September 1: Blackening of His Soul, Revenge, Linda Gregg, "The Passion," Adventures of Stickman

In those moments, he [Ives] would pray for guidance, for wishing death upon another seemed so ugly that each time it occurred he felt a blackening of his soul.

When Robert's killer is released from juvenile detention after serving his sentence, many people from Ives' neighborhood urge Ives to do "right" by his son.  Someone even sends Ives a .22 pistol to take care of the job.  Ives throws the gun into the river and prays for forgiveness to enter his heart, which is full of anger and grief.

I think we all experience moments like the one described above.  Dark moments when we contemplate dark things.  For example, I have been struggling a great deal in the past week with anger.  You all know that.  At times in the past seven days, I have wished heart attacks, strokes, and professional failure on several people.  Of course, like Ives, I felt incredibly guilty afterward and turned to prayer.

Revenge is ugly.  It's fun to think about, but, in the end, it really doesn't make any situation better.  For instance, I am currently having an issue with certain colleagues at the university, one of whom I barely even know.  After seeing this person in the hallway of the department this afternoon, I sat in my office for a while, imagining this person having a psychotic break, showing up tomorrow dressed like Donald Trump and accusing everybody of being illegal aliens.  I have to admit that the fantasy gave me quite a bit of pleasure.

In the end, however, I know that I will always have crosses to bear, injustices to endure.  That's the way life is.  It simply isn't fair, and I have to learn to accept that.  People are hired for jobs that I want.  People win writing contests that I enter.  People live in better houses, drive better cars, earn more money than me--even if they are not kind, not talented, and not very Godly.  It sucks, but that's the way the world is.

So, tonight, I'm trying to accept my life situation.  I'm praying for guidance, and I'm hoping a little grace comes my way.

Saint Marty doesn't think that's too much to ask.

The Passion

by:  Linda Gregg

What is death to the man who is already dead?
What are cucumbers to him, or the color
of the sea?  Surely the people God loves most,
and trusts more, are passionate.
They listen to the wind in dry wild grass.
They know what is beautiful survives
in those who contain the farthest place.
It is true that the voice of heaven promises
a place without hunger or thirst.  But clearly
it is not harmony, peace, or wisdom we see
in the face of the risen Christ.  It is
the carnage of rapture, lovers transformed
into glory by the crucifixion of their hearts.

Adventures of STICKMAN

May 11: Lost Job, Revenge in Writing, Anger

At the moment, I'm so pissed I can barely think straight.  A few weeks ago, my wife, who has been out of work for over a year and a half, got hired by a local gas station for the afternoon shift, part-time.  The manager, let's call her Judge Moody, made herself appear to be a caring, considerate, family-oriented, understanding woman.  She hired my wife on the spot.  For the last three weeks, Judge Moody has been horrible--critical, unhelpful, petty, stupid, childish, and unapproachable.  Today, she called my wife up and left a message on our answering machine, saying, "You don't need to come into work tonight.  Your services are no longer required."

A lot of authors say you shouldn't use writing as a form or revenge.  At the moment, I sort of agree with Anne Lamott, who basically says there is no better reason to write.  She says you own the bad things in your life--failed marriages, lost jobs, rotten siblings or parents--and, if people didn't want to end up the subject of your novel or poem or memoir, they should have treated you better.  That makes a lot of sense to me, right now.

Of course, I have to be careful.  I don't want to slander or libel anybody.  I don't want any collateral damage.  Judge Moody has a reputation for being difficult.  Whenever my wife told anybody where she'd been hired, the person would nod knowingly, say something like, "Judge Moody runs a tight ship" or "Judge Moody is difficult."  The woman goes through employees like bags of Doritos, chewing them up and shitting them out.  She told my wife that, when she was young, she wanted to be a WAC in the army.  Basically, she wanted to be a drill sergeant.  No big surprise there.  Nothing satisfies this woman, unless it involves ridicule, criticism, or mean-spiritedness.

I will not say anything about the business itself.  I'm not that kind of person.  I believe in supporting local establishments, even if it's part of a multinational corporation.  However, ever since the Gulf oil spill, I can't really understand why people still support this chain of gas stations.  The company basically ruined the shrimping and tourism industry along the Gulf of Mexico, and yet it still made a few billion dollars in profit last year.  But I'm not going to name the place my wife used to work.  That's just not me.

Go to Judge Moody's gas station, support this woman's tiny dictatorship.  I will not think less of you if you do.  After all, vengeance is such an unseemly business.  Just make sure to salute before you leave.  And don't feel guilty at all about all the lives that were ruined in Louisiana.

Saint Marty feels better now that he has that off his chest.

A pretty good likeness of Judge Moody

May 2: Final Grades, Birthday Present, Short Story

My whole goal today was to submit the final semester grades for the classes I taught and to finish writing the short story for my friend's birthday present tomorrow.  Well, I completed the first part of that task at about 8 a.m.  The rest of the morning was spent completing the second part of that task.

Grades submitted.  Check.

Story done.  Check-check.

I will be giving my friend her cocker spaniel story tomorrow.  Also, tomorrow, I will post my cocker spaniel story.  I think it turned out really well.  It has made a few people cry, which either means it was really, really bad or really, really sentimental or really, really good.  Unless told otherwise, I'm going with the last option.  When I post it tomorrow, you can comment and let me know if it sucks.

I've also been invited to do a couple of poetry readings this summer in the Marquette area.  That's very exciting.  I haven't done a full-blown poetry reading in a long time.  We'll see how it goes.  It's very strange.  My Lenten poetry exercise seems to be reaping benefits in more ways than one.

Of course, last night I watched President Obama announce on TV that Osama bin Laden had been killed.  I'm not the kind of person who will join a street party celebrating the death of a mass murderer.  I do believe in justice, but the kind of jubilation being shown on the news seems more appropriate for the success of an Olympic hockey team, not the killing of a terrorist.  I think the world is going to be a safer place without bin Laden around, but I'm not going to host a Bye bye bin Laden Luau.  I do think the 9-11 families will have a little peace now.  But let's remember:  the death of one man doesn't make up for the loss of over three thousand lives.

I'm not against vengeance, as long as it involves the humiliation of writers who don't deserve to be published or win awards.  (Can you hear me, Professor Ihateyourshittywriting?)

Saint Marty just prays for peace, for the entire world.

You might not know this is funny, but it is.