Right, so, I didn't get stuck on Jury Duty, and I'm taking a bit of vacation. This means that I'm getting some much-needed R&R before the project-related insanity really falls on us at work. It also means that my Internet connection is... limited. (We're switching ISPs, because our home connection is unrelentingly horrible. So in a week or so, we should have a solid, working connection. Right now, my ability to connect depends on the direction of the wind, the phase of the moon, and whether I've just gotten completely fed up and gone over to the nearest Barnes & Noble.)
Anyway, more updates are coming for the Cell Phone Bible, and I'll try to talk the Deranged Cultist into updating as well.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Cell Phone Bible, Part VII
Idea courtesy of apostate, who found the 'What if...?' text in his Facebook feed. If you're coming in late, you can start at Part I.
VII. The Gravity of Choice
Jesus Christ stepped through the pearly gates and made a sharp right, following a circular course just outside of Heaven. There were plenty of calls to be made back at the Call Center, and plenty of mortals eager to talk with Him, but they would never notice he was gone. Time was a matter of perspective here, and distance a mere formality. So a brief stroll around the outskirts would take exactly as long as he needed it to, and he would be still be there to answer the calls directed to him - even though some of them, caught as they were in a mortal, temporal perspective, appeared to be coming in simultaneously.
There were advantages to being an eternal spirit of unlimited power, and mucking about with time was definitely one of them.
He'd gone barely five paces before a voice at his elbow said, "Hail to the Messiah, Jesus Christ, Savior and Redeemer, of one being with the Father, with whom all things are possible. How's it hangin'?"
This was not a voice he wanted to hear. The last time he had heard it, it had offered him all the kingdoms of the Earth. Now, he was feeling less than usually triumphant, and the presence of the Adversary - here, so very close to paradise - did nothing to improve his mood. "Hello, Satan," he said, disdaining to add any of the myriad possible titles for the Great Enemy.
"You look a little down," said Satan, who had dressed for the occasion: fiery red skin, spreading black wings, small horns on the forehead, and a magnificently groomed goatee. "Latest project not going so well?"
"What do you know about it?" asked Jesus, irked despite Himself.
"As much as you let me, of course." Satan was watching him with a devil's smile: charming but meaningless. "You're talking to them directly. That can't end well."
"It isn't," Jesus said, then stopped. He could have driven the Adversary away, but he wanted someone to talk to. He was completely divine, but also completely human - even now. And there were things he could say out here that he could never give voice to in Heaven. Things that even Metatron wouldn't understand. Letting Satan hear them wouldn't make any difference, not in the long run. "Uriel and Raphael got into a fight."
"In Heaven? Truly? I wish I'd been there to see it. There must have been feathers everywhere."
Jesus grimaced. "You have no idea."
"How did it happen?"
"A little girl opened her Bible to talk to us. She wanted to know what she could do to keep her parents together. Uriel took the call. He told her that there wasn't anything she could do. She asked him why her mommy and daddy couldn't just love each other anymore. And Uriel... he told her when her daddy slept with his secretary, he broke her mommy's love, so they couldn't be together anymore."
Satan pursed his lips. "That sounds like Uriel, all right. The proper direction of wrath, the possibility of vengeance. I suppose our dear, sweet Raphael was upset that he couldn't heal her?"
"Pretty much," Jesus admitted. "He accused Uriel of hurting her even more, called him heartless, and said he should never have been Created. I had to will them apart."
Satan nodded sympathetically. "Dealing directly with mortals is pulling down the angels. That's why I don't let my demons interact with them anymore."
Jesus came to a complete stop and turned to gape at Satan. "You don't what?"
"I don't let my demons interact with humanity," said the Devil. "It kept giving them aspirations to do better, to be better. You have the same problem, but in reverse." He paused. "Humans. I don't go near them myself, either. You'd know that if you ever thought about it. I don't even let them summon us; I've been blocking their incantations for centuries."
Jesus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. It had never even occurred to him to wonder... but now that it was said, he knew. He couldn't help knowing.
After a moment he started walking again. "All this time, I thought..."
