bottom of the Slippery Slope.

Pride is a Sin...and a Shape-Shifter. (from last year)

Oh, If Only...

Dumb and Dumba**

The Enemy Always Tells You What He's Planning

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Old School

Monday, July 27, 2015

Lucking Out

Originally posted as a Facebook note on six years ago today. It's as timely--or timeless--as ever. Slightly edited.

Two people have recommended The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene to me. So I did what seemed logical when two are in agreement about a book: I went ahead and ordered it from Amazon yesterday [sic] and it shipped a few hours after I did so. (I had read the book partially but I had checked the book out of the library. And because I’m usually reading a minimum of two books simultaneously, I didn’t get to read it before I had to take the book back.)

One of my Facebook friends--a proponent of the book--called the following law ‘the most memorable’ for him: “Avoid the unhappy and the unlucky.” Am I intrigued by this caution? You bet. But, at the same time, the admonition seems almost redundant.

As a Christian, I try to stay away from certain words; words that indicate a life ruled by chance; words which imply that that any force has power over the power of God—words like ‘lucky,’ ‘fortunate’ ‘unfortunate,’ even words like ‘coincidence.’ I stay away from those words because they indicate disbelief, doubt and/or non-belief in the identity and character of the God of the Bible.

But thinking about the word unlucky and joining it to the concept of unhappiness, those who are “unlucky” seem to be those who believe that nothing good will happen to them. As a result, usually, nothing does and even when they "luck up" and something good does happen to them, they find some flaw in that good thing and complain about it.

There are those who believe that things will never turn out all right. In other words, there are those who have little to no faith in God and, therefore, such people don’t believe that God loves them, wants them to be happy and has the power to make that happen.

Now I’m not saying that God is going to let even those who consistently have faith in Him have anything and everything that they want, because God knows that not everything that an individual wants is necessarily going to be good for that individual. But those who are “unlucky” can’t even take pleasure in "getting lucky" (if you’ll pardon the expression). No. The "unlucky" will remain under that dark cloud, refuse to be moved and, as a result, the unholy union of unluckiness and unhappiness is joined together.

Further, the "unlucky" often have removed themselves from the Providence of God, either by omission or commission. Rather than being “unlucky” what such people are subject to are the forces of Chaos. They are outside of the Order that God provides which means, as the saying goes, feces will happen to that person. So this leads us back to the law which my friend found so remarkable: if you know an Unhappy-Unlucky person, you want to stay far away from said person because you don’t want feces to happen to you merely because of proximity.

Conversely, those of us who believe in God’s Providence, who believe in the Bible’s promises, who believe in the power of God, are always “lucky,” are always “fortunate” and are, therefore, always happy even in sorrow, because the one thing that we know and are always happy about is that our souls are saved—that everything will come out alright in the end for us. We have our Blessed Assurance in Jesus Christ.

And ultimately, if we have faith, things are going to turn out alright not just in the end but while we are trying to get to the end.

My pastor, learned in the languages of the Bible—ancient Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic--taught us that the word used for ‘power’ in Greek when discussing God’s power is ‘dynamis,’ obviously the origin of the words ‘dynamite’ and ‘dynamic’—the agent and description of radical change. It is the type of change that certain earthly politicians can’t begin to fathom. God can change things; like your “luck”—but only if you ask and believe that it will happen.

(‘Power’ Reference: Strongest Strong's Concordance 1411)

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Book Site Domain names, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Friday, July 17, 2015

Please Help Me Keep What's Left of What I Own (UPDATED : GOAL!!!)

UPDATE (2:52 PM PT): GOAL REACHED!!! Thank God for good friends. Like this one.
UPDATE (1:45 PM PT): $145 so far--and I'm very grateful for that. Remember, after today, my stuff will be sold.

ORIGINAL: Since I haven't been writing for months I felt a shy about doing this. But desperate times...

I need $700 to hold onto my belongings at Public Storage. else they will be sold off. I've received a few donations and I'm grateful for them, but PS won't take anything unless it's the full amount.

Please help me do this. Losing the house and the car was bad enough, but I don't want to lose things like my great-aunt's wedding ring or my old paper writings in need of transcribing.

Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Book Site Domain names, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Yes, I'm Still Homeless

But the end is near.
Down my hallway
I'm planning on doing anonymous interviews with some of the people who live in the temporary homeless facility with me. So far, I have about 18 questions to ask. Do you have any questions you would like to ask?

As you can imagine, being in such a state has radically altered my perspective on homelessness, not to mention my emotional state. (Thank God for Himself!) I hope to project all of that in these interviews. In the meantime...

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Book Site Domain names, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Repost: Scarred Souls

Originally posted on July 6, 2010 at my old blog. One of my old blog friends, One Fine Jay, says that he occasionally has passed it along to close friends whom he thinks need to hear it. This touched me greatly; however, as always, when God inspires me, He gets the credit.

The Confession I posted on June 9, 2010 couldn't just stand as is was, mainly since it was an answer to a specific question, "Should Black Women Stop Getting Abortions."

