Chi, Hellfire, and Witchcraft

Readers of this blog are likely aware that I believe I had an encounter with Satan a few years back. During that encounter, I was exposed to hellfire, or so I believe. It felt like a hot, burning fire in my chest that threatened to consume my soul, erasing my very identity from existence. Basically, it promised the oblivion that atheists associate with death, but with a much more painful exit from existence.

A number of years ago, I earned a black belt in the martial arts. In the studio at which I studied, black belt is the rank at which you begin learning about chi. According to Eastern philosophy, chi is the life force that animates all things. You have your chi. I have my chi. In martial arts, one learns first to feel one’s chi, and then control it. If you can control your chi, you can learn to do a variety of curious feats with it, like, strike a stack of six bricks and break the fifth one in line, hit harder and faster, etc….

Back in August of 2016, I had a mild relapse in my “antichrist” condition. I say “relapse” not because my beliefs about the matter changed—I have believed that I am the antichrist for about five straight years now—but because my condition changed to an extent that it seemed my mental “illness” was amplified: my mental faculties became a little more erratic, and I became a little more “hyper.” Anyway, the point I was getting to was that during these times of “hyper”-activity I sometimes feel hellfire again. Usually, it is not as powerful as that first experience, but it is very pronounced; I feel it coursing through my body. Fortunately, it doesn’t do any damage but it is recognizable. During this last episode, I came to a stunning realization. What I experienced as hellfire was actually/also chi. The hellfire I experienced was just like chi, just amped up to an incredible degree.

That’s really not too surprising if one thinks about it. If the universe consists of yin and yang, or fire and light, chi could very well by a form of the fire-like energy. What is worth stressing is that knowing that the universe is evil (because it is Satan), and chi is hellfire, Satan’s greatest, most destructive power, Satan can manipulate hellfire far better than we can as it is a part of him. So, basically, I’d like to warn people that it seems likely to me that he can take your chi away, manipulate it in any fashion he likes, on his whim. I know that sounds kind of extreme-fundamentalist-ish, but that’s where I am today. Not only can he do such a thing with chi, I suspect he can do the same with witchcraft (though I have never made a prolonged study of witchcraft—all I’ve done is read a few books on the subject out of curiosity). Lastly, I think he can do the same with science. The scientific principles we have discovered are not as reliable as we think. Satan can change them on a whim (I don’t know how that should alter someone’s behavior, though, because we can’t get along without assuming science for our daily lives. It’s not like I expect someone to walk to work instead of drive a car. Just consider the above a warning.).

Anyway, as I said, I know that sounds a bit too fundamental-ish, but that is where I am. Satan is a Liar, and Jesus Christ is the Lord.

Homophobia and Homosexuality

I hate the word “homophobia.” Why? Because it is a recourse to an insult to win an argument. I believe arguments should be won on the merits not by twisting language into pretzels. Basically, the word “homophobia,” when taken apart means “fear of homosexuals.” Why would someone be afraid of homosexuals? I read on Facebook once that homophobic men are afraid of homosexuals because they are afraid of being raped. The analogy used in the post was how women might be afraid of men because the men are capable of using force to gratify their sexual desires. So men will be afraid of other men because those men will have the strength to gratify their sexual desires against the former men. In my opinion, that misses the counter-argument/s entirely. Not to be macho or anything, but I’m 6’3”, 250 lbs., and I have a black belt. I don’t get intimidated by other men easily. I’m not afraid of homosexuals.

Anyway, I can’t speak for other Christian (or Jewish or Muslim) sects, but by my understanding the Catholic Church is not opposed to individuals being homosexual, they are opposed to the homosexual act. That may not be fair—expecting homosexuals to go through life without ever having homosexual sex—but that’s the position of the church as I understand it. I don’t necessarily endorse that position, but I believe the Church should be represented fairly in discussions like this.

When dealing with the homosexual issue, there seem to be two different ways of approaching it. One, is the intellectual argument. For example, if one claims that homosexuality is some sort of biological dysfunction since there is an obvious function of the human reproductive system that is not met by a homosexual reproductive system, one is making an intellectual argument. There are other relevant intellectual arguments as well—like the effect on the family in society, etc… Anyway, these arguments are characterized by an appeal to some kind of logical, rational discourse. They are usually cold and impersonal. Alternatively, there is the emotional argument. In the case of the homosexual this is, basically, this is my friend; he’s a homosexual; and if you are going to get on his case about that, you are going to tick me off as well because I have accepted him as he is and I still love him as a friend.

