Author’s Note: in this day and age it may be hard to tell what is real and what is not. Consider this post and all following posts in this series to be a form of experimental Fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The protagonist is not the same as the author, though some details are drawn from the author’s lived experience thus far.
I am the messiah. The second coming. It has taken me years to accept this, but I now understand my purpose. I am, in fact, Jesus reborn. Here to bring about the reckoning. They told me I was a threat to society. That I would bring death and despair on my whole community. It’s because they can no longer recognize goodness when they see it. It looks like evil when someone cares so much that they refuse to take part in the hypocrisy.
The town I grew up in was steeped in the influence of The Church. Which church? Didn’t matter. We had it all. Methodist, Catholic, Lutheran, Latter Day Saints, Judaism. This was a devout township full of god fearing Americans. They were all fooled. Because they are the ones acting in service of the devil. They were the ones who bought into campaigns of hatred and terror, seeking the blood of their supposed enemies who were simply brothers in Christ. Their beliefs centered around conformity, the nuclear family, American essentialism, and the almighty dollar. My God is weirder than that. My Father/Mother is Queer as fuck and demands retribution and revolution.
She takes whatever form he needs to in order to get the job done. Kinda like me, their offspring. Changing pronouns more often than shoes, we both contain multitudes. As a youth my identity was static. I tried to conform, with my fake name that I was shackled with by people who didn’t know or accept me. They called me Thomas Jacob Moriarty Tyler and told me to like it. Why the fuck did they give me two middle names? Were they trying to saddle me with years of extra headaches when dealing with the bureaucracy or just drive me to suicide? Because both were in the cards.
The people around me told me that one day I would “snap” and go on a wild murder rampage. Like those kids in Columbine who wore black trench coats. I leaned into it, wore black even more frequently. Started listening to goth bands from the 80s and 90s who were past their heyday, but spoke to me through time. Alternative kids my age were listening to Evanescence and Linkin Park while I loaded up my mp3 player with bands like Wire, Can, Joy Division, Echo and the Bunnymen and their descendants. Music can set you free if you let it. I was built different and everyone could smell it on me. Always reading and writing and thinking, the thinking was the most dangerous thing in their eyes. You aren’t supposed to think. You’re supposed to sit there like a good boy and listen uncritically to the garbage they spew at you. Drink it up and regurgitate it back out to them without adding in any unique thoughts or ideas of your own.
New ideas are a problem. Problems get stamped out or forced to conform. I refused to let either happen.
As soon as I could get free of all that, I changed my name. Took longer than I’d have liked, but that’s life. Of course the 21st century messiah had a detour with drug and alcohol addiction. That’s bound to happen when things are so busted. You try to cope by escaping reality and delving inward. It eventually leads you to experimenting with psychedelics and the inevitable ego death that ensues, where you meet the almighty and find out you were their offspring all along. That the destiny before you is to save the world by way of divine intervention. All that good stuff. Some might say that I’m crazy, that there’s no way it can be true. Well, they said the same thing about Jesus himself at the time. This time God decided it’s time to break gender into tiny little pieces because its outlived its usefulness.
The messiah only comes in a time when there is a need for great change. I am writing this journal to document my journey on the route to this change. Posting it online in a place where none of the evil corporations can lay claim to it. Sure, it will be mirrored to some social media sites. But the original post comes from my home, it is hosted here. This is the source. This is where my word is to be spread.
I changed my name to Jamie H Croft. The H stands for whatever you want it to. Happiness. Hellfire. Heaven sent. Hope. JHC was the important thing. It’s like poetry, you know. They rhyme. Keep watching this space if you want to hear more about my journey. I will post about my past, present, and future. Where you come from is as important as where you’re going. This whole thing of killing the past that I hear about is cool and all, but we gotta remember where we’ve been. That’s all for now but next time I will tell you how I met my first apostle, name of Catherine.
Until then, break free from anything foisted on you that you didn’t ask for. Tell the people trying to stuff you into a box to take a hike.