Satan kept pace. "Nope. Anything they came up with, they did by themselves. Wars, pollution, the stock market, reality TV... all theirs. I have my own kingdom; what do I need with them?"
"It doesn't matter," Jesus said finally. "They'll do better with Our guidance. Their fighting is nearly extinguished already. I will make this work."
Satan lifted an eyebrow, managing to convey in that single gesture an immortal lifetime's worth of insolence and doubt. "You know what? I wish you luck. Maybe then they'll quit blaming us for everything that goes wrong." Then he grinned. "Or maybe you'll finally prove that I was right about them all along."
The Accuser was gone, then. Jesus scowled, but then he straightened and (very deliberately) turned his other cheek towards the spot where Satan had been standing. A moment later, he was back at the pearly gates. Firm in his resolve, he turned his steps towards the Heavenly Call Center. It was time to resume his ministry.
VII. The Gravity of Choice
Jesus Christ stepped through the pearly gates and made a sharp right, following a circular course just outside of Heaven. There were plenty of calls to be made back at the Call Center, and plenty of mortals eager to talk with Him, but they would never notice he was gone. Time was a matter of perspective here, and distance a mere formality. So a brief stroll around the outskirts would take exactly as long as he needed it to, and he would be still be there to answer the calls directed to him - even though some of them, caught as they were in a mortal, temporal perspective, appeared to be coming in simultaneously.
There were advantages to being an eternal spirit of unlimited power, and mucking about with time was definitely one of them.
He'd gone barely five paces before a voice at his elbow said, "Hail to the Messiah, Jesus Christ, Savior and Redeemer, of one being with the Father, with whom all things are possible. How's it hangin'?"
This was not a voice he wanted to hear. The last time he had heard it, it had offered him all the kingdoms of the Earth. Now, he was feeling less than usually triumphant, and the presence of the Adversary - here, so very close to paradise - did nothing to improve his mood. "Hello, Satan," he said, disdaining to add any of the myriad possible titles for the Great Enemy.
"You look a little down," said Satan, who had dressed for the occasion: fiery red skin, spreading black wings, small horns on the forehead, and a magnificently groomed goatee. "Latest project not going so well?"
"What do you know about it?" asked Jesus, irked despite Himself.
"As much as you let me, of course." Satan was watching him with a devil's smile: charming but meaningless. "You're talking to them directly. That can't end well."
"It isn't," Jesus said, then stopped. He could have driven the Adversary away, but he wanted someone to talk to. He was completely divine, but also completely human - even now. And there were things he could say out here that he could never give voice to in Heaven. Things that even Metatron wouldn't understand. Letting Satan hear them wouldn't make any difference, not in the long run. "Uriel and Raphael got into a fight."
"In Heaven? Truly? I wish I'd been there to see it. There must have been feathers everywhere."
Jesus grimaced. "You have no idea."
"How did it happen?"
"A little girl opened her Bible to talk to us. She wanted to know what she could do to keep her parents together. Uriel took the call. He told her that there wasn't anything she could do. She asked him why her mommy and daddy couldn't just love each other anymore. And Uriel... he told her when her daddy slept with his secretary, he broke her mommy's love, so they couldn't be together anymore."
Satan pursed his lips. "That sounds like Uriel, all right. The proper direction of wrath, the possibility of vengeance. I suppose our dear, sweet Raphael was upset that he couldn't heal her?"
"Pretty much," Jesus admitted. "He accused Uriel of hurting her even more, called him heartless, and said he should never have been Created. I had to will them apart."
Satan nodded sympathetically. "Dealing directly with mortals is pulling down the angels. That's why I don't let my demons interact with them anymore."
Jesus came to a complete stop and turned to gape at Satan. "You don't what?"
"I don't let my demons interact with humanity," said the Devil. "It kept giving them aspirations to do better, to be better. You have the same problem, but in reverse." He paused. "Humans. I don't go near them myself, either. You'd know that if you ever thought about it. I don't even let them summon us; I've been blocking their incantations for centuries."
Jesus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. It had never even occurred to him to wonder... but now that it was said, he knew. He couldn't help knowing.