For many years, psychiatrists and psychologists considered homosexuality a form of mental illness. Nowadays, most of them have reversed that opinion. I am neither a psychiatrist nor am I a psychologist so I don’t know which opinion to endorse officially. My own views have changed with time. When I was young, I agreed with the Catholic Church. Then, one day I saw on TV a homosexual man grieving for his partner who was dying from AIDS and I realized he truly did love his partner, and my position on homosexuality and homosexual marriage softened. I became a quiet supporter of the movement. Then, there was the transgender movement and the demands for public access to restrooms and showers by members of the opposite sex. Upon reflection, I’ve decided that I think transgenderism is a form of mental illness. Once I came to that conclusion, I began to rethink my conclusions regarding homosexuality; I am currently up in the air about that. However, before parting, I will point out that if you are getting all upset by labeling homosexuality a mental illness (which I am not sure is the correct move anyway), the next logical question to ask is: what do you have against those with a mental illness? It’s not like mental illness is their fault (although in my case, mine—if it is that—is: but mine is an unusual case and that’s a long story). Those who are mentally ill deserve respect and acceptance, and, indeed, love, too.

Satan’s Play: Dreams and Visions

Satan’s Play: Dreams and Visions

Those readers of mine familiar with my delusion, if delusion it truly be, may find some of this entry familiar. I’ve written of it before elsewhere on this site and in other writings. However, let me recap some of the highlights of my “delusion.” I believe Satan and the Universe are one and the same thing (I also believe Barak Obama is Satan, or an appendage of Satan, if you will, but that’s not really relevant to this particular post). I believe all the religions in the world were inspired by Satan’s activities on this earth; he set them up according to his own desires to get us to “worship” him when we thought we were worshiping God. The God I believe in doesn’t really want worship. He wants love, and that is not the same thing. He’ll put up with the worship because he understands us and our needs.

But enough about God. Back to Satan.

Satan is evil and he is hell-bent (forgive the pun) on getting us to worship him, even when we don’t realize we are actually worshiping him. He doesn’t care if we know or not; he just wants us to pray to him. To that end, he can respond to prayers or take activities like sending dreams or visions to us.

Imagine, if you will, an Islamic terrorist has a vision telling him to blow something up and kill some people. How can we make sense of that? We can analyze the vision as A) God or some other benevolent supernatural entity told the terrorist to blow something up—but that hardly fits our notion of God as a loving Creator or the premise that it is a benevolent entity responsible for the vision. Or we can analyze the vision as B) no entity is responsible; it is just a product of the brain without any connection to a supernatural reality. Lastly, we can have C) some malevolent supernatural entity is responsible for providing the vision while working disguised as a benevolent entity. I suppose you could also have a neutral entity responsible, but I’ll just group that in A) as well. Regardless of what the source of the vision might be, removing the impetus it provides would be virtually impossible. A vision, presumably from God, which dovetailed with the so-called “teachings” of the religion, and the understanding of that religion, to a practitioner of that religion would simply reinforce the beliefs, even should they be terrible and heinous beliefs, of that practitioner. If all the world is telling you not to kill someone, and yet the God you are devoted to, to whom you pray every day, is contradicting that and telling you to go and kill … to whom will you listen? Devout individuals will listen to their God every single time.

It is my belief that ‘divinely inspired’ visions supporting acts of violence and murder would be evidence of a malevolent entity interfering in human affairs, and I would call that entity “Satan.” Surely, the visions do not come from God. They might be just some figments of the brain, or they could be the result of some other mysterious entity that thinks very little of us.

Anyway, that pretty much describes how I think Satan could use religion as a tool to wreak destruction. Or, perhaps I’m guilty of judging God. I believe I’m the antichrist, so treat everything I say as suspect.

Rage Against God

I am angry with God. In fact, I am enraged with God for a number of reasons. It is a futile and worthless emotion. It’s not like I can punch God in the nose for doing things to me with which I disagree. I can scream and rant and rave, but it’s not like that warrants any kind of response from Him. He’s not known for being particularly verbose—although if He wrote the Bible, maybe he is. But I am in such a confused state of existence, I don’t know if He wrote the Bible or if Satan did, impersonating Him. Anyway, you might wonder why I am angry with God. There are a number of reasons, but I’ll limit myself to the top three.

First, truth is dying. Perhaps, that should be made more precise as “Belief in truth is dying,” but these days I’m not so sure. I’m having doubts about the existence of truth myself. Which is sad and tragic because I spent four years of my life going over proofs and arguments and everything else that established the reality of truth. But now, everyone and their mother is arguing against the existence of truth and dressing such arguments up “in the clothes of science.” If it’s not the sociologists, it’s the physicists; if it’s not the physicists, it’s the psychiatrists; and so on … and if I don’t agree that truth is dead, I’m being hard-headed and inflexible. Why? Likely because truth stands as the last accuser against the immorality of our deeds. Is that what it is? That no one wants to believe in truth because they want to believe that they can do no wrong? I don’t know and I weary of the fight.

