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I am God

by paolo Paul denaro 2 years ago in religion
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the banana leaf

the eternal flame by paul denaro

the banana leaf

It is likely that in its vision of oneself, the obligation of staying true to form must have been overlooked. Imagine, the absolute gravity of formulating the invention of the cat, with the means of the evolutionary process, and the canvass of matter by the theory of a big bang. As my mother would say, your father’s 15 seconds of glory brought you along.

So here I stand, the year 1993. Big talk goes on and giants of the world are formulating a future where energy is cheap, freedoms are valued, a man’s belief is his own and justifiably so as long as he puts in. Errrrrrr. Hang on, it’s 2019 and none of that’s so anymore.

Selfies obliviate the screens everywhere you look, no one is really paying attention to anything but themselves and some would have you believe that we are monitored beyond belief to the point of George Orwell’s thought police exists. But not as he put it, but in the everyday persons who walk with and amongst us. Acting at night as monitors in the halls of justice, justifiably so as the world is on the brink of madness and if we can’t police spiritual justice and growth through profound thoughts and controls, the elitess above us directing almost everything have no fuckn idea what’s coming when the day of judgement begins.

But here I am, a survivor of this system I can only bump, a juggernaut of the patriot of modern art. Life being art that is. No room for imitation if you ask me. And an advocate of throwing the chips up, not just to see them land where they may, but a firm believer of the faith in mankind, as the name would suggest.

But alas, some would have you believe I’m an anarchist. But let’s be serious, how many people live the life they dream of as a child. To catch that sunlight beam across the universe that allows the future from its own favour. But to live without trying, for fear of failure, well that’s another sad tale in itself. Wouldn’t you say.

So the world didn’t save itself, the revolution of grunge was all it was and the bane of everyday existence comes from work. As it is said in the Bible, our expulsion had two cursing punishments besides it’s obvious new surroundings, men would work and women bare the pain of childbirth. But hey, we ask equality but have things like C sections and epidurals. That’s not exactly fair, but then again, going through the enduring romance of bearing three broken bones at once, equivalent to that expecting date. 15 seconds dad, oh come on.


But people are people, unique and made with flaws from the prison that created them. And that’s what this is about. The prison that created me. It started, oh, I can’t say but I used to pretend I was kissed by an angel. The angel of death came to me one night and asked me a simple question. Black or White,? Whilst I pondered the envititable wrong answer the feeling of the most warm loving embrace hugged me. All I saw was an emptiness that was begging for colour. As I jumped up to scream my answer, he cheekily smiled his sinister smirk and touched me. With that, the sawing pain of a million knives cut through my every cell. I was dying. I knew it. When I heard a second question.

What if, worth saving? Every cell muscle and the very being inside me clinched and tried to rebut. It was the sheer weight and pain that stopped me. Till, and I swear, everything flashed at once in me, even at this very point in time I would be scribbling these notes down to heal the wounds of that night. Again with everything, I managed to scream.

And it was gone, over, finished.

I had denied once before a tragic event in my life, some time before this, maybe a year or two, a monster entered my room and took my chair. I blended the two together and dreamt that the angel was only kissing me and carried on blocking all thought of it. The moment with the monster was all black in there anyway, except the beginning and the wakening. So what did it matter anyway. Two became one and I blamed myself for the wrong answer. It was simple really, I’d already been blamed for the black in my head anyway. What would be more blame be anywho.


Stories of heavenly repour ran in my family anyway, as long as I stayed in the background who wasn’t to say I’d had my own.

There was a baby born Vito Brodo, in a little mountain town in the hills of Sicily in 1932, born sick with disease. In those days and places doctors and hospitals didn’t exist, it was old wives remedies and hopes. However, being the little superstitious town that it was, the woman next door had a dream that the brother of Frank and Angela, Vito, would die unless renamed Frank after Saint Francis. She betrayed her thoughts the first night, but little Vito got sicker the next day.

He was born from love returned. His parents were actually step brother and sister, when their parents remarried after loss of loved ones cause of that first goddamn world war, and they knew that their life was not chance, but Devine.

That second night, the neighbours dream was fierce, terror in the end drove her to Marie Antoinette house to tell her of this, and Saint Francis. Immediately she called her husband Ross and told him. Without a second thought they ran to the child and started calling him Frank. Within the day, Frank Vito was born. And that is the story of the brothers who were both called Frank.

Shit, my story was a given then, easily hidden in almost the branches of a swelling tree, I mean the one woman had another child Vita and by the time they had children, and their children’s children had child she had 76 branches to her universe.

