FANTASY AND THE FUTURE

July 26, 2014 - Leave a Response

Bob Woodruff said, “If you want to change the future, first you must imagine it.”

Not all writers of fiction write about the future, but all fiction writers imagine a world that isn’t true. It’s a story created in their minds.  Characters who do not really exist.  Situations that did not happen. Conversations never put to voice. Struggles that are fantasies.

All readers of classic literature will think of George Orwell’s 1984. Orwell was a prolific writer, and liberal  socialist,  who wrote about a future where the rulers controlled everything. Actions and thoughts  were monitored and manipulated.  Passion, truth, and individualism were a danger to the  members of this  state. His vision of the world has come to an almost eerie pass today.

The American journalist and prolific writer, Chris Hedges, writes in Death of the Liberal Class (2010) “….magical thinking, the idea that human and personal progress is somehow inevitable, leads to political passivity….It has turned whole nations, such as the United States, into self-consuming machines of death.”

To bring us current on Kauai’s machine of death, all we need do is turn to the daily newspaper, The Garden Island. Almost every day we read about a living creature on the island who must be eliminated. Feral cats-according to some-responsible for the extinction of wild bird life . Crowing roosters and all wandering free range chickens-practically our island bird, they’re so beautiful-must be killed. Parakeets? Out with them. Coqui frogs? Noise polluters more annoying than helicopters, jets, drones, boom boxes, motorcycles or grumbling, rumbling over-size trucks carrying who- knows what, roaring up and down the highways day and night.  Ubiquitous traffic jams.  Horns honk, brakes squeal, humans and sirens scream.

Our super active military might,  RimPac and a ‘Naval Battle Gun Rodeo’ , with a 28 death quota allowed on mammals of the sea, wage visible war fare off shore.  This morning, Saturday, July 26, 2014, a whale beached itself and died in Hanalei. Coral reefs are dying. Ground water, fresh air, the very earth we walk and grow food on, are fouled by unlimited toxic herbicides and pesticides  sprayed everywhere without disclosure of quantity or brand. We know these toxins kill bees.

Truth, our planet is presently engaged in the sixth extinction and there are many who cheer and some who profit.

So how does a writer of fiction, with a passionate concern for life and living things, tell a story about Kauai that brings all this  madness into perspective?

Pare it down. In Children of the Extinction, I had to, as a friend said, bump off a lot of guys. Our number one problem: too many people? Solved.  Kauai cannot support the existing population and land speculators and tax collectors  want to bring in more. That had  to stop. Our economic system is a disaster. Out. Money is worthless. Power? Lights, water, communication, computers,  sewage and modern appliances out. Traffic problems solved. Can’t pump gas.

To me, as a writer of fiction, it was better  to do the above problems in than living things.

 

FICTION

July 18, 2014 - One Response

There’s a profound saying, “The best liars are: actors and actresses, fiction writers, politicians.

Actors and actresses?  What could be a more radiant  lie than pretending to be someone else  on stage or screen? I mean, you are you, who you are, and being somebody you’re not is a lie performed, hopefully,  well enough  your deceit  makes a captive audience-who knows who you are- believe you’re somebody else.

I’m an actress. I love to act. I’m the sort of  actress who suffers opening night nerves every night. My knees knock.I shiver and shake. I’m miserable. Then  the curtain goes up, or I make an entrance, and- whoop-de-do- I’m somebody else. Bettejo’s back stage, knees knocking, quaking, miserable. The most difficult role I ever played was Fonzia Dorsey- in The Gin Game- a  self-righteous over- the- hill diabetic in a seedy  old folk’s home who I really disliked. There was a humorous quality here but a nastiness slopped through.

Fiction? I love writing fiction. I get lost in the story. I love or hate my characters, but every word I put on paper, page after page, is a lie. This is true of any piece of fiction written by any writer. The scary part of this  is when the book is published and you wait for the reader’s response. You hope he or she loves it as much as you.

Politicians? Skip it.

The interesting part about fiction and acting, however-the hidden dimension-is that these lies are creative endeavors. One is using the ‘gift’-or curse- to lie in a positive manner.  No harm is intended. A story  is to be told. A play  to be performed. The theater goer has come to the theater to be fooled-transported, lost for a while in an other world-as does the reader to a book.