My second reason for being angry with God, related to the first, is the fact that relativism is winning. More and more people are becoming relativists. The official philosophy of the U.S. government is relativism. Don’t believe me? How else can you explain the “tolerance” of boyplay in Afghanistan by the U.S. government? How else can you explain the frowning upon of American Exceptionalism by Obama and the rest of his administration? There are other examples, but my memory is not what it once was. Keep an eye on the news and you’ll see more examples quite regularly. Anyway, I despise relativism, primarily because it is anti-truth and I was a philosophy major, much enamored with the whole concept of truth. As such, I will despise relativism to my dying day, but again I lack the energy to continue the fight. The field is yours, oh relativist, and may the destruction you herald not be absolute.

Lastly, my third reason for being angry with God is … well, I believe I’m the antichrist. Whether that is the result of a mental illness (with which I have been diagnosed but with which I disagree) or it is the truth of the matter, I do not know. Anyway, since I’m the antichrist, I therefore feel powerless to do anything about the preceding two issues without destroying the world. Yes, I believe it is within my power to destroy the world—which is probably hubris in itself.

Anyway, I saw a movie once (“God’s Not Dead”) in which a philosopher, gripped in anger, says that he hates God because “He took everything from me.” Sometimes I share that sentiment as well—because at one point I had a promising future, and then I succeeded in flushing everything down the drain. Anyway, the Christian in the movie says “How can you hate someone who does not exist?” Which is a valid intellectual point, but the Christian kind of missed the fact that the philosopher, when he dragged that confession out of him, was in extreme emotional pain. A little bit of compassion for that philosopher would be far more suitable than just leaping in with glee to “win the argument.” But that was just one of the closing scenes in a movie designed to support and buttress the everyday “Christian warrior” in this modern world of storms and sorrow. It had both good and bad points and if you’re in the right mood, it was a decent flick.

In case you are wondering, although I hated God for years—and still have issues—I have decided that that particular activity is just too exhausting to maintain. So, I’ve been reduced to turning back to God, praying regularly, and going to Mass once a week. Although if I’m the antichrist, I’m not sure if any of that will be effective.

Well, I’ve started rambling and that’s probably a good sign that I should close this particular post and move on. So, toodle-doo!

Transgenderism and Lycanthropy

I’ve been listening to the transgender-bathroom debate over the last couple of weeks. In light of that ongoing discussion, I have a question. Realize, of course, that I don’t have any training in either psychology or psychiatry, and I even have been diagnosed with a mental disorder myself. So, don’t take what I say below as gospel; I just have a question. I just want information. And I’m being sincere here. If there is a psychologist or a psychiatrist with the answer to my question, please feel free to fill me in.

We’re supposed to accept Transgenderism as normal, as just another equally valid state of being on the human “gender spectrum.” The Left argues that gender is a fluid concept. There are no such sharp distinctions in nature. I think that’s their argument. It strikes me as kind of bizarre, but that is how I understand it at this point in time. My problem is this: Can’t you make the same argument with respect to humans and animals? Or any other living organism?

Basically, the question I am asking is: What is the difference between Transgenderism and Clinical Lycanthropy ( )? In one, a man (or woman) believes he is a woman (or man). In the other, a man (or woman) believes he (or she) is a wolf. One is regarded as the new normal. The other is regarded as a mental illness. I’m inclined to think that both should be regarded as a mental illness. But like I said, I don’t have any university credentials in this field.

Still, I think I’m right. And I invite a professional from the mental health field to explain to me where I’m going wrong.


I wrote this a long time ago—I don’t remember precisely when. It is not precisely true right now, at least not all the time—but I thought it might offer a window into my struggles with “mental illness.” Also, I’ve been inactive on this website for quite some time. I figure I’m long overdue for a post. And once again, I wonder whether I should give up fantasy writing and, instead, concentrate on this site.


            I am utterly lost. I am constantly wandering through a spiritual wasteland. I don’t know what reality is anymore (Does anyone?). All of this stems from my so-called mental illness (Schizoaffective Disorder) and perhaps, to a lesser extent, from my poor, beleaguered brain overanalyzing everything.