The Milky way is a galaxy like no other, in the sense that we seem to be alone, but in all creatures favoured by God, man and woman are the most. So the Milky way isn’t such a bad place to be. We may leave problems our children will need to fix, we seem perplexed at anything eccentric but dream of being original. And yet, we bind together in sorrow. Like a foot in the door of the holy, we console, alleviate and help those most suffering.

I hate, no, despise the feel better cause, someone else has got it worse! look at things. It takes away the dignity of that person who is striving for better, lived that painful life. I've collapsed on the sword of the wounded when loved ones seem to regret that bond of love is the greatest weapon. I don’t think it’s written anywhere, but let’s quote the holy Koran. Light upon light. Al-nur 24/25.

Beseat upon all sides of life is this fascination with things evil. Cultures all over the world are tormented by these opposites, good bad, love hate, up down, but in the world we live in, the three dimensional one. Which is described as having length, breadth and depth.

Breadth is described in the dictionary of three ways

A measure of the second largest

An extent or piece of something

The escape from narrowness

The good bad becomes good bad perspective

The up down becomes sideways down up

It gives us the imagination for which we crave, the knowing of what could be if all the pieces were to fit. Children, children became the noise from outside my ear, it wasn’t my site head that told the tale, but the magnitude of the whereabouts and knowledge that came to the voice. And yes, I believe it is knowledge from the voice that calls that makes her question our whereabouts. If a theologian were near me, I’d quote tohar prophet first Zarathustra who claims fire as our birth right. But alas my feeble mind goes to the last prophet Muhammad peace and blessings and recounts the mantra written in holy words. I choose to smash evil. but, I get stuck with Prometheus bound to the mountain.

And that is just it, fascination and imagination are the lifeblood of curiosity. Curiosity caused detention, expulsion from the garden. But in God’s plan, evolution, it was a stepping stone to the imagine, let me just say it now to cull the confusion, she, in her image, gave birth to choice, and she, gave birth to me, she is the world, and she is the only one limited with tiny universes tucked in her uterus.

The goal, ha, I’ve got you thinking, and the point being, I’m a god. Free will gives and decision making eruptions of an evolutionary thought causing either joy sadness understanding or confusion. The 3rd dimension is here. Embrace it and love the moment. Grab it and you’ll never be disappointed. Hold onto something and be imprisoned by it.

So evil has got you cooked, well big deal, smile, wish it well and watch it cry as you walk away from its war.

Who’s world is it anyway?

Many have wondered about this and pondered many a moment, period length of time. The answer has always been this:. The greatest love is without lust, but you can’t have love without it.

I think if they heard me ask this, no laughter or confusion would run from their lips or mind. Only, they would look in wonder, awe even. A look that would just delight the looker into smiling, a feeling of simpleness. Nothing sharp, heavy, complex straight or wide. It’s just simple originality, no original sin. Born with instincts of their own, a knowing of who they are and where they stand.

My world on the other hand, is an ear full of noise from family and friends. A head straight out of necessity where I try and match those thoughts and voices with the thoughts and voices in my ear. A stomach too eager to be bursting with food or drink and no sound. Our stomach is in part the running fork to our brain. But hearing it’s ramblings and nuances we learn to hear ourselves. I know, you're asking me two things, maybe three, where am I coming from, what am I on about and is this serious?

Well aren’t those the three rules of thumb to introduction and mingling. So the answer again is obvious.

From there, may I just point out, I’m sure the Catholic church announced an extra 5 sins, on top of the seven deadly ones. I’m sure of it, I’m sorry I haven’t let you get a word in. Would you like to say something?

“ The world she, right, thinks global acts local? “

But couldn’t it be think local act global or think global act global, or think local and act local. Why is it that people seem to be moving as aeroplanes lately, transportation wise anyway? Is it we can’t drive overseas, or can’t float towards the green. Loneliness is the world’s current most prolific disease. And it’s taking hundreds a day. Taking them to isolation street without anyone bumping the system to say hey! Where are you going! Should you be doing that?

Where’s the policing there, no bottom rail mark to say if anyone falls below the details, we raise them up first. Which is creating an even bigger problem with environmental responsibilities and future endeavours.

We are hacking our own brains now, teaching cosmic getaways, and replacing substance with effect. No wonder the sins lost, they were no match for the impressive morals values promises that conjure up pious PC conversation that convinces ourselves we have done all we can, been all we are and sleep well you good person.

