“Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth,
but that which is good to the use of edifying, that
it may minister grace unto the hearers.”
Ephesians 4:29

I am in Mexico for every reason.  Good, bad, and everything in between.  Beautiful and ugly alike.  I have written about it extensively.  Articles like "The Rough Side of Christmas Village," "Halloween Country," "True Outlaws & The Devil's Surrogate Christs," "Mexican Odyssey," and "Call Me 'El Cajero'" are diary entries at heart.  Observations from personal experience, mostly.  Articles like "The Cruel Assassin," "'La Catrina' Strikes Again," and "The 43 Disappeared Students of Ayotzinapa" are observations made through the distant lens of news stories, some of them old.  "Beware The Fabulous Leaks" is a little of both.  

I recommend them all.  "Beware The Fabulous Leaks" is a personal favorite.  Start there.

But the experience of Mexican nonsense I had with the desk girl in Jilotepec, described in the article "Road To The Jungle Farm" is the reason for this article.  I am using the word "nonsense" in lieu of a word that would sound better to all of us, but which I'm going to refrain from using in an attempt to be obedient to the exhortation in Ephesians 4:29.  The initials of the word, which I use in the article, just sound watered-down.  It is in this spirit that I'm also going to refrain from pasting an amusing line from a film about people embroiled in circumstance with Mexican drug cartels, which takes a hilarious, witty jab at Mexico, but which is probably un-edifying, and which certainly ministers grace to no one.

It's a temptation.  Resisting repeating it here is an act of will that requires conscious effort.  The line is witty, hilarious, and fills me with a sort of jaded, vengeful glee that, frankly, I don't need.  As amusing as it is, it doesn't bear repeating.

In any case, in "Road To The Jungle Farm," I say that the reasons for my preference of Mexican nonsense is that it's "more street," and "not as haughty."  This is true.  But Mexican nonsense is still nonsense.  Like most people, I hate nonsense in any form.  I experienced the Mexican variety again yesterday.  It may or may not be a dealbreaker with this particular place I'm living now.  It either will be, or it will not.  I will be free either way.  But yesterday's Mexican nonsense inspired this correspondence between myself and my friend in Fort Worth, which I've pasted below.  Redundant, tiresome topics have been edited out for boredom's sake.  I hope :)

1.  Music For Transients Only

Tried to call, but the service is sketchy and the phone wouldn't connect.  Just felt like shooting the breeze.  It's not dramatic and it's not urgent, but it might be getting weird here and the time to leave might be nigh.  A month or so.  It occurs to me to get off the lifeboat and start a band on the deck of the Titanic.  I also realize it's hard to find an entire scene that doesn't bring up politics the first time they meet you, among many other uninteresting, pervasive cult-like behaviors.  Does it exist?  Glancing at any news story up north, I remember why I came down here in the first place, why I didn't stay in November.  It's not clear yet, but it might be getting weird here.  Maybe, maybe not.  Uncomfortable for a couple days though, me.  I remember that THE REASON a place becomes uncomfortable, as I think this place might be becoming, is so that you're happy and relieved to get out of there.  There is no regret or sense of loss.  Only a sense of "finally, I'm free," that is liberating indeed.

I talked to my one Christian friend up there, who said to do what the Holy Spirit tells you to do.  He said it after mentioning that coming back might be a good idea, as though to say, "maybe, maybe not."  The sense that I'm like the people who were dragged out of Sodom & Gomorrah right before they were destroyed, though, persists.  To what end.  Not to start a "psychedelic rockabilly" band in Mexico City, surely. I have recently re-adopted the original tag I gave my music 20 years ago, "Music For Transients Only."  I like "psychedelic rockabilly," it sounds cool and is easy to pitch to bars, but it has never been truly accurate.  Now less than ever.  Music For Transients Only, it is. 

