Thursday, 27 October 2011

God Talks to Me Through Demons.

"Yeah I'd break bread and wine
If there was a church
I could receive in.
Coz I need it now."

God talks to me through demons. I found this out the way I find everything else out in life ... the hard way.

I had to go to church every Sunday when I was a kid. First Holy Communion, Confirmation, the whole shebang. Why do the Catholics have the biggest, most gory Jesus's in their churches? Is it a competition? I'd walk in, look up at the blood and the pain and the thorns. And think only one thing .... "This is all my fault." I would not have enough sins to tell the priest, so I'd just make them up. That was when I knew I was going to hell.

When you know you're already going to hell ... why even try to be good anymore?

A few months after the suicide of my dad, I had a meeting with my priest. I just wanted to know if he was ok, or if he was in purgatory. The priest wrinkled his nose in disgust and told me it was too late to be worried about him now. Nothing could be done. I walked straight out of his office without saying a word, did not even shut the door. I had just turned 17, and started my long walk down some pretty dark paths.


A few moons ago, I had a rough trot. This is code for, "losing my ever-loving mind AGAIN." Badly. It was bad. I can't elaborate ... what happened in the mental breakdown, stays in the mental breakdown. It's between me and God. And I say the word "God" out of habit. I lost my shiz, all in my head. Some demons may have made guest appearances. I'm actually being literal. (I realise that I sound like a complete lunatic. That's because I am a complete lunatic.)

At the end of it, I went through a series of spiritual lessons. Or something. I made many deals with God. I got into my car, both of my dead dads ghosts were in the back seat. In the middle was the sad red-haired child they ignored and that was their punishment. I drove us all to recovery meetings. We got through it, and now I'm stronger than I have ever been in my entire life.

Any questions?


My friend Lerner is an Americano living in England. She said she'd love some rosary beads but she can't because she's not Catholic. I said mate, I'm Catholic. I'll get you some rosary beads. So I did - purple, because they're her favourite colour. From the Catholic shop in Katoomba Street called "Sanctus" I don't like this shop, it's too expensive and the last time I checked, the Catholics were filthy rich.

I thought I'd go one better, and get the beads blessed by the local Catholic priest. I took my yellow rosary beads too ... I bought these for $2 at LA Ink back in August. I wondered if the priest would say no, to blessing yellow plastic rosary beads?

I toyed with the idea of sitting down with the priest, and doing my confession for the first time since I was 17. Not to absolve myself, just to watch his reaction. But I wasn't allowed to see him - the lady in the parish office told me to leave the beads, the priest would bless them, and come back at 4pm. So I did. When I picked them up, they felt holier.

Then I went to the post office to post the purple ones to Lerner.

I found the most appropriate card. Lerner got the package yesterday, and wrote about it HERE.

Ironic that I bought a set of rosary beads from a shop I hate and got them blessed by a man whose religion I don't believe in anymore. But my faith in God is the strongest and most rock solid it's ever been.

(How do you athiests do it? I'm fascinated.)

I've decided to do the strangest giveaway the blogworld has ever seen ... I'm giving away my blessed $2 yellow plastic rosary beads.

                          They're called boobs, Ed.
They're pretty cool. I bought them from Kat Von D's gallery next door to LA Ink (High Voltage) the day I got my skattoo. See HERE.

If you want them, just leave me a comment. You don't have to say why, or have a blog, or be Catholic. They'd look pretty cool hanging from a rear-view mirror. I'll pick the winner randomly this Sunday.

When I should be at church.

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