Digital Wasteland

What does the daughter of Gail Riplinger dream about when controversy plagued her family for years? This is something one can either take one way or another -- draw your own damn conclusions.

"An understanding heart is everything in a teacher, and cannot be esteemed highly enough. One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child."

 

-- Carl Jung

(1875-1961)

 

This realizations we’ve seen -- the world of fan fiction writers. Born within the eyes of literary ghettos as some would be getting their own hand patted on the back.  When it was written of one shall not steal. In some form; as what I was told.  When you have seen the world of Bryn Riplinger. The questions become; as she would sing those that she didn’t own what is that world of hers really like. Does one have questions about finding hell? The mind endlessly gnawing as the realization her mother was a liar; the one who was another Johnny Miracle in the midst.  

The question of what remains among them, the finger pointing of the mask they bare. Among the world of public figures; their nightmares that remain within digital wastelands as their pictures are forever plastered all over cyberspace where it is  the realm of crazy. How has she slept in years knowing her own mother is a holy fraud? How would one realize these things, a horror dwelling and breathing as the entity within all of us in that dark proverbial parking lot that is our mind? Of those thoughts in living within an existence in cyberspace; something we could never take back once we speak.

“What do you mean?” 

I can see someone asking that within this digital landscape. That horror novel known as our lives collect within a death of a century and a decade born before us as our generation seen a turn of the century.  Madness we stand -- where Bryn might attribute to a God who only answers in 1611 era English; what kind of f*****g delusion born in this that fantasyland of utopia she was born into?

“Tell me Riplinger; what is your sleep is like or how much were you willing to pay to get a good night’s worth?” I could see myself asking. In the that echoes something Kevin Conroy had said as his Bruce Wayne rendition as he saw a madman with a lot of cash but not able to sleep for weeks.  As one would try to crooned; “Great thou art,” when he doesn’t answer; not as we want Him to anyway.  The world she might not see is gray matter --- that is between the black and the white; but the shadows born in the gray. 

“Do you even blame God for what happened to your con artist mother?”  I could see myself asking.

“Demon!  I rebuke you!” 

For what " demon, what reason; tell me why --- because I do have a mind born of reason as God gave us this…  The fingers you point; do as you say and not as I do.  One is told,  “Do not question what you were taught; only do as you are told mindlessly -- only love the Lord and not have a mind. The question is this; the riddle in your head dwelling -- lingers as the shadows in cyberspace. Breathing as it is something not even God can even show you, not right away but you don’t want to get what you prayed for.  Welcome to that panorama as your world is standing still when everything is rapid-fire lady!” 

“Are you in hell or are you in someone’s mind Bryn -- the horror author’s fingers is the feeble minded playground of those who take advantage of those who are educated,” I chuckled as one hears a heavy metal version of Over The Hills and Far Away blaring in the background as she imagines me walking from the black flame of a Jungian archetype what questions when you were given the pearls before swine as it’s a dance of the demise when mortality stared at both of us in sickness.  What is her world like I have to speculate. Knowing this as she had no other books in her possession or had access to a hard driving heavy metal CD or download of some form where time had ticked inside her head? 

That proverbial world of nightmares known as our mind -- the places one doesn’t want to touch or realize that they were there.  Seeking what one doesn’t want to see or find as she wakes up in the City of Destruction that horror begins within my hometown where I grew up as they had their start here within this digital wasteland.  The lonely madness born within cyberspace. When the madness is the digital archive of failure standing before her with the crimes her mother had done; a variation of sins of the father come to mind.  How much would they are willing to pay to sleep a solid nine hours without a weird e-mail or phone call calling her a con artist’s heir.   As fucked up that line is drawn within the sand; a realization that kingdom she promised them is a castle of cards with many rooms for those to see the walls cave in.

In their eyes " I am demon, and monster who is smashing windows with a smile.

The madness seeking in the eyes of the masses. Such unwritten horror born in the thoughts of one; where their own nightmares can be painted upon pages where they give others them as well.  The cursed gift born of weird histories -- weird reality collecting as that entity within those who think horror is a monster, a sin that is cast into the depths of the abyss!   Pleased to meet you  as you do know my name. Am I the Devil in your eyes?  Why " because I have a mind and think; the enemy would dwell within our own realizations. 

