Skip ahead if you're interested in the Cranberries. This is just a lengthy Christian digression for Aurini.
^ Aurini. It's due to a promise I made in Prayer last October, and then the most incredible thing happened about two weeks ago. I won't go into it here, but know that there's no logical reason for it - it flies in the face of Science - but, if you have knowledge of the Still Small Voice, then you understand how patterns and coincidences are anything but. Ask and you shall receive. Your questions are
always answered, very quietly and humbly,
if you're not distracted by the empty noise of the World. The more you 'unplug', the clearer the signs.
For me, the process happens, as in this example:
- my Sister felt she was being spiritually-terrorized, I asked for the knowledge to help her;
- an old friend brought up just how fucked up my life has been. I joked that perhaps my family is cursed;
- I overheard you and Pastor Thomas and he mentioned how the sins of the parents are passed down along familial lines as a curse;
- Two 'curses' in such a short time isn't coincidence. This is the pattern. I now know to pay attention to when Curses are discussed over the next few days;
- The concept of Generational Curses comes up in another podcast;
- I know to look deeper.
- I found the bible passages describing this process;
- That made sense, given my Parent's interest in New Age and the Occult; and how, the more they did, the more my childhood home felt, well, haunted.
- I looked for ways to break a Curse;
- I made an off-hand comment about it to a member in private, not knowing why I would bring up such a ridiculous and possibly-divisive idea. He responds with how his grandmother believed their family suffered the same type of curse;
- This is another direction.
I am on the right track.
- I mentioned this concept of Generational Curses to my then-girlfriend on an evening-walk to what I've always felt is a place of positive spiritual power. "It makes sense. I would have inherited my Dad's Demon of Lust". (He was a Legendary Pussy Hound and always playing around on my mother);
- Her: "I'm glad you did."
- "Yeah, yeah. I keep wondering if it's a form of damage. Look at my Sister. Do you see how she's so similar to what you know of my Mother? The constant apologies, the sense that she doesn't deserve even the smallest kindness, even to the extent her refusal of help can seem insulting. See how the Sins of the Parents give the Demon permission to enter."
- Her: "No, this is too crazy."
- We arrived back home, and my sister called. I put her on Speakerphone as I cooked dinner. We were talking about her singing and I commented on how she beats herself up during her performances before she even starts singing, and that she needs to trust in herself."
- Her: "Well, I was listening to [a podcast - possibly KJ Media?] and well, I'm like Mum. I've been thinking about Generational Curses lately."
- My girlfriend screams and drops a Saucepan.
- Her: "How could she know that? How could she possibly-know we were just talking about that?"
- My Sister laughed, because she knows how information comes to Believers at the same time, like the point is to gather together and discuss what we feel we're being told. It seems to be important that we compare notes, and I advise anyone reading who suddenly finds themselves thrown in with another Christian to pay close attention.
- I couldn't convince my girlfriend that we weren't putting her on. I kind of instinctively-sensed that she's wrong for me, and had been reading how, if you place your trust in the Lord, he will choose your friends and partners, and I mentally-agreed to giving up my free will in this regard, as another message I keep seeing is
To Trust;
- Later that night, I wondered more about how to help my Sister, then, in a Podcast, you off-handedly mention the Prayer to St Michael.
- I found it.
That's the one. Quintus, very kindly, takes the time to read it for me in Latin.
- I gave it to her, and, for no apparent reason, I said "Don't be afraid.
Trust. I think Fear can be another way for them to enter."
- One of your Podcasts, not long after. "Well, Fear allows entry."
- She uses the Prayer, and Trusts, and the presences terrorising her back away.
- We both know they'll be back, with more. You have to be strong and vigilant against stepping backwards.
- They fear the name of Jesus. Those they have control over seem contracted to verbally-purge their disgust over the name. If someone mentions, say, Mohammad, Buddha, Shiva, John Smith or even Satan in my presence, I'm fine: people believe what they leave. But the moment I bring the name Jesus comes up just in passing - and I never try to convert anyone - the Bile from other people seems uncontrolled. Watch any Atheist or Leftist. They
have to react.
------
This will seem like a bit of a digression, Davis, but bear with me.
- I've mentioned I've been looking after The Kid since his Dad abandoned him before Christmas. He was in public housing, his Dad was a hoarder, and the place was, well,
incredible in its filthiness. We're waiting for him to be placed in a smaller flat, and Housing told us to just leave it a mess and they'll send cleaners when he's gone and they'll bill his Dad, whenever they find him. Personally, I think he's gone off into the outback like an old dog instinctively wanders off into the woods, so good luck to them.