Sometimes I think the universe is Satan. When Jesus said, “The Ruler of this World,” he meant “The Ruler of this Cosmos,” and he meant Satan. Sometimes this interpretation dovetails quite nicely with other statements in the Bible. Other times, nothing adds up and I don’t know what to think. Sometimes I think I’m the antiChrist; other times, I think I’m just mentally ill. Lately, for the past couple of years anyhow, I’ve believed I’m the antiChrist. Such is my lot.

They say you are supposed to spread the Gospel. I have no idea how to do that; I’m not a proselytizer. When people get preachy, I get uncomfortable. Unless it is in a church—that’s why I go there: to be preached to. I have no problem discussing God philosophically. In fact, those are the most interesting conversations. But there are very few philosophers in my circles these days. Years ago, I was talking about God—philosophically, of course—at a bar, and one of my friends got very uncomfortable and he told me so the next day. Apparently, talk of God just isn’t ‘cool.’ Regardless, I was a philosopher at the time, and talk of God’s existence or non-existence is our bread and butter. So, I nattered away about some obscure theological point anyway, and was perfectly content.

Nowadays, I’m still a philosopher and I love philosophical conversations about God, but proselytizing? I’m not comfortable with speaking of God to someone who doesn’t want to listen. That is the trick I wish I could learn: how to talk about God without driving others away. It seems the Church as a whole would profit immensely if it could learn that trick: a non-aggressive, non-intrusive form of proselytizing. Still waiting to see if someone can figure that one out.

God Speaks

Speaking of miracles (I wasn’t, but I’ll just pretend I was). I wish to share something that happened to me. At some time in our lives, we’ve all wondered whether or not God is real or not. Or, if He is, why doesn’t He do a little bit more than He does. It’s like He set everything in place (ignore my theory about Satan for now) and then just left it to run by itself. Still, every once in a while there is a little miracle somewhere, sometime.

When I was really young, I attended a Catholic School. At the time, there were a few nuns serving as teachers in the school. I don’t remember what grade I was in—I think sixth. Anyway, I had a nun for a teacher and I remember her telling the class an anecdotal story about God and His action in some people’s lives. According to the nun (much of the story has faded from my memory except the highlights which I will retell here), there was once a young boy named Jim who walked to school every day. Every day on that walk he passed a church. And every day (either after school, before, or maybe both) Jim would stop in the church and kneel down and say, “Hi God, this is Jim.” He did this for many years. Then, one day he was in an accident of some sort—either he was hit by a car or had a heart attack or something. Anyway, in his time of crisis he heard a voice in his head say, “Hi Jim, this is God.” Like I said, I’m not sure of all those details except the bits of conversation. I remember Jim’s words and God’s words quite distinctly from the nun’s story. But that’s about it.

Anyway, moving along, ever since hearing that story I have wondered about it. As a young kid, I thought I was a decent boy and I always wondered why God never spoke to me. I mean, I talked to Him a lot when I was young, but He never spoke back. Such thoughts remained with me for many, many years not always front and center, but in the back of my mind when I thought of God. As I grew older, I kind of grew distant from my faith and pretty much abandoned it.

Then, I had my melt down.

I had an experience which convinced me I was the antiChrist (which is a long story in itself—I wrote a short book about it a number of years ago entitled Delusions of Grandeur wherein I exposed my hideous ginormous ego for the whole world to see and told a bizarre tale of demons and deities). They tell me it is a mental illness; I don’t really believe them (which is another long story), but part of the experience does seem similar to mania. If I’m off my meds or they aren’t right for some reason, I’ll start interpreting everything as a sign from God that I’m supposed to interpret. I’ll start with, maybe, the title of a song on the radio, or, hah, I remember one: I heard the name of a band on the radio “No Doubt”, which I took to mean that I was proving the existence of God to the world (by acting strangely and driving all over the place) leaving the world with “no doubt” about the subject of God’s existence. This sign would be followed by another sign demanding some odd behavior on my part, and then another, and so on. Without medication, it led to a kind of maniacal antichrist death spiral where everything became a sign; I was hyper and manic, and acting crazily. Normally, I would have these experiences for a few weeks at a time, and then be down for an even longer period of time (one of my earlier diagnoses was bipolar disorder). Anyway, a few years back I was having another of these experiences and when I reached my antichrist death spiral growing more and more terrified because I was convinced I was damned with no hope, I heard a voice in my head say, “Hi Matt.” A.k.a. the voice of God. The voice didn’t cure my delusions or whatever you wish to call them, but it did knock me out of the death spiral to the extent that my terror was alleviated. It was a gentle touch; not enough to cure me, as I’ve said, but enough to dull the edge of my suffering.

I know. I’ve been diagnosed as mentally ill, so you have no reason to take my story seriously. But I do. And I offer it to anyone who wishes to take comfort from it.