“Demon " repent of such thoughts;  you’re a Pharisee as you are a heretic,” I can see her screaming at the top of her lungs but when you see the liar in the videos coming as that sweet old lady taking all your cash because one has itchy ears.  The thoughts within the digital wastelands wandering " as it dwells within thinking as information is made free in a society where freedom is not free.

“You need to pay the rent and your share;  the wealth of information that brought about the masses as that becomes your nightmares collected in beds caught fire,”  I respond within a thought in my mind with the pure and the lovely to some; becomes the nightmarish and hideous for those who don’t fall in their world.  It is almost like this movement sees me as the Phantom Lord -- yeah I know; clichéd but when you see this world you want to get into their heads and make them your playground. Lingering shadows of madness born within them and seeing a reality they wish not to see born within a madness and weirdness that one studies.  A Realization -- what lingers, lurking and wandering.

What is her world like when she has to sleep with one eye open knowing what thoughts in her mind are not hers --  and the pitch black realization that her comfort zone had been disturbed?  Her questions asked and presented leave to more questions when the answers are false when questions are true….   Is everything when she slips into unconsciousness those mansions she will never see in the now " horror in her nightmares one would meet demise just watching. When believe had abandoned science as the blinders are thrown on as you give intelligence to them " she pleads for one to take thy cup from them as Blackie did before he wrote the ideas for The Lost Child or Headless Children.  A man appearing from a desert with something to say " the high voice in the desert as was in the edit of a published short story of mine.  The madness within her nightmares is my countdown which is five, four, three--- silence the play the camera before her; where I have many things to GiVe as madness is the gift I have.   

“I am the antithesis of your tormented thoughts Bryn " what you don’t want to realize staring within your head as you close your eyes for eight hours.  What wanders within you when you close your eyes at night lady?”  I reply with a thought and realization.

Nothing " as she was stupefied to realize what she had asked of her as the thought in her head was Awe is thy Word….   The thought in her head as she sees her own body sleeping in that country themed bedding when the absence of color as she closed her eyes; the madman of antithesis within a digital wasteland. Was she dreaming in Columbian?  That constant chronicler of the dark side and the weird as it becomes evident within her " as she had read one too many entries of my blog as I examined her movement within the depths of her mind.  That dark proverbial parking lot knowing what was there looking back upon her --  knowing realizing what stood before her engulfing her blanket of unknown fears.

“Am I the monstrosity you’re staring at in the darkness?  Nothing is different in the dark when the lights had been turned on according to what Rod Serling had said,” I present to her.  That realization one looks into the things with an eye " as my eyes is the ones of one who belongs to a vulture; does she realize madmen know nothing and the digital wasteland gives us a conscious.  What is within that digital wasteland and chronicled as my own nightmares within a journal as it was standing before her " a turtle green college ruled notebook written in red ink.  Chronicled thoughts born among the uncertain and those who are distraught from demise as roster members, local far-off friends and sometimes family had met the loss to cancer.

“Why " these questions, there are questions that are not meant to have answers to but some are in the pages of…” she responds.

I pull out a Bible and say, “This?  Your translation is not only one with all the answers;  as you see the one in black that’s a trade paperback. The leather one in my hand I personally own where I had written of my family and friends (personal and far-offs) who passed away.  There is more death chronicled than life within those pages.  Death is always useless from those who didn’t believe in one who died for all of us.  But what you see when you see those who have long hair listening to heavy metal -- wearing leather jackets, spikes, and read horror short stories.  Are we pariah to you; that some would say is God dead to us?”

“What you say is itchy eared double-talk!” she screamed.

“You were told not to question anything you were taught. The stygian realization is when you question everything; it’s how you learn.  Why do you believe in weird things such as there are no other translations?  That dogma burning in you; isn’t that the thing of nightmares akin to playing with the Necronomicon?” I respond. 

“The King James Bible has a hidden dictionary,” would be what I heard on video of her mother as I had a Nook handed to me where I could play YouTube.com showing her. I was one of the headless children.  Her mother doesn’t realize that this digital wasteland of thoughts chronicled on video born of them. Where historians of the weird are drawn to the darker landscapes of our nightmares collected among martyrs. Knowing the questions I would ask of the antithesis.  The madness born within one’s own pleasantries when you see the disgustingly cute. As chronicled when one would see walls of country markings and realizations of urban civilization had been shunned.   