A fictitious piece of story telling  is fantasy and the writer hopes the reader joins her on the journey she’s concocted. Some stories are so compelling the reader-and the writer- may want to read it over and over. My husband read  Franny and Zooey once every year. A reader wrote of Salinger that he didn’t think he’d like  him because he was such an incredibly believable liar. He missed the point, of course. Salinger told his lies on paper.

As a writer I’d  rather make people laugh. Laughter is good. I think The THE SCAM is a cute, funny, piece about life in the 60’s on Kauai. CHILDREN of the EXTINCTION takes a hundred and 180 degree turn. Kauai, in the future, is not funny. But the  characters are very human and laughter is a very human quality. Even in some of the scariest scenes, they find laughter. They also find every emotion humans  can experience. Evil emotions as well. CHILDREN is a most controversial book. I come down hard on a subject one is not supposed to come down on. There is a Dark Side. That’s part of the story-telling experience. Will the Dark Side win?

If you read me on Amazon, scan through SCAM  first.

 

ADDICTION

July 14, 2014 - Leave a Response

Is writing an addiction? You bet’cha.

If you’re a writer and you don’t write everyday, you’re a bum.

What’s so compelling about putting words on paper or screen? For me, I’m Irish, if I didn’t get words out of my head and onto  something substantial, my head would burst. I’m full of words. My mother said I was born with my tongue tied in the middle and wagging at both ends.

I kid and tell everybody I’m the strong silent type. Some of my dearest friends have adopted the time out two finger gesture. It  makes me laugh and sometimes  shuts me  up. Not always. Also like to joke around, “It’s a good thing there’s paper, ink, screens, and letters, otherwise the  world would go deaf.”

What’s my favorite genre of writing?  Letters to the editors, columns, and fiction. Letters to the editors, columns,  essays, and term papers are  similar. Fiction is different. Don’t write so many essays anymore.  Loved writing term papers. I could always raise my grade average if an end-of-the-term  paper was part of the deal. One of my favorite stories: Dr. Pencharz.  She wore a red wig and she didn’t like me. I was supposed to be the ‘goat’ and she participated in the harassment. Freshman year in college. Sixteen. Scrawny. Psych 101 was filled to the brim with big kids. Serious business. This was the gateway to their life’s work. I think of the horror they must have caused poor patient if they reached their professional goal.

The first nasty tease  I remember vividly. I was sent on an errand. When I came back to the classroom there were two  parallel  lines drawn on the board. One above the other. Equal length. One had arrows pointed out. One had arrows pointed in. The entire class was asked which line was longer. Everyone  said the line with the arrows pointed out was longer. Ridiculous. I was the only one who said they were equal. Wow!  I was yelled at, screamed at, shouted at.  Called stupid-you name it-while Pencharz sat there with a smirk. I never caved and I think that made her mad. I didn’t get good grades.

At the end of the year we were allowed to write a term paper which would become 1/3 of our grade average. We numbered our papers because Pencharz knew she could not grade you fairly if she didn’t like you. My paper didn’t come back. I went to the desk.

“Did you do one?” She had a voice like gravel, tacks, and broken glass shaken in a rusty pot.

I nodded.

She asked for my number. I told her.

She  drew forth  from a spanken clean manila folder a paper. It was, I’ll bet, the only A+ paper she ever gave anyone. She crumpled and threw it at me, “Who did it for you,” she graveled.

So much for Psych 101.

Next week?  Fiction. CHILDREN of the EXTINCTION. . My new work. Don’t forget  my book signing bash at Birdie’s Cafe, August 16, 3-6PM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IN THE ZONE

July 5, 2014 - Leave a Response

In the zone. Athletes understand the term. Runners run in the zone. They know when in the  zone they are running at their best. It’s not  running. it’s being running.

Writers understand the term, too.  Shirley McClain calls it channeling. As a writer, I think all my books have been written in the Zone. Certainly THE SCAM, CHILDREN OF THE EXTINCTION and the sequel, CLAIR CHILD OF THE EXTINCTION A Love Story were.

One of my favorite story tellers, Dean Koontz,  said THE WATCHERS-a story, I couldn’t put it down-was written in the Zone. Tolkien, in the Hobbit,  speaks of a tall Big Person who Bilbo  sees entering the gates. Tolkien had never seen him before, but he  turns out to be an important person in the trilogy.