After a moment he started walking again. "All this time, I thought..."
Satan kept pace. "Nope. Anything they came up with, they did by themselves. Wars, pollution, the stock market, reality TV... all theirs. I have my own kingdom; what do I need with them?"
"It doesn't matter," Jesus said finally. "They'll do better with Our guidance. Their fighting is nearly extinguished already. I will make this work."
Satan lifted an eyebrow, managing to convey in that single gesture an immortal lifetime's worth of insolence and doubt. "You know what? I wish you luck. Maybe then they'll quit blaming us for everything that goes wrong." Then he grinned. "Or maybe you'll finally prove that I was right about them all along."
The Accuser was gone, then. Jesus scowled, but then he straightened and (very deliberately) turned his other cheek towards the spot where Satan had been standing. A moment later, he was back at the pearly gates. Firm in his resolve, he turned his steps towards the Heavenly Call Center. It was time to resume his ministry.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
The Cell Phone Bible, Part VI
Idea courtesy of apostate, who found the 'What if...?' text in his Facebook feed. If you're coming in late, you can start at Part I.
VI. Thou shalt not kill
Corporal Jason Stewart sat on his bunk and stared at the Bible beside him.
That had been a common scene for the last three days, ever since the Bibles started ringing. Corporal Steward had never been particularly devout; he'd been raised to believe that Jesus died for his sins, and hadn't given the matter much thought beyond that. His Christianity consisted mainly of the belief that he should do his best to be a good person, and trust that God would understand and forgive when he went wrong. Vague notions about attending church and tithing lurked in the background, but not with any sort of urgency. Being a Christian wasn't a particularly great burden or blessing to him; it was just something that people did.
As a result, the news that Jesus didn't approve of killing people, even in self-defense, hadn't hit him as hard as it did some of the men in his squad. Davis, in particular, was doing an awful lot of muttering to himself, and would only bring his rifle on patrol when ordered directly. No authority on Earth could convince the Private to unsling it. His Bible, by contrast, never left his side. And his was not the most extreme case that Corporal Stewart had seen; it wasn't even severe enough to justify official notice. That sort of thing was far too common just now.
In fact, as far as Corporal Stewart was concerned, it was far too common in general. He was pretty sure that a single enemy could take out about half their platoon with a sharp stick and a sufficient amount of bloody-minded determination. Too many of the men just wouldn't fight back, not anymore. The only thing that had saved them was that everyone seemed to be getting the same message - even the locals, even the ones who hated the United States and everything its military had done. The angels didn't seem any too picky about what sort of holy books they used to talk to people, a fact which had sent the Chaplain into a marathon research session, on- and off-line. Corporal Stewart, who had started by loathing the Chaplain's self-important certainty, now felt a little sorry for the man; he must be feeling pretty superfluous now that anyone with the right sort of book could talk to Heaven directly.
The rumor mill was about to explode, of course. The top brass was going to outlaw Christianity and confiscate all the Bibles. No, they were busy printing and shipping even more Bibles, to aid in converting and pacifying the enemy. No, the President was getting ready to recall everyone, so they could deal with unrest at home; Martial Law was coming in a matter of days. No, the President was going to dissolve the military entirely, so they could spend time with their families before Judgment Day.
Corporal Stewart thought it was all nonsense. Nobody knew what was coming, because nobody had had time to plan for something as totally unexpected as this. The Brass was just as lost and confused as everyone else.
So he sat, and stared at his Bible, and after a while he leaned over and flipped it open.
"Hello, Jason," said Jesus. "You had a question?"
Corporal Stewart nodded, sure that his Savior would be aware of the gesture. "Why?" he asked.
"Why what?" asked Jesus, in that perfectly serene voice.
Corporal Jason Stewart swallowed. He was aware, suddenly, of an undercurrent of anger in his thoughts. The Messiah had to understand the question; he was only asking for clarification to be difficult, or else to make Jason articulate it to himself. "Why this? Why are you talking to us? Why now?"
"It was time," said Jesus. "I'm sorry, I wish I could give you a more satisfying answer - something you would understand, something that would comfort you - but it is not given to mortals to understand the Divine Plan."