What is?  The music, of course.  What music?  I barely remember.  So why return, when I left for good in November anyway?  Is the Rapture that close?  Has the Titanic taken on that much water, to the point that going FARTHER SOUTH is the best idea?  Mexico isn't really road-trip country, not in the sense that we understand road trips as Americans.  Checkpoints are everywhere, the cops are literal pirates, and at least 1/3 of the country is openly dangerous territory controlled by criminal gangs.  The idea of driving around does not appeal to me.  I've done it.  It's a beautiful place.  I haven't been into the Centro of the nearby city since I got back; no interest.  I've been there.  It's a place.  People, food, vehicles, buildings.  All places are the same.  Except Jerome (AZ).  Which has been over-run by a spirit of hell and Satanism.  That's what my newly-saved friend Moondog tells me.  People will sit on the outdoor steps area and greet each other by saying "hail Satan."  They think it's funny.  Normal people, at least in the Jerome sense.  Not dark goth people who wear black lipstick and listen to all that tiresome subgenre metal that can't seem to find anything else to write about but war, serial killers, demons, death, and of course the requisite hangup on hating Jesus, like they're not outing themselves as unwitting demoniacs or anything.  Deeply, fundamentally uninteresting.  All the album covers full of weird sigils and signs.  Why do all those people look like they're applying for a doorman job at the gates of hell?  Jerome isn't that.  It's "normal" people, who have jobs and smoke weed.  But they have to say "hail Satan" on the steps now.  They didn't want to listen, and hell is waiting to embrace them in their unwillingness.  I don't have anything to say to them.  Do I?  It's over.

Is it?

*     *     *

El responso:

Hey it’s good to hear from you.

I’m currently working on smorgasbord of projects.  Working on getting my film into festivals, it’s funny, the first one I’ll hear back from is in Jerome.

I’ve secured funds to submit to 20 festivals currently.  Pretty expensive, honestly.  Will it pay off?  I’m not sure haha, or what paying off would actually mean, but I’m hoping it opens doors for me to travel and take my music with me.

I’m going into the studio to work on new tracks for my “country album” tomorrow.  That will be interesting , and it reminds me that I never did a proper press release for the EP I just put out.

There are so many things to do.  What’s the point I wonder sometimes, but the point is at least to be doing and be in the creative act with other people, to get the thoughts out of my head and into the world with color.

I bought two white boards recently and it had been helpful to have goals with dates.

I’m also doing guitar lessons, I had a goal of 10 students by 7/1/23…today

I have 9 and other prospects.  That’s pretty good!

I’m particularly enjoying my relationships with friends, family, my son in particular, and my significant other.  Last night she brought up moving in together which would be a large increase in bills.  All this as I’m trying to get my bills together as I am now.  As with many things in life now, I’m up for the challenge, I’m up to increase what I believe I can do and act on it.

It takes lots of focus, energy and time.  Much like with producing music I ask myself what the point is, and I get the same answer.  It is better to get these ideas out of my head and into the world.  Toiling in circles in the mind doesn’t seem to serve me.  So if I am doing things at 8am that seem mundane like vacuuming or whatever, I get to remind myself that it is good to be clean and organized.  It is a gift that I get to focus on, I get to put my energy into something positive.  I am well bodied and able enough to cook, clean, work and vacuum.  Perhaps it will make the opportunity to make music all the sweeter.

I want to be in service and of benefit to those around me, and every moment there is an opportunity to do so.

Thankful to hear from you.  Keep me posted on what you’re thinking.

I think it would be interesting for you to move, let me know your ideas.

Feel free to call sometime.  I’m around on and off !

- D

2.  The Little Match Seller

That's great about the film festivals.  I think there's a better chance to break through in film, honestly.  Jerome is special, and good luck there, but if you get accepted remember that the place is openly evil and self-righteous.  It's the last place in the US I felt at home (thus the 928 number I had last fall), but while I was at the library, one of those demoniac goth types was talking to the librarian about some kind of witch event.  The librarian is one of the old-school "Jeromees," as they call themselves, and remembered me.  You could tell she was glad to see me, and of course it was mutual, but it wasn't the time to chat.  We were never friends anyway, just friendly acquaintances.  But her type is being over-run.  So if you have to go there, absolutely do not engage with those people at their level.  They will drag you down with them.  FYI.

