Donny O' Malley [Full Interview]
Donny-Inspired Journal Entry
“Because it was the love for my friend who killed himself that caused me to reorganize my whole book, which started out as a horrifically inappropriate war comedy…” -Donny O’ Malley
Why am I really doing this? Sometimes I don’t know. Most of the time, I do it because it’s for my own sanity. Even as I’m writing this, I am doing it because I like the clicking sound of the Mac keyboard. I type in the black keys the way I clicked away at the black keys on the piano when my mother wanted me to become a child savant more than I did back when.
The controlling regimen took the joy out of the organic way of enjoying piano. It would be mandated that I play for one hour a day to get better at it because they had already invested the money. Really, they wanted to teach me discipline, structure, and patience with myself. And perhaps, that’s why I’m typing away at 12:00 am on a Wednesday evening, because now at 34, nobody is on my back about anything. There’s no disciplinarian. I can eat as much candy as I want, have sex with any random amount of strangers (I’m a girl…it’s really not that hard if I willed it), and go off on a drinking bender tonight, but instead, I chose to sit quietly at the comforts of my parents’ home, where they have saved me a room, so I can reflect on my life, in a platform I had created, on a genre of Journal-Artism that suites the type of expression I want to formulate.
Truth is, I left teaching shortly after the video of Alejandra singing Ordinary People on YouTube. She did not have to die. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem is what Mr. Green would say. The man I had recently met at a recent 5250 hold from my fourth psychosis after the fourth blood moon passed.
At the psych ward, I met a mother in her fifties who tried slitting her wrists. She had five grown kids who treated her like she was their maid. She tried killing herself out of spite because her kids stopped inviting her out to birthday parties and backyard bbqs. She felt like they had taken her for granted. They did. But that’s cause she had no self-respect nor did she have any boundaries. The man who she bore children with abused her at one point and she went searching for other men as a way to move on. She claims that the man had turned her kids against her. Now, the kids were angry at her that she would take vengeance by killing herself to spite them. They want to cut her out even more. They told her that she was being selfish.
I listened patiently to her story. Immediately, I understood her big why, because that was my big why in 2013.
“You are being selfish,” I said to her. “You wanted to end your life so your children could regret taking you for granted. You wanted to spite them the way I wanted to spite my ex-husband for leaving me for another woman in 2013.” The shock of truth hit her the way Rylie’s truth about me shocked me. That shock did something for her. She paused for a long time, and then she asked, “Please tell me more about what you mean.”
“Suicide is a selfish act because it is ending your life’s purpose here early without God’s stamp of approval. It’s having the conceit of becoming your own God because you become the ultimate judge to your own ending, rather than allowing God to work miracles through you so you can learn the lessons that you have promised to learn before you came down to this life,” I said casually. She wound up wanting to hang out and talk more with me the next day before I was discharged.
I realized that suicide is a spell, a very insidious black magick trick. While under it, you are deceived into thinking that it is the most selfless act (and that’s why it’s called a trick). That was the trick cast on Judas, the 13th disciple. God had allowed it, Jesus knew that Judas would be the one, Jesus also knew that Judas is the least of the 13th, and in a twisted turn of fate, the greatest among his disciples in the last supper, for he is now the tree whose bark is being peeled by the harpies*, and through this lens, we can all relate to the character of Judas. It is a spirit of betrayal–the ego death, as Carl Jung would call it.
The harpies are the judges, harping criticisms at people, operating through people, and it is the 13 Reasons Why** people end their lives. We receive the transmission, and mindless and willfully blind people, in our egoic self-centered ways, say mindless and willfully blind things about other people–flinging judgements at them, not realizing that the object of our collective rages, the punchline of the punching bag we punch, feels it. The sensitive artists are not paranoid, they just receive the transmission like a sponge to water. And we absorb the brunt of other people’s judgment, criticism, and angst, and we must transform it, because the other way is no longer optional.
I realize now that I sometimes rub my skin too hard when I’m taking a shower, though the process of rubbing is essential to my rejuvenation. When I’m rubbing the scrum off my skin, the exfoliation of other people’s problems, the environment, toxic, the miasma, it is a ritualistic process of regeneration, renewal, and growth.
When I choose to stress eat knowing that my body can’t take an excessive amount of sugar, when I choose sex as a tool to temporarily numb the pain of carrying the weight of Being, when I choose to overwork to prove my worth rather than to stay present for the faith of my worth as is, I am choosing dying rather than living.
And perhaps that was why God had sent me on this 9-day journey descending to the pits of society’s lowest ladder–the bottom of the pyramid, what most would call “bottom feeders” or “lepers” because we were treated as sick patients, you may as well have viewed us as lepers, people to be pitied, dismissed, and fixed rather than respected, listened to and understood.
The friend left the organization, the sister was too busy, and the rest of the people on the project had no idea, because I could only make one phone call. They were worried mostly, but the disconnect between what is and the f.e.a.r. (false evidence appearing real) of what is, is the gap of time where the receiver, also known as the artist, has to make a choice.
Do I transform this pain into living or do I allow this pain to transform me into dying?