Jason hesitated. That seemed like a reasonable point; the Lord must see history from a perspective that was, well, beyond human comprehension. But even taking that into account... "You couldn't have started this a year ago, before Cedric stepped on that IED? Or five years ago, before we enlisted? Or even..." Or even two hundred years ago, he wanted to say, before the world became such a steaming pile of crap?
"No," said Jesus, unruffled by the question. "The time wasn't right. It had to be now."
Jason bit back the first three answers that came into his mind. "All right," he said finally. "I don't doubt you, Lord." I wish I could, but I don't.
VI. Thou shalt not kill
Corporal Jason Stewart sat on his bunk and stared at the Bible beside him.
That had been a common scene for the last three days, ever since the Bibles started ringing. Corporal Steward had never been particularly devout; he'd been raised to believe that Jesus died for his sins, and hadn't given the matter much thought beyond that. His Christianity consisted mainly of the belief that he should do his best to be a good person, and trust that God would understand and forgive when he went wrong. Vague notions about attending church and tithing lurked in the background, but not with any sort of urgency. Being a Christian wasn't a particularly great burden or blessing to him; it was just something that people did.
As a result, the news that Jesus didn't approve of killing people, even in self-defense, hadn't hit him as hard as it did some of the men in his squad. Davis, in particular, was doing an awful lot of muttering to himself, and would only bring his rifle on patrol when ordered directly. No authority on Earth could convince the Private to unsling it. His Bible, by contrast, never left his side. And his was not the most extreme case that Corporal Stewart had seen; it wasn't even severe enough to justify official notice. That sort of thing was far too common just now.
In fact, as far as Corporal Stewart was concerned, it was far too common in general. He was pretty sure that a single enemy could take out about half their platoon with a sharp stick and a sufficient amount of bloody-minded determination. Too many of the men just wouldn't fight back, not anymore. The only thing that had saved them was that everyone seemed to be getting the same message - even the locals, even the ones who hated the United States and everything its military had done. The angels didn't seem any too picky about what sort of holy books they used to talk to people, a fact which had sent the Chaplain into a marathon research session, on- and off-line. Corporal Stewart, who had started by loathing the Chaplain's self-important certainty, now felt a little sorry for the man; he must be feeling pretty superfluous now that anyone with the right sort of book could talk to Heaven directly.
The rumor mill was about to explode, of course. The top brass was going to outlaw Christianity and confiscate all the Bibles. No, they were busy printing and shipping even more Bibles, to aid in converting and pacifying the enemy. No, the President was getting ready to recall everyone, so they could deal with unrest at home; Martial Law was coming in a matter of days. No, the President was going to dissolve the military entirely, so they could spend time with their families before Judgment Day.
Corporal Stewart thought it was all nonsense. Nobody knew what was coming, because nobody had had time to plan for something as totally unexpected as this. The Brass was just as lost and confused as everyone else.
So he sat, and stared at his Bible, and after a while he leaned over and flipped it open.
"Hello, Jason," said Jesus. "You had a question?"
Corporal Stewart nodded, sure that his Savior would be aware of the gesture. "Why?" he asked.
"Why what?" asked Jesus, in that perfectly serene voice.
Corporal Jason Stewart swallowed. He was aware, suddenly, of an undercurrent of anger in his thoughts. The Messiah had to understand the question; he was only asking for clarification to be difficult, or else to make Jason articulate it to himself. "Why this? Why are you talking to us? Why now?"
"It was time," said Jesus. "I'm sorry, I wish I could give you a more satisfying answer - something you would understand, something that would comfort you - but it is not given to mortals to understand the Divine Plan."
Jason hesitated. That seemed like a reasonable point; the Lord must see history from a perspective that was, well, beyond human comprehension. But even taking that into account... "You couldn't have started this a year ago, before Cedric stepped on that IED? Or five years ago, before we enlisted? Or even..." Or even two hundred years ago, he wanted to say, before the world became such a steaming pile of crap?
"No," said Jesus, unruffled by the question. "The time wasn't right. It had to be now."
