I grew up in “The Truth”, they said: The Church
Without TVs, the 2x2 black-stockinged Church.
I left The Church Without a Name when I was 17.
“The ant goes marching 1x1, hoorah! hoorah!”
The brother workers on the left, the sister workers on
the right, the pulpit platform with the Overseers on
it in the center with the microphone between.
A voice is saying “Let us turn to Hymn Sixteen.”
A sister worker’s voice is quaking at the pulpit, an
excruciating testimony. Flies
become too fascinating. Sweat drips down.
A brother worker later charged with sexually
abusing women is now saying “Don’t
put God in a box” at Effie convention. Then I saw
my cousin asking him about subversive doctrine in
the dusk as everyone but us was headed
towards the donuts in the dining hall, which
made up somewhat for spending five! hours! sitting down.
A diet of dystopias & Valentinus
-- Simon Cyrenean, Hypostasis of the Archons,
hylics, Psychics, & Pneumatics oh my! --
mediated my disassociation, then
my integration into mainstream life
was shocking, but I’m still some silver linings:
now inoculated against love-bombs,
sensitive to power structuration
& manipulative, cultic interaction.
So, I’ll share what I’ve accumulated
in the course of my investigation.*
They were ruled by so-called “Overseers”,
so I got a teenage introduction
to the oligarchic concept, then I
learned the word was what I had been noting.
One could say: in the beginning was the
concept joined with sweat & sense impressions.
Irvine, William: founder of the sect in
County Tipperary, Ireland. Excommunicated
by the group we later called “The Overseers”.
When he started preaching about preaching
to the aliens, his archons or lieutenants
spooked and left, then Cooney. But the “People
of the Message” were still faithful to their founder.
I can taste sectarian distinctions.
There were heretics. We spoke of them in whispers.
They were said to believe that Jesus always
had his full-fledged powers at the ready.
At the battlements we watched for them in whispers,
whispers about heretics here in the Last Days,
in the “Age of Mammon & the Devil”,
then a lightning bolt of adolescence
rescued me with drilling dreams of snapping snakes.
The leukocytes could smell my heresy! The fun began.
“Are you all right?” “Something has changed in you.”
It had! I was a mediating Valentinian! The Inquisition started.
“What happened, Trent?” Interrogated Subject. Subject “Fine”.
*The investigation in question was based on the material provided by websites such as Telling the Truth, the Lying Truth, and the Liberty Connection. I'm in a succeeding generation of ex-2x2s, and we all depended on them for light on the matter.