Where did it all start and who placed the hex on me for this to continue happening?
Good thing Rylie helped me break the spell. He told me the truth:
“You are a sick and bad person.”
There it was. I was sick. How can I possibly even consider suicide as the solution if it were not for the deep resentment I have for God, for the burden of Being, and for the grudges I had held onto for all those who have wronged me and the world? Wasn’t suicide just a way to get back at my ex, hoping that he would go to hell for killing me whilst I was the one who was about to kill myself?
Today, I had finally called my best friend back. I told her that God sent me back to the hold to remind me how bad and broken the system actually is. Doctors, nurses, and watchmen mostly dismiss and treat patients like they were just a number. I was called “Patient 15” by a few nurses for the first four days behind a glass door. Then I was transported to another facility. I was completely normal, lucid, and awake within the first 12 hours of my hold. There was not an ounce of me that was suicidal, homicidal, or manic. I was the normal, sharp, journal-artist, but God wanted me to see what’s really going on on the inside.
People are all mostly numb and disconnected from each other now. They had pumped me with a niacin substance called Haldol against my will within the first 24 hours of having me on that hold. Then I was forced medication; they would increase the dosage whenever I questioned authority; when I had challenged the doctor’s decision to place me on this hold, the doctor (the controller) had remotely prescribed medication with the “recommendation” of the watching nurses (the handlers), after they had already given me the foreign substance that kept me thirsty, ill, and dry-mouthed for the next 72 hours. Because of the medication, it would numb me and dull my senses, thereby inviting me to act like more like a mentally ill patient to fit this living movie set. My character role in this reality show is “sick patient” when I really am “an undercover journal-artist.” I noticed whilst in it, that I was self-aware that in the labels of the pyramid structure, I was at the bottom rung, subject to the egoic whims of people with white coats and three letters behind their names to validate this dismissive way of passive human torture. “Have you heard of the Stanley Milgram experiment?” I asked the watchman, deliberately loud, firm, and clear so that the rest of the nurses in the ward could hear. God told me to take a stand for those who are still voiceless, thinking they are indeed sick when it was the b.s. (the belief systems, the beast systems, the bull’s shit), that perpetuated more illness–that compounded by a feeling of utter entrapment. The doctors, nurses, and personnel trusted more on the AI machines than they did their own instincts when it comes to “treating” in the patients. The human touch is becoming lost to the healing in the name of “efficiency”, technological “progress”, and scientific “breakthroughs.”
The niacin gave me urinary tract infection–a burning sensation in my clitoris. When it was first injected into me, I got a sudden urge to masturbate publically. It was both humiliating and debilitating, designed to break my will to play the part of the sick patient so every other person’s “job” and “role” may be protected. This is the living sacrifice. The double-speak*** of the G.O.A.T. (Greatest of all time and the sacrifice to Satyre).
God will never let go. Faith alone is sufficient. Faith that Jesus already paid the ultimate price so I don’t have to. It’s a rigged game.
“Julia, I lost another friend to suicide Valentine’s Day,” I told her.
“He jumped, the way my other friend had jumped a few years back,” I say to her. “I choose to double down on the project now. You know I pretended like I was all in with Love Story, but in reality, I was riding it half-heartedly.”
I continued. This was too important of a revelation to not share:
“I know exactly why both of them did it.”
“It was the black magick spells, fueled by judgment and curses from careless whispers of anger, impatience, and dismissiveness/apathy from others in this matrix. It could be strong thoughts said by family members, friends, and acquaintances–as careless as, “I hope they do kill themselves. They’d make the world a better place.
The devil will carry those words, like winds to a pipe, like radio frequencies to the speakers, like RFID chips to a grocery purchase, and it goes through your mind. And you think you’re crazy for thinking them but in reality, there are supernatural forces operating at a different dimension carrying the weapons of spiritual, psychological, and physical warfare. They can’t force you to move, but they can manipulate you into moving.”
Nobody likes you.
You’re better off dead than alive.
You’re worth more dead than alive.
Your family, friends, and colleagues will be happier without you.
Lies of the serpent, the way the snake had inserted one word, “surely,” to God’s truth of the possibility when the apple is bitten.
The last fruit was the gift of judgment. And when Eve first bit, the first judgment she made was of herself: My nakedness is bad.
She had alchemized God’s word from “Naked is Good” to “Naked is Bad.”
From that judgment, the results were shame, guilt, and loneliness. Eve did not want to be alone, so she took on the role of the serp/vent, and asked Adam to join her. She repeated the white lie, “You will not surely die.”
You found a clue in Alice in the Wonderland. The nurse had given you this book that you had packed in a black suitcase on the 7th day of fasting. The suitcase and the book came with you while you were in the Intensive Care Unit, behind a glass door for four days under intensive observation. The White Queen, who is Alice’s alter persona, has authority to do a “additions” but “can’t do subtractions.” Only the Red Queen can do subtractions. The Red Queen is judgment.