That’s how it works. The creative mind, in the Zone, takes over. In The SCAM. Karen, the narrator, watches someone run from her barn, shoes in hand, and says, “That’s the last we saw of Gypsy Jake.” He turned out to be a most important person in the story. I, as the writer of this  little book, had no idea who he was.

In CHILDREN OF THE EXTINCTION, I got the children, and the women looking out for them, in such a terrible mess I went to bed  thinking, ‘How am I going to get them out of this?’The next day,  one of the little kids trapped  in this horror  told me how. I didn’t know. He did.

Every writer, I think, has his own style of writing. Hemingway wrote standing up. Read everything he’d written before before he began to write again. Once he said to his wife, about his work, FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS,   “Today they’re going to blow up the bridge.”

For me, I know  my characters, my location, I know the story-how it will start and how it will end, and send them on a journey. They travel-hypothetically-from San Francisco to New York. On the way they’ll run out of gas, take a detour, meet good guys and bad guys, get lost,  get a flat tire and, somehow, reach their destination.

When I’m in the Zone, I sit at the computer and take dictation. I love to write first person narrative, let a character in the book tell the story. CHILDREN of the EXTINCTION is written in a woman’s voice.  She does not always speak grammatically. People don’t talk with complete sentences,  capital letters, periods. I never knew one  who talked with semi-colons. Kurt Vonnegut said, “Never use a semi-colon.”

People speak over each other. Finish sentences.  Speak in fragments. My computer has a fit. Some Editors do, too.

Writers read. Voraciously. Learn. Create their own style. Tell their own stores their own way.

I think you’ll love CHILDREN OF THE EXTINCTION. Find it on Amazon Books  CHILDREN OF THE EXTINCTION Bettejo Dux. And soon at Talk Story book store in Hanapepe. Come to my Big Bettejo Birthday Book Signing Bash at Birdies August 16, 3-6PM. See’ya there.

 

SAGA

June 28, 2014 - Leave a Response

Every story has a past.

How did I get from funny SCAM to serious CHILDREN? From drollery to drama in twenty-four  planetary revolutions?   It’s a sad leap.  It should have been a happy one. From David Letterman to Rush Limbaugh. From Madeline Kunin to Sarah Palin. From Isaac Asimov to James Dobson. From America  going sane to America going mad. From a world with a future to a world going extinct.

From relative economic stability to economic collapse. From ignorance of global change  to a chilling concern.  From a cold war to endless wars. From a world with hope of feeding hungry mouths to a world where, in some circles, hungry mouths are  a punishment from on high. From wealth, the acquisition of vast riches in few hands proving god was on your side. From a world with hopes and dreams to a dark world filled with-powered by, financed by, infiltrated with-voices welcoming  the end of times. Praying for it. Working for it. Nourishing it.

They feed on death. Not life.

Kauai, today,  is the eye of this fictions storm. A microcosm of what could be. Over populated. Riddled, burdened  with hunger, homeless, sickness, crime, drugs, corruption, military might–the Defense Department is  the largest employer in the state. On Kauai.  The world IS  in the throes of the Sixth Extinction. It is. That is a fact.

This was my foundation. I just moved it along. Sped it up. The future. Not so hot. The triple whammy, pandemic, hurricane, tsunami. Kauai, the only island in the  archipelago that stands a  chance of making it. A slim chance. Will it be the cradle of a new civilization? The beginning of a New Dark Age? Who are the players? What is the game? What about the children?

Now, before you’ve all run off and crawled under the bed, I gave those people hope. I gave these people a ruined island rich with sunshine, water, land. Hidden valleys. Loving hands. Precious children. Rich with talented,  hard-working people who have survived the apocalyptic crash  and have a plan. Are working on a plan. Working to make it work. Confronted with a group who want to see it fail. Who have other plans.  The dark side, if you will, of the struggle.  And it will be a struggle, Many confrontations. It moves from one encounter to another. For 387 pages I lead you through, beckon  you  to follow. You’ll love and hate  them. You’ll fear and fight them. You’ll be with’em or agin them.

Bob Woodruff said, “To change the future, first you have to imagine it.” Reilley, the narrator of this epic said, “They were the best of men at the worst of time.” You’ll travel with her through madness and despair.

She  runs the gamut of fear and hope, of struggle and sex and sadness, of youth and age, of laughter and adventure.  There is not a human condition she has not had need  to address. And you’ll meet a search and rescue dog who will steal your heart.

