I have a file on my desktop called Lost God and slowly I am adding material from it to my ‘stack 1000 words at a time. I’ve put it behind the paywall because I don’t want to upset people and I don’t want it to be read by casual passers by, or family, or people I work for. I don’t even know if I like it. But I want to write it because I want to understand what the fuck happened.
Lost God starts in a low place. It is about my gentle unsuspecting roll into a world that is probably best described as radical wellness and the strange parade of characters that populate this place. Some were, are, truly wonderful, deeply caring and qualified, though very rarely in any official sense, to deal with unhappy and ‘seeking’ people; some others were messianic, cruel, raging, lying, dangerous narcissists peddling mis or dis-information and certainly ill-qualified to deal with some of the traumatised and even gravely physically ill people that came their way. Some inhabited a place in the middle and I just can’t make my mind up about them.
Lost God is a bit unpolished, a work in progress. But I want to share it. Lost God starts in the hell that is a relationship in a mess. The facts of what follows are not exactly as they happened because then I’d have to write a book the size of bloody Shantaram but likely nowhere near as readable.
When I share this stuff I always feel a tickle of shame. We all fumbling about trying to make it work? But sharing exactly how that looks isn’t ever going to look cool. Wellness often becomes a pursuit when a person is looking for answers or a hand up and a hand out of their current circumstance. This is why wellness is such a feverish industry right now. So many people want to feel better. The question is, how much better can we actually feel? And what must we do to get there? How much can a person really change?
So if you want to see that, you pay.
I’ve got a post coming in the next few days that includes a spooky line from the the book of John in the Bible. Yay, the Bible (KJV, 4eva!)
“Little children, it is the last time: and as ye have heard that the antichrist shall come, even now are there many antichrists..."
Oh I do so love dropping a bit of Bible into writing, it instantly gives me the willies. What would the Exorcist or The Omen be without the Bible. And I especially love that word, antichrist.
Antichrist. Just reading the word makes me think I can see a face behind my reflection in the darkened window. I can feel the pea soup bubbling to the surface from my satanic core. The word antichrist actually is quite useful, and we can have multiple antichrists. There are several bowling around today. I’d suggest Putin, as an obvious candidate. Certain American politicians. They need followers, and to be of malevolent intent. I’ve been scrolling through some of the great peddlers of disinformation on Substack, Twitter, Insta et al this afternoon for a story about the twisted junk science wellness pushes on us. There were a few antichristos around, for sure.
I hadn’t intended to drop a bit of Halloween themed chat in, but I have, and two days late (as is most of the copy I send to editors). True to form. Late.
I used to like horror, as paid subscribers will have seen at the end of the my last dopamine wellness shaggy*. Interestingly, and in the cause of Substack continuity, horror films are considered another source of free dopamine, and some research suggests watching horror movies also help us process certain fears and develop coping strategies should some worst case scenario involving a murderous psychopath in a hockey mask/ghoul mask/toy form/global pandemic come scratching their crap manicure down the window pane—or is it just a branch of the tree scraping the glass?
You’d better turn round and check, are you sure that isn’t a face at the window.
Today is a below the jump day, today’s jump is a couple of olde worlde satans down. See you soon, Kate x
*wellness shaggy - meandering amble through a wellness related matter
SO! What lies ahead?
Horror films are a barrel of laughs and pure escapist fun compared to the inescapable slow grind, self pity and tragic farce of humdrum relationship breakdown. Self pity, or any kind of pity, is the worst of all feelings. Self pity is hell.
Here we go, Lost God 4
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