atomic_fungus (atomic_fungus) wrote,
atomic_fungus
atomic_fungus

#5560: Well, perfect. My church is on the cusp of being completely converged.

We have our first openly lesbian bishop. This woman has a "wife" and everything.

Proving that there is still some sanity in the higher echelons of the church, the election is being challenged, but the fact that a lesbian could win election in the first place does not bode well.

Vox neatly sums up my opinion on the matter:
This really isn't that hard. Any acceptance of same-sex relationships is sufficient to not only defrock a minister or a deacon, much less a bishop, but merits immediate expulsion from the church. Any so-called "Christian" church that embraces formalized sin, of any kind, is clearly nothing of the sort. This is not even remotely debatable.
It's not. For thousands of years marriage has been between a man and a woman, and homosexuality has been a sin. ("Sodomy", for the record.) This woman and her "wife" are living in sin, and their partnership is a parody of the sacrament of marriage.

If she were not "married" to another woman, she might be able to present the image of a celibate homosexual (regardless of whether she actually was) which would at least lampshade her complete abandonment of Christ's teachings; but of course as Vox makes plain in his post, making people accept the violations is the point.

Being a homosexual is not itself a sin. But it is a sin to act on the urges that come with being a homosexual. When a person then "marries" a member of the same sex, it doesn't negate the sin; it magnifies it.

Let me construct a parallel example: let's say we have a member of the clergy who is a pedophile. Pedophilia is a sin. We expect the pedophile not to act on his urges, and we lock him up if he does. If this minister never acts on his urges, never lets anyone know about them, there's nothing to say about it; but if this minister has sexual relations with a 10-year-old girl it's a sin, and if it's discovered, he's defrocked and goes to jail. If he gets someone to marry him to the girl and calls her his "wife" he's still sinning. (As far as I know, there is nowhere in the United States where an adult can legally wed a child, even of the opposite sex.) Certainly he would never be elected a bishop.

A church that has openly gay "married" couples in its leadership might as well change its name to something like "Rainbow Happy Kristian Free-For-All" because it's not Christianity.

* * *

Still plenty of legs in race hucksterism.
The book is so repetitious one gets a sense of its entire message from two pages of its "Invocation": Blacks are not free; they are "ensnared." Whites are "tormentors" and nothing blacks can do will "stop their evil." Blacks cannot convince whites that "we are your children and don't deserve this punishment." Whites are "slaughtering us in the streets" because they want "to remove us from the face of the earth." Whites "are lying through their teeth." Whites "are invested in their own privilege" so "they cannot afford to see how much we suffer." "White folk act like the devil is all in them." Dyson watches helplessly as racism threatens to snuff the life out of his grandchildren.

What the hell is Dyson doing in the US? Genocide, he insists, is inescapable. The borders are open. He has money. Why isn't he on a plane?
Hey, Dyson? We elected a black man President, twice. STFU.

That is my answer for any and all accusations that American is racist.

* * *

"Youths" loot and pillage a BART train. "Police were apparently not able to respond to the crime scene in time because the teenagers conducted the alleged crimes in such a swift fashion."

No information given on the ethnicity of the "teenagers". If they had been white, it would have been all over the article. You draw the conclusion.

* * *

Speaking of unruly mobs, another town enacts a "no masks" ordinance which is only going to make it harder for the antifa fascists to get away with felony rioting and aggravated assault.

* * *

Democrats repeatedly tell us there is no vote fraud in the United States, which is why we don't need any kind of voter ID laws, so this story about vote fraud is obviously fake news.
"Some violators appear to be ‘testers' trying to find holes in the system," the audit says. "Others claim property ownership in multiple jurisdictions should allow them to vote in each, and others brush past the law to support their candidate by any means necessary. Additionally, a case that initially appears to be a double voter—an individual who votes twice—may actually be a case of voter impersonation—an individual who casts a ballot using the identity of another person."
Nope, Democrats say it doesn't happen, so this story is impossible.

Yeah. Right.

* * *

"My vagina has its own voice." Well, can I suggest that you let it do the singing? Because you're terrible.

"My sex junk is so oh oh oh".

Seriously, go watch that video. If I can stand to watch it, you can. This has to be the most fatuous crap I've ever seen in my life. It would be hilarious if it weren't so tragic.

First comment nails it: "This is vulgar, crude, and disgusting. It reflects the liberal values so well."

It really does. No surprise Bill Nye the Global Warmenating Guy is behind it.

* * *

John C. Wright's take on the Beauty and the Beast remake.

* * *

Changing differentials in a Miata. That's a pretty sizable task, and I have to say it sounds to me as if this guy really doesn't have a lot of experience with wrenching.

If I were doing that job, I would take everyone's "Three hours!" estimate and triple it, because "I'm doing this for the first time!"

Og can yank the front differential from a Ford Explorer and install a new one in a day. That doesn't mean I think I could do the same--and I've replaced engines.

Oh well.

* * *

Kim du Toit knocks one out of the park.

* * *

As for me, last night I--after adding seven pages--put the "space war 1" part of the book to bed. The battle takes 24 pages to play out--from 103 to 127 in my single-spaced draft--and when I sat down to read it, I found that it reads fast. I didn't notice turning pages, and found myself at the end of it thinking, "Wait, I thought this was longer...?"

The thing that I love best is when I'm writing something like this, and suddenly I realize that "what happens next" is something I foreshadowed 50 pages earlier, and it makes the scene more exciting. And you know what the best part is?

It was because of this. It was because I realized you couldn't put 50 megawatt beam cannons in Manhattan without vaporizing half of New York City and blinding everyone on the eastern seaboard.

I still have some surface combat stuff to handle. I must remember the line, "Well...at least he looked fabulous," too. (I am not going to forget it like I did the other politically incorrect joke I had planned.)

Once done writing and reading, I was so pumped I had trouble getting to sleep. I was in that mode--psychologists call it a "flow state"--which I usually liken to the scene in Amadeus, where he's furiously writing music and all this lush orchestral sound is crashing all around him, and someone interrupts him and suddenly it's dead silent as he looks up from the page. (Again, I do not liken my talent to his. But that's what it's like.)

I sat here, listening to the Mirror's Edge: Catalyst soundtrack, and rattling keys for the better part of five hours, stopping only to hit the can or grab a snack. I wish I could describe what it feels like. It's not so much "in the brain, on the page", because there's a process which refines the text before it comes out through the fingers. It's like rapidly assembling components, stacking modules together--like a pick-and-place machine populating a circuit board with surface mount devices faster than the eye can see. Idea becomes narrative becomes text, rapid-fire, without thinking, and because of long training and practice nothing interferes with the process. I don't notice that I'm typing on a keyboard; in fact the only thing that really exists is the words themselves. I'm in the world I'm describing, single-framing through a movie and telling the reader what I see, and there is nothing else.

It ends with me laying in bed, trying to sleep, and failing. Every time I start to drift off, something occurs to me and it wakes me up. The big one last night was, "What do the ships look like?" I realized belatedly that I'd failed to describe them; in fact I've done nothing to explain to the reader why these starships have to hit each other with gigaton bombs and multi-megawatt lasers. So I'll have to go back and shoehorn in some descriptions, which means figuring out for myself what the damned things look like in detail. But those are details, not important to the narrative.

But I went to bed last night grateful to God that I can experience something like this. Whatever it is that I do to create these stories, it doesn't really come from me.
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