 

Children of the Extinction

June 21, 2014 - 2 Responses

There  is a river. It’s called Amazon.  On that river, the best book I ever wrote,  CHILDREN OF THE EXTINCTION drifts like a golden straw in a torrential library so vast, and overflowing with debris, it  boggles.

When The Scam, my humorous novel, flew to New York in 1985, it snagged a New York Agent. it was  a  fledgling trying its wings in the biggest apple tree in America. In those days my books began on long yellow legal scratched and scarred with lead from loaded pencils,then typed on pristine  sheets of paper on a portable typewriter my husband had taken  to college.  He often  laughed and said I married him because he had one.

Bill  wanted to be the  writer but, turned out, I was. Why I started so late in life-I was 24-is another story. As I advanced through the ranks he bragged to pals I was a budding Dorothy Parker. Most of my first published works were humor. Humor’s hard to write, hard to sell, but I was pretty good at it. I got jobs in the writing business, a  Windward side weekly, The Pali Press, then uptown for the Honolulu Star Bulletin/Advertiser Sunday paper.  The two majors jointly published Sunday. I also acted professionally, at the Hilton, where I excelled as a comedian. Love making people laugh.

Then Kauai. One of the loveliest islands in the world. A third world country-sugar was king-with a different idea of what the wife of a department head- a knight at the table- should be. Spout party line.  Don’t rock boat. Give and go to parties. Play the game.  I didn’t excel at the party/game playing  level and spoke my mind. Neither publishing nor theater was at its peak. Back to writing meant: letters, columns, political, peace  and environmental criticism. The Garden Island Newspaper-wonderful Editors and staff-became my friends.

After my husband died I self-published The Scam. A timeless, funny piece about hippies in the 60’s,  which is why New York didn’t publish it. “Wouldn’t touch the 60’s with a ten foot pole,” said they-1985.  Today-2014- they will. The  good old days remembered. The future plundered with religious end- of -the- world vicious madness.

Which brings us to EXTINCTION. The mess we’ve made of this planet, this island, is heart breaking stuff.  Today to get published one must first get a NY agent and the odds against that are 30,000 to one. I won’t put my horse in that race, but I’m compelled to tell the truth. To write my heart out in a whole new game. Computers. Words on a screen  flashing through cyber like ET through space. Kauai in the future. A future gone bad. An apocalyptic time, “They were the best of men at the worst of times,” says the narrator of this sad tale and I’ll introduce you to this story, bit by bit. Peopled with characters so real you’ll feel you’ve known them forever. And a search and rescue dog who’ll quickly find a way into your hearts.

 

LOVE BOAT

June 7, 2014 - One Response

I’m stuck on the love boat. The emotion is such a powerful one it can be applied to anything. For an example: I love tomato soup. I mean, I love it. So does my digestive system. So do my taste buds. With my loveable VitaMix I can build a tomato soup that never tastes the same way twice.

Those are my taste buds talking, In my new book, Children of the Extinction, the kids do a lot of eating and, as I sit at my computer, I get a raging case of the munchies. Good thing I enjoy non- fattening snacks.

There are loves that strike my ears, too. I love Gaite Parisienne and Joan Baez . I love harps and pipes and the song of the birds. The screech of the parrot, the thunder of a peacock’s voice.

Fragrance? I love Shalimar. My mother always smelled of Shalimar. Her closets. Her dresser drawers. Her bathroom. Your could nose her presence a block away.

For the eyes? I love green plants, tall trees, red flowers. I love blue skies, grey skies, gold skies in the morning, red skies at night. I love moon glow, star shine and rainbow glitter. Ever seen a moon rainbow? ‘They’ say you’re not an Hawaiian until you’ve seen one.

‘They’ say los of things.

I love ink on paper. Words. I love the English language. I love Vonnegut and Thurber and Sandberg.

What do I love to touch the most? My horse’s thick mane, my dog’s silky ears. I guess, today, what I love most are animals. All animals. The good, the bad and the ugly. A world without animals? Horrors.

I recall a debate as to whether animals have souls. It’s an interesting idea to a devout non-believer-who does not ‘believe’ in souls, but who does know, if there is such a thing, animals have one, too.

Gary Zukov,of all people, one of the finest interpreters of frontier science, believes animals have collective souls. His Seat of the Soul is a “readable , thought provoking (work) on how our perceptions must change dramatically if we are to survive.” If you have a curious, loving mind I hope you find and read it.