Jason bit back the first three answers that came into his mind. "All right," he said finally. "I don't doubt you, Lord." I wish I could, but I don't.
Monday, September 26, 2011
I want braaaaaaaains...
Okay, so, apparently ragweed and mold are both very high right now. This goes a long way towards explaining why my head feels like it's being pinched from the inside. (I thought maybe I'd annoyed the Great Old Ones, but apparently it's just allergies.)
Allergies and I have a funny relationship. I'm not really badly allergic to anything, but I'm mildly allergic to almost everything airborne that comes through the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Also, I'm pretty sure that the pollution levels around here seriously exacerbate the problem.
Anyway, despite a fairly serious round of meds and enough hot tea to drown a buffalo, I haven't been able to focus on any of my writing projects. On top of that, I've got Jury Duty on Wednesday. Well, sort of... apparently I'm on standby Jury Duty. As far as I can tell, that means that they may not need me at all. Except, I can't find out until after 5:00 p.m. on Tuesday, because the County is all about helping us plan in advance like that.
Summary: blog posts may be sparse this week. Or I may be bored and annoyed enough to create more material than usual; I never can tell.
Meanwhile, I have a plan. Once the boys are in bed, I'm taking a hot bath and then playing some more Psychonauts.
Thanks to whoever recommended that game, by the way. It's every bit as cool and fun as you said it was.
Allergies and I have a funny relationship. I'm not really badly allergic to anything, but I'm mildly allergic to almost everything airborne that comes through the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Also, I'm pretty sure that the pollution levels around here seriously exacerbate the problem.
Anyway, despite a fairly serious round of meds and enough hot tea to drown a buffalo, I haven't been able to focus on any of my writing projects. On top of that, I've got Jury Duty on Wednesday. Well, sort of... apparently I'm on standby Jury Duty. As far as I can tell, that means that they may not need me at all. Except, I can't find out until after 5:00 p.m. on Tuesday, because the County is all about helping us plan in advance like that.
Summary: blog posts may be sparse this week. Or I may be bored and annoyed enough to create more material than usual; I never can tell.
Meanwhile, I have a plan. Once the boys are in bed, I'm taking a hot bath and then playing some more Psychonauts.
Thanks to whoever recommended that game, by the way. It's every bit as cool and fun as you said it was.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Real Work Conversations: More Lightning
Intern: "I don't know, I just don't like the way it comes out."
Me: "Yeah, that instruments-on-each-side design sounds like a good idea, but it just doesn't work. So... go find a picture with lightning, and use that for the background on the page."
Intern: "Seriously?"
Me: "When was the last time it didn't rain on that festival? Make a sample page with lightning."
Intern: "Okay..."
{time passes}
Intern: "How's this?"
Me: "Hm... the bottom's a little dark. Find a picture of one of our crowds, and put them down there."
Intern: "The boss is going to kill us both."
Me: "But it will be funny."
{time passes}
Intern: "Take a look."
Me: "You know, that actually works."
Boss: "What works?"
Intern: "This version, with the lightning and the crowd and the band towering over them. Please don't kill me."
Boss: "No, I like it. It's definitely better than that guitar thing. In fact..."
Yes, sometimes this really is how pages get designed.
Me: "Yeah, that instruments-on-each-side design sounds like a good idea, but it just doesn't work. So... go find a picture with lightning, and use that for the background on the page."
Intern: "Seriously?"
Me: "When was the last time it didn't rain on that festival? Make a sample page with lightning."
Intern: "Okay..."
{time passes}
Intern: "How's this?"
Me: "Hm... the bottom's a little dark. Find a picture of one of our crowds, and put them down there."
Intern: "The boss is going to kill us both."
Me: "But it will be funny."
{time passes}
Intern: "Take a look."
Me: "You know, that actually works."
Boss: "What works?"
Intern: "This version, with the lightning and the crowd and the band towering over them. Please don't kill me."
Boss: "No, I like it. It's definitely better than that guitar thing. In fact..."