Skipping ahead over all the words I'll delete anyway, I think kids and pets are too good for this world.  I don't see anything in the world worth talking to.  A friend of mine commented on my last long article about the Bible words on the hills of Juarez, telling me it was my "best work," and it was so encouraging I felt like I could FINALLY STOP WRITING ALTOGETHER.  A paradox, to be sure, but like most things true, they go deeper than what you see on the surface.  Which is why I don't believe in love; it has been reduced to what you can see and do on the surface.  People talk about "incels," but I don't understand why anybody touches anybody anymore at all.  The word "incels" shows how worthless the culture has become.  The inability to NOT stay out of the line of fire is now considered a weakness.  I grew up in the Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Porky's era, so it's nothing new.  But it's gotten worse.  Suffice it to say, if you're not going to marry this chick, by no means whatsoever ever touch her again, and certainly don't move in with her.  That's a time-release curse waiting to happen.  I know you're not going to heed that warning, but consider the warning glaring on you now: the bills.  The bills are a kind of precursor, a billboard for the coming curse.  The bills will definitely increase if you move in with her.  The financial aspect will be the least of it.

I say without anger or judgment.  Only FYI.  Probably, you're not going to hear it anywhere else.  Like most places in the world, "getting laid" is considered an achievement in Gringolandia.  That's how low the bar has been set.  Dogs and monkeys get laid.  Unlike them, people have bills (sin, obligation, spiritual weight), and the flipside of those bills, which is the ability and capacity to experience and appreciate pleasure beyond that which is merely physical.  Music, beauty, friends, pets, kids, sunshine, swimming pools, a good show, the feel of cruising in a cool car.  Dogs don't have any appreciation of the car they're in, but they still get laid every day.  Obviously, the physical exists.  We are chained to it.  But it's not who or what we are.  Distrust anyone who tells you otherwise.  Through their actions, since of course nobody has ever talked about this in normal conversation.  If it's clear they believe they are dogs, take them with a grain of salt.  Their happiness is shallow and glib, their brains have been compromised, and they deny their souls and justify it by saying the demands of having a soul are "negative."  Jerome is full of them.  They're time-release rats.  Something to think about.

I guess I didn't skip over those words after all.  Haha.  I don't want to be discouraging; suffice it to say, one of the reasons I am down here is because I don't "have anything nice to say."  I really don't.  I don't even have any respect for the phrase "having something nice to say."  I've been waiting to be done with my blog for months.  I was surprised to make one more short-film music video.  It rounded out the month of June nicely.  I went back to the articles I wrote in the US in October/November last night, and was surprised how good they were.  I don't have that much to say anymore.

Which is obviously not true.  But the insane abuse has come down through the ethersphere, and if I'm being called to NOT address it in the physical by heading north, that means it will be dealt with in the spirit world instead.  Which is heavier and less negotiable.  A condition from which no one is immune.  The spirit is far more undeniable and fundamental than the need to get laid like a donkey.  Which is, admittedly, compelling and fundamental.  But the spirit bills are coming due, and the blessing in disguise of not believing in people, is too unpleasant and heavy to say.

I'm glad you're out there getting it done.  The world was made by people like you.  Meaning, the good things.  It is destroyed by demoniacs who worship their animalistic desires and pretend their bills aren't eternal (and proof of the eternal).  Keep it in mind.  And, for that matter, in your pants, as much as possible.  Hahaha.  Denying it doesn't make it untrue, or go away.  It just makes the crash that much harder.  Denial is a helluva drug, and the withdrawal from it is more unbearable than any manufactured substance you suddenly stop putting in your bloodstream.  But like the kid in the old novel, standing barefoot in the snow, looking in the window of the toy store, watching the warm family buying gifts, watching people who believe in family and friends is a strange, foreign experience for me indeed.  A pathetic image, but I'm not feeling sorry for myself about it.  I'm a "family incel," meaning an involuntary unbeliever in family and other people in general.  I'll never not be one.

