Tag Archives: religion

The Bell Tower

As we make the leap over the cusp of June and into the insanity of July, I would like to rescind a statement I made in my previous posting.The last night I got drunk in the HoG was mentioned in ‘The First Stroke of Luck’, detailing a night on a day of independence in America that I got pretty wasted. Whether it was fueled by the Wild Turkey or my disdain for an entirely dependent country celebrating Independence all of these years after a now almost pointless event, my body was intent on getting trashed.

We sailed through July with very few choppy waters. A man who’s name sounded like the word ‘Sin’ took us over to the church and showed us how to get up to the bell tower, where we were told we were always welcome. It was a series of shaky ladders and bird feces-covered rails to end up in a small room with a ceiling that you pushed up to climb one last, short ladder, and emerge into the light (or dark, depending on the time of night we went) of St Paul.

The church was old and tall, and from its highest height, we could see for at least a mile on each side as we stood on semi-stable antique floor-boards and sat in an old exercise chair that was perched in the bell tower for no discernible reason at all.

The bell tower became a place for romance, mid-acid trip meditations, and a sense of peace. Diablo and I would take special guests, two at a time, to view St Paul from an angle they hadn’t yet experienced. Hands were held, breaths were caught carefully in the backs of throats, and chaste kisses were shared under the near-starless metropolitan sky.

It became a symbol of hope for lost party-goers, a sign that they had gotten off at the right light rail stop or that they hadn’t driven too far. The church itself was open all hours of the night, and became a sort of quieter refuge from the lights, sounds, and people of the sometimes too outrageous parties.

A grand piano was stationed at the back of the church, along with a drum kit and a ceiling built for acoustics. We would often spend time in the bell tower before retreating below to the relative safety of the kindest-feeling church pews I have ever rested on. For the first time in my life, and in the lives of several others, a church was a safe spot, a true refuge from all of our worries.

As a pretty liberal queer individual with a social circle that had various reasons for avoiding churches, it was a really strange, beautiful thing to have a home away from home in the sort of building that had shaped so many of our lives in a negative fashion. What was this church that offered true acceptance for all and praised those who helped people truly in need?

Insane that my first brush with real Christianity didn’t occur until I was almost twenty years old, running a punk party house in a terrible part of town. Throughout my childhood, I had been shown many times that Christianity was corrupt and demanding. My parents, Agnostic to the bone, allowed myself and all of my siblings make our own choices but, at five years old when your best friend says she can’t be friends with you because if you’re not Christian, you worship the devil, I had made up my mind.

As I grew and learned about religions and cultures from all over the world, my closed mind on the subject of Christianity ever so slowly began to melt away. Regardless, I was still stunned at the kindness and acceptance of the people at Church. With almost nothing in their pockets, they still gave everything they had. With almost no family in the area, they built a family. While I remain unaligned with any religion, I am proud to say that I became a part of that family.

The bell tower was a symbol of hope for lost people, the church a place of peace for overwhelmed souls, and the people of the church a gleaming light in a sky of black, giving faith to many people that had grown to believe that the entire religion of Christianity had become corrupt and close-minded.

Every day, more and more, I was finding myself confident and at peace with myself. I had a good place to live, good friends, a good community, and damn good parties. My life was straight out of a movie. I was the slightly overweight, slightly outdated girl that ended up a small celebrity. I was the charming underdog who pulled incredible romances from hats like a talented magician. I had everything I could have ever wanted and…

I was still not satisfied.


Please Tell Me Why

Yes, I’m still kicking on Blink 182. I have yet to to get all of their songs on my Itunes, and at this point, it seems pointless as my tablet broke this morning. It was the worst thing ever. I take care of my tablet, I love it, and I care for it dearly, though I actually secretly hate its fucking guts and wish it would die. Now, it did. I was listening to music on the bus this morning (not even at full volume) and the speakers blew the fox out. WHO DOES THAT?

I need your help, loyal people. I have 39 followers. I want 40. Please spread my lovebug of Satanistic thoughts around to all of your friends who don’t cut off their limbs for Jesus. Allow me to be a world-wide virus…a plague. Allow me to invade the homes of all of the ones you love and care about…and then set me some boundaries.

I promise not to eat your children or watch your significant others shower.

However, you are required to sacrifice your time and energy on reading my blog, and every night, you must pray to the demon Beezlebub. Or something like that. I’m not really sure how all of this Satanistic stuff works anyway.

Let’s talk about religion, since we’re already on that vein and it seems like something that will get a rise (non-sexually) out of readers.