Of course all women should stop having abortions.  But since the question singled out black women, and since that conversation is between two black American women, myself and Jessica Ann Mitchell, and since we find the state of the black American family in near death, I felt it necessary to tailor my further response to black Americans.

The first part of my response has already been publicized here [sic], but I posted the following originally in a Facebook note. For that reason, I will only post here what I deem to be the second part of the answer.  There might be a little preaching.  That's an essential part of me.  He's a part of me.

It’s obvious that my comment is not just about abortion but about the behavior from where it usually stems: fornication.  Even when I tried to ensure that the circumstances which surrounded my abortion would never occur again—by taking the pill—I still suffered from my past behavior and so did my subsequent offspring.  Because of what I had done before she even existed, my second child could not live.

The question whether black women—or any women—should stop getting abortions is an incomplete one.  Of course the answer is ‘yes’ because abortion is murder, the premeditated taking of an innocent life.  (Moreover, let me state for the record: not all killing is murder.)

However, let me answer more fully: all women should stop creating the exterior and--more importantly--the interior conditions under which abortion is an option.  And by that I mean that all women should stop giving themselves to men who they are not sure will love, cherish and protect them and any prospective offspring they may create by having sex with each other.

Have I always behaved morally since the horrific conditions stated happened in my life? No.  But while I haven’t had a repeat of the same catastrophes via giving myself to a man who had not committed to me, my soul has greatly suffered from the giving and from the parting afterward. 

You see, there’s this thing about women, a thing that makes us different from men, aside from the physical aspects.  When we lay down with a man, we are giving him more than physical pleasure and doing more than gaining physical pleasure for ourselves.

When a woman has sex with a man, she joins her soul with him.

I’ve been telling my men friends this over and over again.  Some get it; others don’t.  However, women are the part of the population who need to get this--especially black women for reasons I will get into directly.  Ladies, you are destroying yourselves spiritually and emotionally when you give yourselves to a man who has not taken you under his spiritual protection--and by that, I mean marriage. And when that man to whom you gave that special part of yourself leaves, your soul and spirit cry out in pain from being cleaved.


Because he’s taking a part of you with him when he leaves—a part which is not meant to be separated from the rest of yourself.  He’s cutting off a piece of you, and the worst thing is: you allowed it to happen.  It’s worse than a physical mutilation—it’s a mutilation of your soul.

If you do this enough times, ladies, you’ll stop caring about your spirit and your soul.  In fact, the two become comatose from the continuous injury, if not dead.  Think I’m exaggerating? 

Think about all the illegitimate black children there are in America and think about the fact that black women have the highest rate of abortion of any women in America.  That statistic says that there are very many black women who are giving themselves to men who don’t care about them.

Now think about all the black women you know or whom you have observed who are spiritual and emotional wrecks.  They are that way because they feel worthless and have allowed men to treat them as if they are worthless.  After a while, women who continue to behave this way take it to heart. 

Think these things through.  It’s a vicious cycle.

Now from that bit of cutting, it’s an easy and short road toward murdering that whom is a part of self—to cutting one’s child to pieces.

Yes, I know some will say “well, I did what you did and my life hasn’t turned out the way yours has.” Well, of course not; we are individual beings and our outer life circumstances are unique to our individual selves.  But I’m willing to bet that nearly all women have suffered some adverse effect(s) from giving themselves to men who don’t care about them.  (I may be one of the “lucky” ones.)  And almost all of those effects are internal—a penalty within one’s soul. 

And, on top of that, we can take these effects and mirror them onto black men, too many of whom are angry at the world, angry at black women, and angry at themselves (black-on-black crime). [i]  That anger almost always stems from observing or experiencing the spiritual, moral and worldly failure of their mothers.

When people who know that I’m a Christian ask me my opinion about why I think God sets certain rules for us to follow, I usually say “for our benefit; to keep us from harm.”  Sometimes I’m unable to articulate the details of those benefits and that harm, but not in this case.  Sexual immorality and the results there from have nearly destroyed black Americans—and, in the case of abortion, literally so.

So, in answer to Jessica Ann’s question, “Should Black Women Stop Getting Abortions,” I give a resounding ‘yes.’ It’s time to stop it and to pull it out of the ground by its root.  Our spirits and souls are the ground and the root consists of self-hatred and worthlessness.   It’s from the Source of Evil.

The tiller is immorality—sin.  Let’s make an end to that; not to ourselves and to our children.


[i] When I mentioned this part of the essay to my mother, she said, "Black-on-black crime is their method of abortion." Just so.

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Book Site Domain names, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Friday, February 6, 2015

My January 2015 Columns at Faith.Family.Freedom--plus Today's Column

"Oh Come, All Ye Faithful"

The Devil's Advocate You Know

(Seen in the comments here: "At this point, the wretched Corpseman is just trolling.")


Living in Chaos
Still Dreaming
Read my column at Joseph C. Phillips' site on Fridays.

And please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!