Yes, sometimes this really is how pages get designed.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The Cell Phone Bible, Part V
Idea courtesy of apostate, who found the 'What if...?' text in his Facebook feed. If you're coming in late, you can start at Part I.
V. The Law and the Prophets
Judge Henry Whittaker looked at Detective William Craven and frowned. "Let me see if I understand this. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ himself, told you that this little girl was being abused by her father, and that the father keeps photos and video in a toolbox in his garage." Is the Messiah a mandated reporter? The thought was slightly hysterical. Could this really be happening?
The Detective nodded. "That's correct, your honor."
Judge Whittaker fell silent, and tried to get his thoughts under control. He considered opening his Bible, but decided against it. Detective Craven had received a complaint, from someone who had no personal grudge or malice against the accused. That was enough to satisfy Probable Cause. There would be evidence - Judge Whittaker didn't doubt that. And if they needed anything more to get a conviction, no doubt the Almighty would provide...
"All right," he said. "We'll get the search warrant ready."
V. The Law and the Prophets
Judge Henry Whittaker looked at Detective William Craven and frowned. "Let me see if I understand this. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ himself, told you that this little girl was being abused by her father, and that the father keeps photos and video in a toolbox in his garage." Is the Messiah a mandated reporter? The thought was slightly hysterical. Could this really be happening?
The Detective nodded. "That's correct, your honor."
Judge Whittaker fell silent, and tried to get his thoughts under control. He considered opening his Bible, but decided against it. Detective Craven had received a complaint, from someone who had no personal grudge or malice against the accused. That was enough to satisfy Probable Cause. There would be evidence - Judge Whittaker didn't doubt that. And if they needed anything more to get a conviction, no doubt the Almighty would provide...
"All right," he said. "We'll get the search warrant ready."
Reflections on Hangovers
First of all, ouch. I don’t think my head is actually going to fall off, but a couple of hours ago I would not have objected if it did. Two gallons of water, four acetaminophen, and a very cautious breakfast later, I’m feeling... well, better, anyway.
The final review of the business with the Corpsewalker finished yesterday. The coven - I never did figure out if they were actually Wiccans, or just something that looked superficially similar - is essentially gone, and we lost a total of seven Watchers. The ceremony was successful in shifting the Corpsewalker back out of our reality, or possibly the Worms took care of that; either way, nobody can find any sign of its presence. Anne and Father Peter escaped successfully; we saw them at church on Sunday, but nobody said anything. I think we were all too tired... and maybe Father Peter cautioned Anne against letting people know that she knew about anything beyond our world.
Our local law enforcement has tentatively decided that (despite unconfirmed reports of gunfire) the coven was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and were buried when the earth collapsed into a previously unsuspected sinkhole. We get sinkholes in this part of the country, so nobody’s asking too many questions. The local news has mostly stayed away from the story; I’m not sure if someone is influencing them, or if they’re just distracted.
I start back to work tomorrow, so it’s time to finish sobering up. And probably time for a long soak in the bath. And definitely time for more Tylenol.
Reflections of a Deranged Cultist is a work of fiction. I am not actually hung over.
The final review of the business with the Corpsewalker finished yesterday. The coven - I never did figure out if they were actually Wiccans, or just something that looked superficially similar - is essentially gone, and we lost a total of seven Watchers. The ceremony was successful in shifting the Corpsewalker back out of our reality, or possibly the Worms took care of that; either way, nobody can find any sign of its presence. Anne and Father Peter escaped successfully; we saw them at church on Sunday, but nobody said anything. I think we were all too tired... and maybe Father Peter cautioned Anne against letting people know that she knew about anything beyond our world.
Our local law enforcement has tentatively decided that (despite unconfirmed reports of gunfire) the coven was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and were buried when the earth collapsed into a previously unsuspected sinkhole. We get sinkholes in this part of the country, so nobody’s asking too many questions. The local news has mostly stayed away from the story; I’m not sure if someone is influencing them, or if they’re just distracted.
I start back to work tomorrow, so it’s time to finish sobering up. And probably time for a long soak in the bath. And definitely time for more Tylenol.
Reflections of a Deranged Cultist is a work of fiction. I am not actually hung over.
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