What does Telea believe in? What keeps Telea motivated? Does Telea have a God?

This is a very serious question, and shouldn’t be taken lightly, even by Atheists, because the fact of the matter is…religion can define who you are and what you do to an extreme where you don’t even resemble who you used to be.

The answer is as follows.

Telea believes in life, and love, happiness, music, poetry. I believe in color, sound, taste, touch, feeling. I have faith that one day, I will be another color, another note, another scale. That is my religion. It’s simple, and very non-worshippy. Though, I must admit, if music is a god, then I worship and praise music at least four hours a day by either listening to or making it.

The thing that keeps Telea motivated is the knowledge that I will always be alive for as long as I live. How is that a motivator? Take a well-groomed steer, first prize winner, pick of the herd, and slaughter that motherlover. Though he/she/it is dead, it still lived a life. It’s your choice what to do with your life…unless you’re a prize steer or other farm animal, in which case…you’re either going to end up a mass-producer or on someone’s plate as the mass product. This garbled metaphor is just explaining how sad it is that cows get killed and I don’t…or something.

Does Telea have a god? Bro, no one has a god. No one has the right to go:

“Yes, yes, my God is better than yours. I got this god at a thrift store three years back.”

That’s not how it works, unless your god happens to be that cheap cashmere sweater you bought at American Apparel. So, no, I don’t have a god, I don’t have a religion, but I do have the strong belief that somewhere, there is religion. It’s not mine, it’s not yours, I don’t believe in it and you might. There isn’t just one religion, and no religions are wrong, even the Satanistic ones.

Just go with it and believe whatever gets you by.

Love ya!

A million reasons why…except it’s only five…or six…Just read the damn post, okay?

These past few days have been filled with Tragedy. One of my best friends was in a car accident that put him in critical condition, and the other driver died. Here’s a link to what happened.


Now, if you read the comments, you can tell that most people who commented knew one or both of the people involved in the car accident (including me). What really surprised me was the malicious nature of one of the commenters.

To Tiffany, Richard was 83, he lived a long life, but he did not deserve to die this way. The reason he was able to live this long is because he was respectful of the driving laws, unlike the YOUTH of today. I can only hope that Matt is put into a position where he can never drive again due to his injuries! This is just another example of a careless youth behind the wheel. He should be charged with vehicluar homicide!
This was posted by one ‘Ted Brown’, and the sheer hatred that you can feel is disturbing. The worst part to me is when he wishes that Matt can never drive again. I mean, who even says that? My friend Matt will live with this for the rest of his life, and he doesn’t need other people telling him he deserves to be crippled.
Okay, well, moving on, because this is all just too depressing…
Our topic of the day is…
1. Why toe socks? I mean, I understand the idea. It’s like when you’re wearing mittens and you wish that you could wear gloves instead (Yeah, I’m a glove person myself). But the thing is…when I wear toe socks, and then my toes rub against each other, they get sad. You may say:
‘Toes can’t get sad, Telea, that’s RIDICULOUS!’
But the truth is…my toes like companionship, and putting cloth in between them is like sticking a big middle finger (or toe) right in their faces.
2. Why Religious Battles? It’s called respecting yourself, your god, and each other’s gods. It’s not about taking up a ‘Holier-than-thou perspective. That is why I choose to stay out of the religious scene. Since I don’t personally have an opinion on ‘which Jesus is the best Jesus’, joining any religious community at this point in my life would be like giving myself (and everyone with a religious affiliation) the middle finger.
3. Why the fear of rodents? Yeah, of course, rats and the plague, mice and stealing food. But think about it for a second: The plague came from a certain part of the world where it was totally okay to just shit on the streets. You think the plague ISN’T gonna come of that filth? To me, most rodents are cute and sometimes cuddly, as long as they get their Rabies vaccinations. This is a big middle finger to my mother, who will not let me possess a Dagus. xD
4. Why Homework? This is a classic question asked by the masses. I hate homework. I hate teachers who hand out buttloads of homework, and I hate the fact that after a long day of sitting in a classroom, teachers give us the middle finger by sending us home to spend our evenings sitting on our asses struggling over things we may never need to know.
5. WHY THE MIDDLE FINGER? What’s so fucking special about it that people said: Ohh, heyyy, let’s just go around insulting people with this finger, and we’ll call it a variety of names including ‘flicking someone off’, ‘flipping the bird’ etc.! This makes no sense to me, so, honestly, you guys need to KNOCK IT OFF!
I believe that conclude the blog for today.
Love ya!