“Hidden Dictionary?  What drugs had you injected in your system lady " you were shooting up black tar with Blake Judd,” I wanted to say but I know the virgin ears of Bryn would been scarred with the realizations born of dark sarcasm and ghoulish realizations of the grisly truths born in the pages dripping born from a man who died 2000 years ago who was Aramaic.

The itchy virgin ears had been scarred by what one pulled up within the digital wasteland of the world weird web as if one went really searching for the weird " they’d wish they didn’t sleep at all.  The world born of the ones who are of the mean man " a f*****g man as the nightmare realization that their cohorts screamed at me saying I am the angry young man.  The public rebuke becomes the nightmare born within Bryn’s world as that abomination was not condemned " that the worlds of a mean man revealing truths that shouldn’t be said.   Love not the world --- but every lie under the fabrication as truth; when you see gossip bloggers out there do they take this to heart? But realizations born of Bryn’s world as it was raised on the lies her mother told. 

“Who are you who will point this out?” I might image her saying.

“We were born of 200,000 years of human error -- a monster that is a horror; the most frightening horror of them all.  That monster, man, but what your mother had revealed with the preaching of Textus Receptus” I reply as she doesn’t realize man did the betrayal of their best friend.  A postmodern nightmare as she stood within this proverbial parking lot anywhere where it is an urban territory or suburban dark jungle of concrete where everything is close together. The realization how one can be an exact opposite of ignorance? The answer is wisdom gained as she needs to get wisdom from elders -- but what is born among the sick-laden. Though the willful ignorance that a number of the nightmares will remain when intelligence is injected directly into play.  

“Do you dream about when you slip out of consciousness? What sits there in your mind as a Jungian archetype I am?”  I had asked.  Am I the one who was Mr. Self Destruct in the realization I spoke the message of the King James Version Only Movement quite clear " I will control you!  In her nightmares I am the control voice in this digital wasteland as I control the vertical and horizontal; where the transmission of her imagination plays havoc on a Weird Historian’s playground.  

 That gruesome realizations as they had blinders sewn into their sides as they are not allowed to read what they wish or choose what they want to choose " freedom of choice was made for them.  Madness seen within one’s nightmares born face to cyberspace; a digital wasteland of information born from us and seen abomination counted of those upon the heads of our youth.   An idle mind " when it deals with those who are like Bryn or Mother Dearest; it’s a blogger’s playground where they are a weird news blogger or candid life blog which has real reporting to it.  Do they see thoughts of those who show the real them or real me " and that’s what the preachers cannot handle or face when it’s a Philosopher’s psyche they shall explore.

Execution for Philosophers " what had they seen with paintings of Socrates; the goblet of poison.   Where Bryn will throw Col 2:8 at me quite often how I am using intellectual double-talk?  I never claimed to be a teacher as she has itchy ears for a man made doctrine born in 1983 with her mother and Hovind.  I was never a minister and her mother’s friend was deemed disqualified to teach science. The greater madness is that digital wasteland; face to cyberspace as our thoughts are as lonely as the churchyard.

“In your dreams do you see what you’re facing " that being the real me preacher?”  I asked.

“What " who are you? Get out of my mind!”   

“Face to cyberspace " and words within our minds become the thoughts upon a written page,”  I respond as there was a sense of reality lost before her as it becomes the eyes of those from cyberspace as one is prepared for hatred without even meeting someone.   Doesn’t that make sense to someone " hatred sight unseen! The new prejudice born from cyberspace as it would gather among the collective nightmare known as the blogosphere when unexamined life is being lived out.

“Tell me Bryn " how much of life have you examined as it wanders within the weird psyche as your mother believed in weird things,” I replied as I have this smile on my face when I presented a friend’s Apple Ipad. So I am to show her the footage of her mother being revealed as that eggshell white clad nightmare in the minds of those who think in a way where the world doesn’t stop spinning tomorrow.  The smile in my face was the near sick joke from 300, “We will fight in the shade,” referring to the rain of arrows at Thermopylae.   This madness within her mind " the digital wasteland is now what was the remains of Delphi as one sees the places that gather of knowledge as I have ate from that tree one too many times. 

“Who are you?” she screamed.