The Kid won a lot of my respect when the pair of us had spent some time cleaning up his Kitchen so I could teach him to cook - I can't begin to describe how bad it was - and I said it doesn't matter if Housing was jerking him around, we should keep cleaning the place, and he nodded and said "It's the right thing to do, isn't it?"
The Kid worked harder than I ever expected him to work, so, for the last 10 days, we've done about six hours each day, trying to make the place respectable.
My new girlfriend didn't understand why it was taking us so long at first, until I showed her pictures of the house and, particularly, his bedroom, and she immediately-burst into tears. This was his father, enjoying his White Privilege I guess.
![[Image: 5KQ9fz.jpg]](https://kek.gg/i/5KQ9fz.jpg)
He's only ever had one sheet for years, that his Dad never washed, and it was Flannel.
In Summer.
As he told me earlier this morning, he didn't know there were 'these things called Cotton Sheets' until I told him I'd get him some. I even offered him a bigger bed, but he politely-declined and said he'd happily-take anything he was given. So, one new Bedframe, Mattress, Mattress Protector, Pillows, Pillow Protectors, Summer Bamboo Quilt, Winter Duck and Down Feather Quilt, a Summer Throw Blanket and a Winter Wool Blanket later and, as he told me this morning "Now I know what you meant by how
amazing clean sheets are."
![[Image: 7Pdt_C.jpg]](https://kek.gg/i/7Pdt_C.jpg)
"It's a small pleasure," I said, "but a great one at the same time."
I told him how the story of my mother's last year of her life, as the cancer accelerated, and I said to her "You know you can have clean sheets
every day, right?"
He grinned, and said "Awww, that's so beautiful."
I'm in utter awe of this Kid. I have no idea how he survived his upbringing to be as fundamentally-decent as he is. I mean, he hasn't seen his mother since he was two, and she killed herself last year. He's not on drugs; he hasn't ended up in a gang; he's not rubbing houses; he's not sulky and emo; he's not making up weird genders for attention; he's not taking his hardship out on society by blaming everyone else the way rich kids all larp as Communists do; and he doesn't feel victimized because he has no genuine conception of his hardship, and even now that's he's realising it, he's finding humour, not sadness, in it. He's simply this introspective kid who always has something interesting to say, and is surprisingly-witty, particularly with language. As my girlfriend said, "Now he's opening up, and you're teaching him independence, I don't think I've ever seen a happier Kid."
Which is good for him, but, man, she's constantly prone to crying now whenever he'll innocently-come out with a question like "What do people
eat for
lunch?"
There were probably 1000 pizza boxes stuffed into every cupboard in that house.
We've had a lot of conversations as we've cleaned - and, boy, have we cleaned - and I mentioned that if you can control your external surroundings, it'll help keep your mental house in order as well.
He said, "So, was Dad dirty because he was depressed, or depressed because he was dirty?"
He understood the cycle, and he doesn't want to be anything like that, which is why I think it's good for him to clean and stay in this house independently for a while, at least until he's evicted towards at end of the month. He has noted that I'm a very... as he put it...
controlled man, which led into a discussion of why I took up weight training as a teenager and he said he'd like to try it too.
Back to Demonology though. Today, we downed mops and buckets, poured out sugar soap, and I said, "You know, I think we're finally done here."
That was when Bill turned up, with paperwork that had to be filled out to dispose of the standard Housing Commission Old Commodore up on Bricks in the backyard. The Kid started filling the form out on the washing machine, for some reason I happened to look up, and I groaned.
"I forgot about the Roof Access hatch."
They both looked over, and The Kid looked up. "Dad would never have fit up there." (His Dad physically-resembles Dwayne Johnson).
"We should still check," I said. "But I can't fit up there either." We had this same problem cleaning the corner kitchen cupboards. My shoulders were too wide to fit into them to clean, no matter what angle I twisted myself in.
"Where's a ladder? Bill asked.
"No ladder," The Kid and I both said. We had to clean the outer windows earlier in the week by him balancing on my shoulders, because it seemed easier than the long drive back to my place to bring one back.
I pulled my hiking torch out of my shorts, handed it to him as I knelt down, and we repeated our balancing act so he could have a look.
As he was trying to light the torch he said "I think there's something up here."
"Probably only around the hatch," I said. "Your Dad would have been too lazy to throw anything too far."
He reached in and handed something down. A copy of 'Swank', a magazine I didn't think genuinely-existed: I always assumed it was a parody.
