It's like breaking a poorly set bone so it can reset. And it's going to hurt like hell for a while. And your job is to sit with it and feel the anger. Stop worrying about what's holy. – Brett the chaplain Driving away from my counseling session. I'm not an angry music person. Insistent percussion …
Category: Deconstruction
Deconstruction
They promised you This is how life works. Trust us. We know the way. The only way. Deviate– –and die. You can’t trust yourself, kid, they said. Your self lies to you. Brain heart body spirit all Deceitful– Listen at your peril– there is one road –ours– Deviate– –and die. Who you are? Oh …
The Spirit of Mrs. Pardiggle
I am listening to Dickens' Bleak House on audiobook. I have mixed feelings about Dickens. On the one hand, a great many of his characters are caricatures: one-dimensional people with their vices or virtues so sharply exaggerated that they aren't really human at all. In general, I think caricatures are a lazy way to tell a …
Broken Brains, Bait-and-Switch Jesus
Last week, my brain broke. It happened in the midst of an ordinary weekend, with my family around me. It wasn't a permanent break, nothing that cannot be mended (hopefully). But when it's your brain, even the tiniest fracture has the feeling of shattering. you are a failure you are failing your children your husband they …
Unsettling Hell (WTH? Part 2)
"I am the way into the city of woe. I am the way to a forsaken people. I am the way into eternal sorrow. Sacred justice moved my architect. I was raised here by divine omnipotence, primordial love and ultimate intellect. Only those elements time cannot wear were made before me, and beyond time I …
What The Hell? (Part 1)
"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," {Mr. Brocklehurst} began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?" "They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer. "And what is hell? Can you tell me that?" "A pit full of fire." "And should you like …
The Heart of God
There's a John Mayer song that I like. I like a lot of John Mayer's lyrics for their poetic imagery (slow-dancing in a burning room, anyone?) This one isn't particularly poetic, but it can help me have a nice sloppy cry on the days when a sloppy cry is in order. I hate to see …
Meredith Muddles 