What I do know from years of observation? From an open mind that can look and ask questions and not get totally lost in the god/no god thing? Loving all animals, that’s us, too, is a good idea.. Our closest living relative is the chimp. We can exchange blood- providing our type is the same, of course- and that, to me, a devout non believer is a wonderful thing to think. I love that we’re related to this incredible creature.

I hope all of you reading this will share with me this love. Wlll love all animals on this planet. Even us guys.

The essence is all about love. The love of life. Be thankful you’re a living thing on such a beautiful planet. Let’s hope greedy, lesser minds do not destroy it.

 

MEET THE COSMIC PSYCHOPATH FACE TO FACE

May 27, 2014 - Leave a Response

We’re in for a bad time.The struggle to protect freedom is a constant worry to those who love our country.What’s most disturbing is the obvious inclusion of a dark politically religious undertone ‘the secret fundamentalism at the heart of American power’, as Jeff Sharlet wrote in his bestseller ‘The FAMILY’. it’s time to confront the Christian Mafia and the ‘murky, menacing men’ who run it. More cult than religion it rears its ugly head like some primitive beast risen from the grave to hound and confound. Barbara Ehrenreich insists we read the book but ‘not alone at night’. Heed her advice.

So powerful and insidious is this family of Nazi cultists it strains the senses to acknowledge its existence. But there is no denying Sharlet. He’s a fine writer, a respected journalist, editor, researcher and historian. His elegant ‘passionate, principled, and powerful’ expose has won praise from thinking people around the world.

Shake your head. Hide from the truth. This is the year 2014! Truths like these don’t belong. The Age of Reason can’t have died. We won the Second World War. Twenty million people died to defeat Hitler, and, surely, in the 21st century, mankind has evolved beyond the need of a mythical creature to rule and control us. A creature created with vile purpose by men of little or no worth other than the ability to use tricks of propaganda, learned at the hands of masters- Hitler, Himmler, and Goebbels- to bring it to worldwide fruition. Dead men whose design and structure of social control was too psychotic to last, became the foundation of The Fellowship Foundation’s existence.

“I thank heaven for a man like Adolph Hitler, who built a front line of defense against her anti-christ of Communism,” Frank Buchman, a foundation architect and close friend of founder, Norwegian bornNazi sympathizer, Abraham Vereide, says it all. The close ties of this group to the men who run our country goes beyond any sense the reasoning mind can comprehend.

Infused with the foreign policy of George W. Bush, confused with the teachings of Leo Strauss, Richard Perle, and Paul Wolfowitz, bemused with misty musty Americsn prayer  day-breakfast meetings, secret cells-and an army of dimwitted evangelists preaching and teaching absurdities baffle the mind.

Some of their beliefs are so foreign to the American dream it’s a wonder they’ve been able to attack, let alone breach, the wall. Hidden beneath Machiavellian lies it’s a wonder we’ve been able to hold on to any truths we hold dear. Their mind-set abhors the very idea of separation of church and state. America is to become their theocracy. No taxes for the rich, and no taxes for the church. Endless wars for god and profit. No use for public schools. America’s children are to be home schooled with books written by them. Darwin out. Creationism in. Kids brainwashed to believe these lies with cult style tactics in cult style camps. They preach an economy so twisted it has the dismal science of economics standing on its head. Poverty is a punishment of god. Greed is a virtue. It’s a cult so deeply entrenched in misogyny one can pity for the simple-minded chattel who fall into its maws. So homophobic one worries about the safety of those with other sexual preferences.

And they’re thick on Kauai.

 

FRIENDS

May 22, 2014 - One Response

I am unhappy about  generalizations. You know the kind: most blondes are  dumb. To be really happy one must have a lot of  friends.

I think  about friends. I’m not a people collector. I think it may be a writer’s trait. A  brilliant writer friend, who I see seldom, says the same thing. He goes a step further, feeling he must have been adopted because his mother was such a gregarious person. I’m gregarious.  Sometimes. Sometimes not. I attribute that trait to being an only child.and moving around a lot. I attended six schools before graduating from High School.

I had a friend-at least one-in every school but did not usually carry her around with me when I moved. As a little girl, I had mostly girl friends. Boy friends? I always went steady. Didn’t shop around.  Liked one guy at a time until we broke up. I did carry one boy friends around for over sixty years. That’s because we always kept bumping  into each other in curious corners of the world. He and my husband and I graduated from the same school in Marine County. Met in Manila.  Then became neighbors on Oahu. Got to know his darling family. After my husband died and he divorced his wife, we attended our 40th high school reunion together. The only couple who had gone together in high school. He was born August 16, 1929. I was born August 15, 1930.

