Fu fu fu. Still a bit spent after the whole writing and tinkering of Mirrors of Eris (“www.mirrorsoferis.com — for all your faux nuttery needs!”). Most of the new, i.e. not-reprint-from-here, stuff there was written during the last two weeks; what can I say except that the will to write rides you when it wants to. Here’s something I managed to bang together while trying to avoid the voice that says “Hey! Write a faux consp piece that says JFK was the Second Coming!” —
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You really do your best to be as much a dick as you can, don’t you?
I mean, acting like you’re a caring father after abandoning us your children to this metaphorical cold and dangerous street that is life. You would be angry, I suppose, if one of us abandoned his children to face mortal dangers and depravities and crushing uncertain loneliness all alone — but you’re just the same.
No, you don’t get to pull the character-building excuse. This world breaks more characters than it builds. Neither the one that we’re adults, we’ll survive. Look over the past few millennia — plagues, floods, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, rape, murder and wild beasts human and inhuman — take a look at the average lifespan over the past few millennia. It took us thousands of years to get over smallpox and polio; we’re still dying in droves of cancer. It’s been a fairly shitty time since you ran away. You’re really some abusive parent, aren’t you?
It didn’t get better when you tried to tell us what kind of a person you were, and why you were away all the time, through these letters we call holy books. You know what? Don’t lie to your children. Don’t tell all these Flood and Creation and miracle fairytales and then try to say you didn’t mean to lie, we got it wrong, there’s some “spiritual” or “moral” truth in them. You know what we’d call a father that said he was sailing with the navy when he was really in a jail? A liar. You knew we would find out, and you knew it would hurt. You knew we would make a mess of it trying to “get to the navy” and just getting hurt: stoning “witches”, killing infidels, feeling like crap because of all the things you said we should be… and that are now just you being a bad communicator. And you bet we are feeling disoriented and betrayed.
One more thing, Father, before this letter is over: Who made you the boss? What makes you think you can do with your children whatever you want, especially with the hash you’ve made of our lives so far? We’re young and silly but even we know better than that. Might does not make right down here; why should it be any different up there in the heavens? We’re children no more. Why should we think you anything but a monster as you throw this child aside into the flames as “not good enough”, and decide this other is “good enough to forgive”? We’re thinking, feeling beings, all of us; don’t treat us like toys. I didn’t choose you to be a lord over me; I say you’re an undependable character unsuited for this work; I am not impressed with you.
Have some decency and don’t bother us no more.