White Queen= Manipulation (Id)
Red Queen= Judgement (Superego)
Alice = Avatar (Ego)
From that point on, we’ve been judging ourselves into a downward spiral–down the rabbit hole into the illusory world of fantastic creatures in Alice in the Wonderland, where up is down, left is right, good is bad and bad is good, because we now get to decide what is good and bad. Judge this. Judge that. Judge, judge, judge.
The bitten fruit–the last fruit, is judgment.
On your 6th day, Jesus had broken soul ties of the strongholds, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit had given you the redemptive fruit of the fruit of judgment bitten= Humility.
We even judge God, so perhaps that’s why Nietzche said, “God is dead, and we have killed him,****” because so many of us judge God as bad when God was and is originally All Good.
Sin is taking the right of judgment away from God so that we can “be as gods, knowing good and evil.”
For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. -Genesis 3:5
So if anything, the transformational festivals, the New Agers grasped the concept of non-judgment better than the Christians do and perhaps that is why Christians need to learn what true humility is, enough to know what elements are moving people towards Wicker Man and Satyre, who plays the sweet music of compassion like the Walrus and the Carpenter. Let us be Lobsters not Oysters.
“He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law: but if thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, but a judge.” -James 4:11
And there it was. I was judging Mysty. I accused her of having the courage of a split pea for not taking me out of the hold when she was the one I had trusted the most. She wavered like Peter did. Denying the name and my reputation after knowing me for this long, the fear took over her, and the devil blinded her, and I had judged her for being a coward. How many times have I walked away from friends who needed my help, including my own blood sister? How many times have I just turned a willful blind eye?
Grudge not one against another, brethren, lest ye be condemned; behold, the judge strandth before the door.
Tonight, Pastor Judah Smith preached about the true character of God. There are two books written about us. One is our name in the Book of Life and the other is the Book of Remembrance, where God takes note of the Good we have done on this earth.
Mysty came to help on the weekends when she was tired from a long week’s work. Mysty came to rescue me when my car was towed at DTLA and even fronted the money that I needed to get my car out. Mysty was the one who prayed for the man I fell in love with. Mysty prayed for me every time I needed it and brought strong Christians in my life to ground me, chastise me, and strengthen me. That’s why I was so sad when she wanted to leave the board, the way I was so sad when Rylie wanted to have nothing to do with me, the way I was so sad when the Graphic Designer dropped everything in the middle of the project because I had asked for more contribution if we were truly going to collectively own this project, and because it’s not going my way, my reptilian instinct is to cut them all out of my life. I tell myself that it is not healthy to become so entangled in the complexities of their lives–trying to fix them or convince them of who their higher possibility could be rather than what they are now–the way the doctors have this heartfelt desire to do the same for all their patience.
the arbitrary rules that are designed to fix by fixing them into an isolated room by shot callers who call themselves doctors, scientists, and progressives while they kill and torture rats “in the name of” humanity and progress.
a PETA Vegan who had wounded a few people and killed herself, a bullet through the heart, when she did not get it her way. She became the impatient, self-will run riot.
An open heart to a world whose hearts are mostly closed off, from the fear that we are becoming too close and the disconnect between what is and what should be is so ever-widening and she was so impatient with the process, she took the world upon herself to exact judgment on others and on herself.
That, once again, is the fruit of black magick: it’s self-will run riot, playing a zero-sum pyramid scheme, where everything is empty and meaningless, so I may as well create the meaning rather than let meaning be meaning for us to uncover the needle in the haystack in the house of illusions. That needle is the narrow gate. We each have been tasked to wake up and find our needle. Once we find our needle, we got to move the needle.
“What arrogance,” my former mentor had said about me before he, too, threw in the towel. I was unfocused, and I did not take his sound advice. You got distracted from the mission and he knew it. It wasn’t like his life was peachy and he came to help me at a time when he was going through turmoil.
“It’s not about me,” I finally tell Julia. “That’s what it came down to. It’s not about me. There was a girl trapped there. She is a spoken word artist dealing with major trauma. They just ignore her, drug her, and bark orders at her, point out the things that she wasn’t doing that would justify her ‘insanity’ and if only she obeyed their arbitrary rules, then they would make it mean that she is ‘cured.’ It’s a farce.”
God has been hearing the cries, anguish, and torments of his creations and He’s asking from all those who are woking to show up.
Paul says he would go when the call. The indwelling of the Holy Spirit is for those who want to still witness and in some ways procrastinate, and the infilling of the Holy Spirit are for those who realize that enough is enough and are ready to move.
Love is an action, not lip service. Mel Novak would say.
Action speaks louder than words.
Her action spoke worlds.
In anger and disappoint, I began practicing what I’m preaching.
“Second in Command”
You want to make a change
but not willing to change your make.
You want to stick your neck out
but not willing to risk the break.
You want to be a leader
but not willing to walk the wilderness.
You want to have a voice
but not willing to speak for the voiceless.
Love is an Action, not lip service.
After reading it a few times,
I realize that this poem is first about me than about any other person I have resentments towards.
It’s time to shift from second gear to first.
You’ve already found the needle–Excalibur’s sword.
Now it’s time to move the needle.