This Letter Brought To You By A Falling Bomb

Tuesday October 6, 2009

David L. Herrera

El Llano

Las Vegas, New Mexico

The States








To The Father of Lights:






Good morning or day or whatever it is you got going up there.
I was just inbetween dreams and had a few questions that have been haunting me all night... again.

Um....where to begin?

What's the difference between self righteousness and martyrdom?
I say it's the size of your ass hole.

Am I self-righteous? ----No
Am I a martyr? ---------No
Can I look in the mirror and answer that shit?-------NO!

Problem is, I don't know why.


Seems like the more I try and put my faith in you to use, the bigger ass hole I feel like.

People don't want it. It's too hard and you have to wait to long.
Maybe we all would much rather 'work' for it.

Me + This = My Result

And that's tangible.



And I think about Jesus. Your son. This guy who supposedly died for us. Not just for the sins.... my god the sins. But also for our health. And in there is where the problem lies. I believe like this and she believes like that. She thinks she's right, I know I am right. So what the fuck to do.

And in my evil (G. say Eee-ville) blood flow I chuckle to myself and bite my lip hard to keep from saying. "Wow, sounds like that medicine is doing its job." But truly it is. Medicine does what it's supposed to do always. It makes us forget about the pain temporarily unitl our immune systems do what they were designed to do anyways. It also helps You out, right? I mean, I know it probably takes hours, even days, for you to whip up the magical potion's you made for Jesus in his time to heal the sick and such. And nowadays I bet you gotta make all kinds of potions. Because truly, this isn't real life. Jesus was Care Bears man. Forest of Feelings and the whole lot.

But medicene is a drug. And drugs are drugs. I don't have to tell you what they do. And really all medicene is, is a plot from the government to make more and more money. I learned it in High School. The more medicine we take, the worse our systems become at fixing themselves. And so the next time we take more medicine. Until the day when all day every day all we are taking is medicine's and pills just to live. Ha Ha, to live. And then we die younger. And then the government won't have to take care of us anymore. (That's what I learned anyways) But anymore.... who knows what I should believe...

So what the fuck am I bitching about, right? This is just a fairytale, right?
But you bring me to your word, and I say why? What for? What does your word solve?
You say everything. I say, Just to me. You say, No, to all who believe....

Isaiah 53:210
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried— our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed. We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost.
We've all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he'd never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn't true.
Still, it's what God had in mind all along, to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God's plan will deeply prosper through him.

Well I think that's just all fine and dandy. But what will it take for us to take you at your word?
I thought you had given us the perfect lesson. Inside, I would follow you to death.
Lead my son to the altar for slaughter if you'd say it was the right thing to do.
I thought we were ready. But we're not.

But Sir.... can I just say, Fuck those who don't believe. Seriously. Why should I be held back because others want to be held back. And here I was barefoot ready to dance on the water.

But your words are just words to them anyways.

But not to me. And I won't be punished for the disbelief of others. And if they want to feel bad. Fuck em. Thats between them and you. It's not any fault of mine.

You took me down here to the river. If they wanna die in the valley of dry bones, let em.

And him? What about him?

Yeah, well, thats why I am really here. him. I wanted better for him. But that dream looks faint. Because it will play out like it did last night. Like I watched it all my life. An arguement over faith. Jesus versus Robitussin.

How stupid and what a waste. No, not the fight.... the sickness. Because I see him slowly accepting an illness that doesn't deserve him. I see him sense the fear. And as the devils here the report spread more and more, they begin to speak remedies. Works. Do this, try this, mix this.

Old Wives Tales and silly witchcraft.

So he sits there and slowly feels it over take him.

And that Lord is what kills me.

But even now, what really scares me?

I know you cannot hear our prayers while we are harboring ill feelings towards others.

Thats why I wrote you this letter.

I hope you get it

Sincerely,

Tuesday Morning