h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Father, Jesus is Lord. Your Son, your only Son, your only begotten Son, his Name is Jesus, and you have a Spirit, the eternal Spirit, the holy Spirit, whom you give to Jesus to anoint people with; hence we say, The Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son.

Lovely Christian girl I know, best Christian I know, but with, like the rest of us, a few oddities: she thinks cushions are the work of the Devil.

But she's a lovely girl and there's a big chance she might want to come and stay here, as my flatmate. Which would make me very happy because it would encourage me to regular habits of Bible Reading and praying.

Their church starts at 7.30am, which is guilty imposition as far as the Holy Spirit of concerned. Esnath would make the perfect flatmate. She wants to marry me. Everyone's saying Jesus wants me to stay single. I'm tired now, and I want to go to bed, having stayed up all night talking to someone who wasn't there; I'm tired. I'm also terribly lonely and Esnath's giving me a very hard time, probably because the Spirit diagnosed her church's problem within a minute of talking about it.

Oh well. I've decided to meet someone at ten in the Caffe Vida in Cavendish. But she was a satanist until a few days ago, and now she's tellng me she never got born again. But I said I'd be there so I'll go.

Someone I know says Rome is a "prison" - a prisoner of war camp for faithful people injured in the long battle against the enemy. On the enemy's side. The faithful go there if they get captured in one of the many battles in this great War that rages unseen in this universe. It's a Satanic church - a war machine. A Satanic church machine feeding the Illuminati with soul energy that they pass on to the politicians via the "bishops". Oh and someone thought the poem I wrote for Lynwen was a dirty poem, a Satanic poem. Which is something of an over-reaction to the only reference in it which doesn't even intend to be sexual, but metempsychotic, viz, "into you, into you".

Oh dear. Now the people are trying to convince me that Jesus doesn't love me any more. Jesus doesn't care about me any more, that's what they're saying. Well, I don't think that's the case at all. It was sad that I wasn't able to get to Gugulethu yesterday, but well, I suppose I only have myself to blame for that.

I have to get myself to go to church - "grow up" was the chorus when I went out this morning, but that was the voice of evil. Apparently I walk around looking like I don't give Jack Shit about anything. I suppose I could go at six thirty. But I'm too old for a bunch of intense twenty-somethings looking for the divvil. If you look for anything expecting to find it, you'll find it. And my body is a bit of a dumping-ground for all kinds of stuff. I really don't believe Jesus wants me mind-controlled either. After all, surely obscurity is an option too? All I want is a radio show and a tract and book writing ministry. All the Illuminati cause, is misery. The saddest thing I think I've ever heard, was Mrs M's telling me that C asked her, "Who is Jesus?" in a small girl's innocency. Apparently I'm afraid of what goes on behind the scenes in church.