Sorry, sinicization of myself is not what I’m doing to you or myself. However. I am attacking the self proclaimed leaders and commanders of the spiritual world, cause there has been this massive conjecture about this, first reality then, fantasy. Oh fuck off please. There is only one world and it’s never been mine, ever!!!

Is it true to you? That you were told as a child that the world was your oyster, and you could be any pearl you wanted in it? Well, never did I imagine the incapable prophecy of the world around me. I was like every child born of this earth. Accepting the dance in-between my lines was cast by another. The sun that shone on my back was not from the kinda love that stood in the front door. Not that I was to know, I was only told of such an occurrence from the mysterious tales told in heresay, from listening in between.

All I knew was the light that everyone else called loving, brought pain to my sight, sheared the will of looking from my toil, and gave birth to this mystery.

The only thing true in this world is love. And that’s because, LoL, it’s the closest thing to insanity, which we all seem to have. No matter the ebb or hub of it, it stirs the most awkward of emotions that revert did vibrate in this mind body soul. For example, just the other day I was sitting in a courtroom with a friend. Don’t ask, he has a history of opening his mouth, he’s no informant but he however gets pulled over by police and instead of apologies for his wrong doing, driving, he opens the door on a whole bunch of galahs and heads up an investigation on birds. But anyways. Here I am in court and the hearing Infront of the magistrate is a safety notice occurrence that the judge must preside over whether an ivo is in order.

The notice states the victims concerns obligation and validity. The respondent has he’s moment to speak, representing himself, hands two letters to the magistrate supporting some part of his rebuttal and starts

Your honour, firstly may I state that on the Saturday before the Tuesday in question, I looked after the children and slept over so as the victim could go out. May I also state that when the victim came home on Tuesday knowingly with the knowledge I was there, she did so prior to contacting the police. And did so not in fear. I never changed the lock in question and didn’t hear her as I would have opened the door.

May I also add, that when a man loses everything in his life he holds most precious, then he is more likely to fight harder than ever for the ones he loves, especially when the victim stated so back in November. Also your honour, there is no contest with what the victim has stated, and that in fact, may I add, that all this is due to my stupidity and ignorance on two counts. One not listening to the I, and can help back when this started, and that I can’t even imagine yet alone feel the pain and anguish I have caused my supposed soulmate and children. But let me clarify that it was never her I blamed for my excuse to relapse and it was never her preventing my recovery.

Your honour, man without love is like a child without food. Yet can you imagine me, without my soul. She may state that I tried to manipulate the situation and forcefully coerce her into taking me back. I wear my heart on my sleeve, your honour, and like to talk, to much so, of the things I feel and think, especially about those dearest to me.

Your honour, if the victim says that it is over, then I am the one to blame. No one else. And without a doubt, regrettably remorseful. I have nothing more to add.

With this the victim stands up, and asks the judge to speak.

Your honour, she says, is it possible for you to marry us here today Infront of these people in your courtroom?

The courtroom just erupts with surprise joy cheers, and this is love, one minute worst enemies, the next lost, without each other. Either way, you wouldn’t swap it for anything, maybe a headache less or two, and you can never doubt it’s ability to adapt mildly and shape into what you dream of, because of one simple rule. Love is the greatest weapon of all.

Little by little, we accept the death of innocence as we grow instead of enjoying the moment we have currently, using innocent expression and joy as our current state of play. Yes Mary Poppins, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Yes Mary Poppins, I am the illegitimate bastard son of a rapist. I can not say why my parents, well mother and adopted father decided to keep me, maybe because they believed it wrong to abort. Maybe it was their old school small mentality parents who said I was innocent. But if we are to believe the church, I was cast not only in original sin. But cast and built from a violent power play that has been played out for enos.

Whatever the reasons, I can’t imagine how my mother could even bare, bat an eyelid at me. Or how my father, adopted by me, could even want to school fees or house me, I do however question their motive for but one reason. My upbringing.

To say it was a loving normal environment i.... However, the testament to strength, durability, and passion for love and life did not come from them. But through me. There is a grave sickness that is crippling the world as a whole. And it is fear. Fear to ring the police even when seeing dipurablle acts of violence. Fear for women everywhere of men, of being taken advantage of.

We are inevitably products of environmental experience and as such, I am, let’s say immune to the everyday emotional scale and feelings felt by all those other people. Finding out this truth so late in my life, after already so much pain and sorrow has left anyone willing to try and get close to me....

The bitter taste of life now emanates from the taste of my tongue, and people who meet me want to forget they even heard my name just because my sheer presence encapsulates everything evil in this world. My soul, if even I was born with one. Was given up for dead even before I could walk.