Bill laughed, but then The Kid said "Uhhh... it looks like there's more."
"Gloves!" Bill said, and started for the back door to his truck, until the Kid said "It looks like a LOT more."
"See if the pages are stuck together," Bill said. "You might meet your brothers and sisters."
I winced. "Get my gloves too, while you're at it."
Bill ducked out the door, as a stack of magazines appeared next to my head. The Kid was already passing them down.
"Wait for the gloves," I said.
"I'm just trying to work out just how much is here," The Kid said, "There's so many I can't see behind them, even with the torch."
Suddenly, another teenage boy wandered in the back door, saying "Hey [The Kid], do you know there's some Biker in your backyard?" then stopped dead as he saw me.
"He's up there, " I said. "Cleaning."
He greeted his friend. "I'm cleaning dirt," The Kid called down, "but not exactly dirt." He passed another stack of magazines down. Pregnant porn.
His friend's jaw fell open. "No way."
"And he told me his Dad had no hobbies," I said.
The Kid called down. "Like, I know there were times I'd go away for a few days, and I thought he'd probably enjoy having the house to himself but, I didn't think..."
Bill came back in, eyed the newcomer warily, then tried to hand me the gloves.
I shook my head, "I'll need him back down or up to put them on." I looked up. "Can you pull yourself up?"
"I've got no upper body strength," The Kid said.
I nodded. "Funnily enough, neither did his Dad, given his size."
"Course not," Bill said. "All the exercise went into his right hand."
Newcomer snorted. "No, seriously, you're right. His Dad's forearms were HUGE."
Come to think of it. They were. Still, that won Bill over to the Newcomer, but I could see there was some work to do, so it was time to stop screwing around.
"Come down," I said to the Kid.
Bill pointed. "The Comes Up!"
I eventually got The Kid back on ground level. "There's so much of it".
Bill grumbled - "The things I do" - and I hoisted him in the air until he quickly-pulled himself into the roof.
"In his bloody sixties and he's fitter than all of us," I noted.
I heard a scattershot of expletives drift down, which is usually Bill-speak for something good.
His grinning head looked down the hatch at me. "You won't believe this, my man. He's cleaned every Sex Shop in the area out."
I motioned with my head. "These two can start their own. Hell, you've got the sign. They can make some money for Video Games."
"They could start a lending library. Loan them out for bills, hope they don't come back soggy."
I'd gotten my gloves on by now. "Just pass the damn things down, Boss."
So Bill started, whilst The Kid started explaining to his friend that he now had Cotton Sheets and how I'd taught him how to get quality on Sale by taking him around all the stores in town. "It seemed boring at first, but it made sense because then we knew what the average prices were. Go look in my room."
His friend hurried up, then came back. "Very flash. You won't want to stay over at my place any more."
"What do I look like," The Kid said, "Some 250 Thread Count Scrub?"
I was so busy laughing at this that Bill threatened to "drop the next load on my head".
I glared up at him. "I think enough loads have been dropped."
"No-one is ever going to believe this," Newcomer said.
The thing is, they kept coming down. On and on. And each time I'd think, 'well, that's got to be the end of it', and then Bill would be passing down even more, coupled with a rain of fibreglass insulation.
Newcomer just kept laughing more and more with each bundle. "You're kidding, right."
I shrugged as another pile came down. "Maybe he was trying to insulate the house."
"... Gash is warm," Bill said, not helping.
It got so ridiculous, that I stopped to take a quick photo to show Guy, knowing he wouldn't believe us, since we'd already found a bundle of porn mags under the car parts on the weekend. And this was only half of it, and even then, I don't think the picture really sells just how much of it there is there.
![[Image: 7SD9PT.jpg]](https://kek.gg/i/7SD9PT.jpg)
By the time it was all down, it had crossed the line from amusing to, well,
sad, so I didn't take a second one.
Noting the pornvalanche had finally subsided, I got under the hole so Bill could step down onto my shoulders. "Are you going to drop down or what?"
"I'm stuck, mate. All these..." exaggerated "...sexy girlies up here. I caught my hardon on the hatch."
Back on the ground, he had a clearer look, and motioned with his foot towards one. "... and that's what a double adapter looks like."
"I'm glad we looked up there to clean," The Kid said, "but... yeah, I wish we hadn't."
I was trying to take it all in. "And what do we do with it all?"
The Kid grinned. "Donate it to Vinnies!"
Bill loved that. "The boy's learning! Anyway, I guess you two lads are in for some fun times."
Newcomer looked grossed out.