If you find yourself falling overboard, and in the water without warning, struggling to stay afloat, if nothing else, don't go down with the people who thought the boat would never sink.  Don't follow them into perdition.  Even if you don't survive.  Meet me in Heaven, if not sooner.  Your kid will be there; kids don't go to hell when they die, which is why the devil is trying to steal their innocence in a hardcore way today.  The bills for that party are coming due.  They are unavoidable.  That party will not extend indefinitely into the future.  Sooner than later, it will go down.  If you find yourself in the water, if nothing else, don't let them drag you any deeper than that.  This life is a blip on an Etch-a-Sketch anyway.  Not even radar, but an erasable grain of sand trapped in a children's toy.  The dogs think everything is here, and have put all their eggs in a basket of fire.  It's a fatal mistake.

Thanks for the long and thoughtful response.  Talk soon,
N

p.s.  I meant to add a link to this video, but the message became long, and I forgot.  But this was my first "silent film video," and I made it because it resonated with me.  The kid freezing on the street literally exists, now more than ever, but you can go deeper than that with it, if you want.

It should be said that the line "I will rest in peace 'til I die" has always scared the hell out of me.  That isn't reveling either.  It's a hard, unflinching look at the possibility that I'm deceiving myself, and am no kind of believer in Christ at all.  Unintentionally so, of course.  I'll speak for myself, but the writing isn't necessarily plotted out in advance.  Writing creates writing.  The song goes where it goes.  The lines appear as the line before it is finished.  The song isn't laser-printed on the page whole, all stanzas and choruses complete.  It comes out line by line.  And that is a good line, the kind of line that demands to be written.  But it scares me.  God forbid it's true.  I trust Christ to make it untrue.  And if I don't, I ask Him to help me trust Him to make it untrue, until it's untrue.  Which, it is untrue.  Thank God.

Thinking about it, the reason the line never excised itself from the song, aside from being perfect, is because it in fact sounds exactly like the horror of hell.  The song literally rings with bells of hellfire.  It's horrific.  It sounds horrific, the imagery is horrific, and it is like the weight of death, dragging behind the ghost of Christmas past.  The only problem with it is that it's beautiful.  That's the only thing untrue about it.  Donkeys can't make the concept of torment beautiful.  Only creatures designed for eternal beauty can do that.

The stakes are high.  The bills are coming due.  Tell them.

Thanks again.

3.  The Freedom of a Dog

I have a habit of saying "we" when referring to things I'm doing as an individual.  It's a linguistic quirk that feels comfortable for whatever reason.  The lady who is passively threatening her classmates in the 4:40-ish range of this video, saying "we see you who question our rigidly-perfect, unyielding dogma that is so great it can not be questioned, in direct opposition to the Bible, which tells you to question it (Matt 7:7, seek and ye shall find; seek means ask questions)."

https://www.bitchute.com/video/qYzOeNN62Mta/

I don't know if this is the same Derrick Jensen (it must be), but I took a line from one of his books for the song "Licking The Fist That Feeds."  I repeat the line over and over at the end.  "We pass through our days with the freedom of a dog who never reaches the end of its leash."  I told him about it, to open the door to give him a chance to protest, but he told me "Thank you for your work," quote unquote.

It's cool when they refer to it as work.  The fundamental invalidation of this life (so far) is exhausting.  There's nothing else to say about it that doesn't sound self-pitying.  But not having one foot out the door seems like suicide to me, at this point.