I do not regret this life, believe me, I have enjoyed every moment I could possibly do. I am what I am. Sadly. Wishing to tell you more details about my upbringing. Both spiritual emotional and the ways in which it was oriented justified and manipulated into. Only leaves me with the thoughts of surely, my luck will change. Surely you are my soulmate sitting here in this coffee shop and I just don’t know it yet.

I want to cry, curse the almighty, plunge straight into revenge, for all I will add in this world, is a scorn too terrible to mention. You know, the one thing that radiates in my brain. Free will and choice. Combining the two principles of those God given and God approved. It is not until the actual act plays out that that choice has become a reality. Which brings to mind the past present and future. As a dear friend said to me, there is no present, only future and past, the second you say present, tomorrow for example never comes, it already is the past. But if we are truly present in the moment of free will and choice. Then it can exist continuously invariably causing joy chaos love even pain.

Sadly some days are mundane and boring, others surrounded by those truly brave ones. I miss them you know, and probably will forever. Unless I decide to reconcile. My adopted family and mother. I miss them because they were always true to themselves.

We act out thoughts and emotions that would have us arrested in the real world. It’s about time we admit to the cunts we are, and move on. Move on to actually beating the demons of ourselves,

By letting the angels of glory and mercy, capture your heart. You’ll work for heaven’s glory, and truly be a part of the human race. The brain may tell us that we must stand strong, beat things like greed lust and even sloth our way through ideals that our heart understands but does not want to do. The heart of a man is empty, a woman’s whole, we may fill it, if I would call it, it, being the most amazing brain, there is. You heard me, the heart increases pace when it’s told to, aches when she is sore and hurts. Even before the brain tells it so. You don’t believe me. You’ve been waitinging here a good hour and intently listening, looking. For your blind date, you are thinking too much.

“ Hi, there! blue shirt, blue hat, sharing out alone. Blind Date?”

I wouldn’t say that, when I equate my life in terms of life’s measurable aspects, I don’t hear my voice, I’ve worked hard, played well, loved who and what I’ve wanted, but I still believe I'm a failure. And you this reason why, .........

Here we still are, sitting sipping coffee. And you’ve hardly said a word

The good word is my guide and chariot as I cross over into the next world. It’s a shame I’ve gone Against every rule and regulation it brings up so let’s go against them all, from Babylon being destroyed to the last prophet saying we will never unite this world. Let’s do it not for justice for the less fortunate, but to stick it up the elite milliners who have easy jobs.

If I had of been born one of them, I would have changed the scope of this world for nothing more than the gloat

You know, I’ve been sitting here for over an hour, and for what it’s worth, you're crazy. But in saying that, I totally get where you're coming from. There is something tender in your description of your lot in this quadrum of a person's effects and revelations.

It’s not that I blame you for what you think you are, but the reality of it, you are far too traumatized to steeped in this reality to firstly let go of what it is you think is your saving grace, and I can’t work out if it’s that chip on your shoulder, or actually that enormous strength you process. Either way, I can’t believe half of what you told me. I actually don’t want to. Can we please leave.

Of course, but as per now, I can say you are mine, as I am yours. I knew it was always in your heart, to give me a chance. I know this cause you said let us, we leave together.

For a moment I tilt my head, listening to anything I could catch of this. But it was deadly silence. I was sure to hear muffled screams or a traumatic little boy's voice scaling why me. But there was not, just silence. I put out my hand, he firmly lapped it up in his. And as if pushing a button, things just melted away from his Aura. Just collapsed and faded.

I think, for the first time, he was content, which I would believe is what he meant when he said he'd really achieved nothing. No measure of self or selfless act can be noted in pages, they can be given medals and honours, but there’s those who are countless in the armies March forward.

“ Oh sorry, did I wander off in thought

No matter, I was to busy staring at your nose, haheha

You bastard, look at yourself, how my friend conned me into this date is still beyond my belief, however charming as you may be, would you make a good father?

Somehow in these pages,dear diary, I see such turmoil in him and have been the bearer of the bunt of his outbursts, far too often, and though I remember and remind him, this has all been done before, grey isn’t the colour we reside in. It’s black and white thats choice, you do break it or you don’t

Whatever the cost has been, I surrender to him, I can’t help myself no matter the darkness that surrounds. Him. It’s not his diary, it’s what he knows better and far too well than most. Even all!

God, be with him always.


About the author

paolo Paul denaro

within every word, definitions resound the meaning of who i am, by the tales you read from me.

stories were passed down, and here we are

doing the same

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