“Controversy " that’s what I am to you. The madness within nightmares is who I am,” I respond to her haunting question of Who are You?  I am who I say that I am " in realizations that are born within the eyes of Gothic writers before me; as her mother’s followers are too close to home for me downstate.  Bryn hears that as she blacks out on the concrete " then wakes in middle of the Witching Hour; screaming quite loudly.

“God please help me!” as she sat up in her country living themed bedding knowing that it was madness born within the dream she had.  Does she look up the digital wasteland " as the question of what breathes within cyberspace.com the human born in shadows of a supernatural archetype as the nightmare illustrated by Carl Jung.

The cold sweat rolling down her face was like when Christ had prayed to take the cup from him " sweat was crimson like blood.  Her husband was sound asleep unaware to the bloodcurdling nightmare that she woke to " as it was fate born within one’s thoughts;  as what was staring at her was one of the modern versions Holy Bible her mother had demonized.  

A version that a church had tried to torch but it was something that was bound with a metal cover that closed with a magnet. The package that was enclosed that said and inscribed; “If you were having nightmares " open up and read me! The realizations that were there of what you mother had done may have given you nightmares.”

Who sent me this? She thought to herself.

She looked at the date this appeared at her residence 0n December 9, 2014, as it was sent by someone who read the report that was written by a few anonymous writers who exposed her mother in 2009.  She opened up the printed document that was in an envelope and said, “Use this version to read what this was written. when everything was seen.  All the nightmares you seen is that collective web we had weaved for ourselves.”

Using a small lap at the side of her bed -- she lifted the magnet off the cover and read this quietly to herself, "So I am writing to you not because you don’t know the truth but because you know the difference between truth and lies."

She thought to herself, where have I seen this before? Is this the verse that’s 1 John 2:21  "the one of my mother would spout at me when I started asking questions, she would use, “I have not written unto you because ye know not the truth, but because ye know it, and that no lie is of the truth."  What is this also inscribed -- Carl Jung?  My mother didn’t allow me to read about him -- but my nightmare spoke of shadows; according to the book I had called Lucifer Dethroned it was something he wrote about.

“What we are -- the shadows of a mirror’s reflection, in some ways we are an antithesis of ourselves as we’re born in shadow as by grace we were given the Cross but horror that we see; questions we’re asked are not always what we want or wish to know,” she reads as she closed up the journal that was enclosed with this.  All that remains when everything is said and gone " who stands before Him or burns in fire and darkness, horror of all time among the nightmares when the mark upon someone’s head is five threescore five.

*end*

Author's Note

This will touch a few nerves.

“You illegitimate bastard, you!” they shouted.
“Are you trying to teach us?” And they threw him out. -- John 9:34 TLB

About this Piece: this is a speculative article thinking what if Bryn Riplinger was haunted by the things her mother had said over the years -- as the nightmares some lies invoke as she might Google mommy thinking the damage she caused. I had read this pdf where I got the idea for this from as I can find this again; but if you want this message me and I will dropbox this.
    I had read these two fascinating pieces to get the idea for this one. This has two versions of a Scripture that was used from that pdf file -- one in the King James Version of The Bible and the other came from New Living Translation. I found this version as having a Metal cover; what temptation is there to include this in this work. The image is under fair use for journalistic reporting. Open links in new tabs to get the references used in the article - this is fact checked and played up akin to Damnation Observes in Darkened Horizons: Issue 3. More information about the entire King James Only Movement check out the 2014 blog entry about the sect as the church that was in the direct line of fire wasn't pleased to say the least. The entire IFB sect was turned on their head when I Fired God emerged. I saw a preview of this as she sounded like one of The Ethereal Gazette: Issue Five and Issue 10 holdouts because of the language. The language used well could been a House of Pain Alumni because she was calling God a "lunatic monster." The pastor who is from a church in Michigan in recent years turned out weighed in on the same church I did and he said the entire IFB establishment has a price on the head of my entire collective that became Issue Five. He said, "In their eyes I am the collective boogeyman, when I see your blog. They see you as Godzilla. Holy shit! I didn't realize that blog entry that took direct aim with one of their own documentaries was you!" That explains why I have the verse from The Living Bible as it would mirror what my late grandfather would say when he yelled at me for making a smart ass remark.