Gen Z again. "We don't want it! Don't you two want it?"
"Fuck no!" I said.
"
We can
get laid," Bill added. "Stick mags are what you do when you can't."
And here we reach the point of the story: I recognised the Kid was in one of his deeper thought moments, so waited. As expected, he suddenly looked up and right into me.
"This is a big part of why Dad was like he was, isn't it?"
I nodded. "One of the bigger ones I imagine." Bill bit his tongue, sensing something important was being considered.
"Let's get rid of it. Clear the air."
This had happened a few days before, when we found what The Kid had dubbed as 'Smellmo' under a layer of dead grass and chicken shit in the backyard. A friend saw the picture and said "No, there's something
bad there," and warned us to
burn it with fire.
I had to say, "Already done, man." Both of us felt it.
![[Image: 6_zVzn.jpg]](https://kek.gg/i/6_zVzn.jpg)
-----
It took 18 large garbage bags to get them all tied up. My Ute was already filled with a load of garbage, so Bill and I tied it down and took it to the garbage tip and returned for the smut, when Bill got a call and had to head off quickly about the tow truck for the car.
The bags kept stretching and threatening to break - The Kid is across the road from a Public School and they were obviously-having a Somali Induction Day, because there were 100 screaming black children coming out of the gate and walking down the street towards us. I was thinking, "Great, these mags are going to spill all over the damn lawn, and someone will probably call us Racist before they call the cops, because all the girls are White," but we finally got them in.
That's when I realised Bill had driven off with my hardtop in the back of his truck. We'd locked it in as we went to the tip because, well, Housing Commission area.
"Look, I'll just get it out of here," I said to the Kid. "I won't chance going all the way to the dump, but if I can get it home, Bill can drop my hardtop back when he gets a chance, and I'll go to the tip first thing in the morning."
I drove home very carefully, but by the time I made it, all the bags had split and the entire back tray was a mess of porn. I was very damn a Cop hadn't pulled me over, especially one of the many Butch Dykes in town, given that I'm a muscular, obviously-heterosexual man with a tray load of Objectification, even before you could call it an Unsecured Load.
I knew I'd have to rebag it before tomorrow, but, given that it was 42 degrees this afternoon, and knowing my girlfriend is down the coast with her Grandmother for the weekend, I thought I'd put all the magazines in the lounge room and take advantage of the air conditioning to bag it up at my leisure later. It took me 30 minutes to get it all inside.
They filled my entire coffee table up past my knees. There's got to be 500 magazines there. I realised I'm very out of touch with the porn scene: back in my day when you'd have to dumpster dive behind a newsagents at night to find a coverless Penthouse or Playboy that's all there was, unless you were really lucky to get a Hustler.
None of the names meant anything to me, Swank, Foxxy, Cherrie. None of them looked worth a glance, because they all had that over-airbrushed and photoshopped Dead Doll look I hate. It'd be like jacking it to a corpse.
On top was what used to be called a Contact Mag, where you can see just how fat, ugly and desperate the average couple are. I noted that it shared the same name as the fictional one in 'Twin Peaks' - probably someone realised they could capitalize on pre-existing brand awareness, so I had a quick flip, wondering if I'd see Laura Palmer.
Nope, it was just guys thinking women really are that hard up for sex they'd have to send a letter to some random guy in a magazine, and chicks with visible fupas. There was a stink of desperation and sadness about it, and I thought of Smellmo, and thought "I'm glad that world isn't mine."
Then I flipped the page and saw what was obviously The Kid's Dad, even with a black bar across his eyes, and understood why I instinctively-picked it up. It's funny to think a guy that jacked, tall (6ft5) and, well,
horsehung was seemingly-incapable of getting laid.
I thought of his house, then came in here and browsed for a bit, then started typing my reply.
Halfway through, I remembered The Kid's words. "This is a big part of why Dad was like he was, isn't it?"
I thought of his Dad's sad picture again in the magazine.
I instinctively-understood that I'd just planted a
giant open doorway for darkness to enter my house in the middle of my lounge room.
I got up, thinking I could finish this reply later.
I spent another 30 minutes out in the sweltering heat, transferring it out into the back garden shed, as far away from my house as I could get them. Those girls with their plastic skin and dead eyes are gone the moment the tip is open in the morning.
I've seen where that Demon leads, and want no part of it. Even his Son understood, which is why I suspect I've been guided towards his care.
This doesn't seemingly have a lot to do with the music aspect of things - although it does - but it seemed worth sharing with you, regardless.
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