I took him as guest speaker to a Rotary Meeting in Poipu when he visited me on our shared 75th birth dates. When he got a year older, I sent him back.

A very successful, handsome man- Annapolis grad, Naval attaché in New Delhi, CO of Treasure Island, a Bohemian-he was a  swell guy. We fought a lot. About wars, politics and stuff. His first wife was darling.

He and his first wife recently died. I miss them.

I was never friendly with relatives. Attribute this to my vagabond life. I left the country when I was 19 and toddled about on adventures in exotic ports-La Ceiba. Quito. Zamboanga, Appari, Guayaquil.  Became acquainted with  a beautiful cousin who lives on the mainland. She visited me here. I  wish we’d met earlier. She’s some  twenty years younger than I. Her father and my father were brothers.  She attended Stanford on scholarship.

When I came back to America-to Hawai-I was thrust into a very strange  world. Suburbia USA. Then Kauai, a third world feudal state, in both of which venues I  did not belong.  I’ve been, in my life, the one everybody loved to love and the one everybody loved to hate.  Don’t know which role I loved the best.

At the moment I have one very  dear friend. He’s an editor, publisher, photographer, blogger, columnist and great guy. He loves dogs. He and his dog, Obama, have visited my jungle house. They understand my eccentricity and both, I think, are  inclined to be loners, too Know why I like him? Because he makes me feel ageless.

 

 

 

NATIONAL PRAYER DAY IN AMERICA

May 1, 2014 - Leave a Response

 

“Religion, a belief system, is one of the most divisive in-group vs out-group-factors in the world. Sunday, in America, is the most segregated day of the week.

As one of the most out- spoken  non-believes on Kauai- I’m a secular humanists- I do not attend church.I do not have a religion. Or a god. Or bow my head in prayer.

This I know: we are all born  human beings. Therefor this human being sends to all human beings in the world- on National Prayer Day in America- peace and love and joy and happiness every day of your life.”

This is a copy of the letter I sent to the TGI Forum. It wasn’t published. Why?

It is stlll- in America and  around the world-considered bad form to criticize religion. Any religion. All religions. As Christopher Hedges would say, “There is an orthodoxy that renders religious criticism bad form.”

Think about religion-the three most powerful-no one is born a Jew, a Christian, a Muslim. One  is ‘created’ religious. “The religion  learned at your mother’s knee,” was often quoted by my husband’s mother, a devout Catholic. My husband was taught, from the cradle,  to believe the story. Catholics  must believe a child was born of a virgin and impregnated by god. Constantine’s Council of Nicea, AD 324 affirmed the deity of Jesus Christ and defined the relationship between the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,  his mother, the Virgin Mary, and Emperors became Popes.

Along with this belief  goes hell and Satan, heaven and Pearly Gates,  fear, guilt, sin and, eventually, the destruction of Pagan religions with their  temples and goddesses. Then, of course, come the Dark Ages, plagues, famines, witch burnings,  inquisitions, religious wars which can, arguably,  be placed at the feet of these events.

My husband, an alter boy, ‘escaped’ when a nun told him Abraham Lincoln couldn’t go to heaven. I escaped-I was raised as a protestant in a convent-when a nun told me animals couldn’t go to heaven; and a delightful friend, a Catholic Priest, Father O’Connell,  told me I was a free soul and sent me off, with his blessing, in that direction.

Forget, the personal involvement: the point is children are taught to believe lies. I repeat, to believe lies. Think about that. You could teach a child to believe in the Easter Bunny, and threaten it with eternal punishment if it did not believe. Believers believe lies. That’s what they’re taught to do.

Christ, in the New Testament preaches peace and love, but his Father-the god of the  Old Testament -preaches death. “Every one that is found shall be thrust through, and everyone that is joined unto them shall fall by the sword and shall be dashed to pieces before their eyes, their houses shall be spoiled and their wives ravished.” (Isaiah 13:15-17}

Believe what god says, do as god says-‘smite them’- or go to hell.

As a human being I will not follow or worship such a god. Maybe my letter embarrassed believers?

 

 

 

 

 

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