In like manner, I'll just keep one foot out the door of this house, which I've always had anyway.  "Home" is where your heart is.

What heart?  That thing lying in pieces like a shattered beer bottle at my feet?

That's supposed to be funny.  It's okay if you don't get the joke, and scowl at what you perceive to be self-absorbed wallowing.  All I ask is that you put that scowl behind the appreciation of the culture at large, where I can't see it.

Another self-absorbed joke.  Furious hilarity rules the roost tonight.

Saludos,
N

p.s.  Oh yeah right, the point of this message in the first place.  I am a singular we.  The "we" in the Bitchute video is a dangerous murderer who hates everything in the name of love.  Beware of them.  They hate reason, and can't tolerate a live-and-let-live mindset.  Compliance is their personal mandate.  They hate the world almost as much as they hate themselves.  You're in the world, which means they hate you.  All their symbolism is of the faux-joyous variety, never forget.  The colorfulness of it is a ruse.  There is no love anywhere near any of them.  Avoid them like the spiritual street junkies they are.  Hanging with them is like going to the drug street to kick it with the junkies.  Worse, probably, since at least the junkies are generally honest about who they are and what they're doing.  But the cult of murderous we's have repressed their inhibitions, to the detriment of everything they touch.  They need to bring their inhibitions back into the light, and learn that self-control and power go hand-in-hand.

But avoid anybody who speaks for "we."  "We've" all done it at some point, and it might just be a linguistic device or something of the kind, but when you hear the word "we," test the speech patterns to see if it's just a quirk, a linguistic device, perhaps a moment of illiterate misuse of the language, or the sign of a genuine need to subjugate the individual to the will of the unholier-than-thou collective of compliant social-engineering projects.  They talk like this because they've already subjugated their own individuality to the collective.  THUS THE HANGUP ON IDENTITY.  But strong people who know who they are ABSOLUTELY DO NOT NEED to be validated for personal reasons.  I need to be validated..... for financial reasons.  But onstage, I have never been insecure.  Never.  I have always known who I am in that regard.  Compliments are genuinely nice, but I don't need them for me.  If they don't translate into something practical, it can still be encouraging (which IS good), but I don't NEED that encouragement to WRITE.

At least, I never have.  I'm certainly not writing another 21 albums for willfully-deaf, arrogant people for free from under a rock.  I don't even want to replace my recording program, which I could do.  It would be fun.  But I'm too tired, and nobody's listening.  I've written the song hundreds of times, and anyway, I don't have anything nice to say.  Which is a deal-breaker at this point.  Part of the fulfillment of Revelation 18:22, perhaps.  You are an exception, which perhaps makes the warning acute.

I certainly think so, but even if not, making the short-film videos feels like a waste of time at this point.  Time is better spent these days on eternity.  That's where my heart is, "these days."  I'm not going to tell this place (the world) to go to hell, but I will say it is certainly welcome to go to hell, if it insists.  I look at the short-film music videos ONE DAY LATER and it feels like a thousand years.  I don't recognize them.  Why should I?  Self-congratulation is as unsightly as self-pity, is it not?

It's a Gateway World

I don't need your hammers in my head
and I don't need your cameras in my bed
I don't need your aftermath
don't need your laughter or your wrath
I don't need your memories in my stead

And I don't believe in natural superbugs
and I don't believe in gateway drugs
forget your show of piety,
we live in a gateway society
and I don't believe in gateway drugs

And I don't need your love at all
and I don't care if you call
I like you babe,
don't get me wrong,
but I'd rather we just get along
and I don't need your love at all

And I don't want your prohibitions on my grace
please keep your repressed inhibitions out of my face
I don't want to have to tell you twice
your good advice at any price
and I don't want your prohibitions on my grace

And it's because we live in a gateway world
into which all of us,
kicking, dragged,
are hurled
even if you're your own ex-wife,
the gateway to death is life
we live in a gateway world

©2014 Nathan Payne