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Poasted by: Father Luke
« on: June 08, 2010, 03:48:53 PM »

Here: http://www.google.com/search?q=sin+eaters+night+gallery


If I can find a utube vid of it, I'll poast it.
Poasted by: pnarco
« on: June 08, 2010, 03:39:58 PM »

I remember Night Gallery, I used to sneak out of my room late at night to watch it trying to listen to it with the volume low. Mom didn't want me to cuz it was 'satanic'. This made me want to see it all the more. I haven't seen 'Sin Eaters' though. I will have to keep an eye out for that one. It occurred to me today, after reading your post last night that priests are 'sin eaters', through the process of confession. But that the priests prove to be all too human. I think this is because so much is expected from them from the church and they are given no outlets. Some institutions are just to be avoided at all costs. We need more 'Father's like you, Father Luke, free agent Johnny Appleseeds of consciousness, disturbing the comfortable and comforting the disturbed.
Poasted by: Father Luke
« on: June 07, 2010, 09:27:28 PM »

My Estranged employer used to call that "the Sins of the Father".

Weird thing is that I sold a book called The Seven Deadly Sins.
Weird because I'm still handwriting it for a select few people.

I started thinking about "poetry" more so than the sins of the father,
because I feel/believe that this life is kind of doomed. I mean I can have a


...attitude about it, but in the long run it's just mental.

The world and me are at odds with one another,
and all the rest of us are necessarily doomed. I've never seen anything
to disuade me from this point of view.

To be sure, I can have a happy attitude about being fucked over

(picture of a man smelling fresh flowers in a beautiful meadow)

and that happy attitude will make the shit on the bottom of my shoes
smell about the same, but I won't be upset so much about it. But?
The crap is still there. I just complain about it less.

That being said, I'll include a poem -- totally off the topic -- from one of my favorite authors.
Joe R. Lansdale...


Outside on the street, I saw a strange poem
wearing nice shoes,
and pleated slacks.
Socks with dots,
baggy pants,
no hat.

We waved at each other.
I had arms.
It had words.
One of its words fell
into the storm drain
and splashed.

I laughed.
The poem chased me,
all the way home.
Its outside my window,
trying to get in.

I locked the doors.
I pulled the shades.
I went to the word processor
and wrote this down.
I looked outside my window.
The poem is gone.

Next morning,
I found its bloody tracks,
in the new

Reprinted here without permission, but found on the web here:
Joe R. Lansdale

And getting back to your thesis, Phinny - I saw an episode of Night Gallery by Rod Serling.
The episode was about an ancient ritual known as "Sin Eating".

John Boy Walton - WTF was that guy's real name... ? - was the son of a "Sin Eater"

The twist was that Sin Eaters are paid to eat the sins of those dearly departed
so that they may be granted entrance into the joys of the eternal thereafter.

So, who eats the sins of the sin eater? Good old John Boy was shanghaied into
eating those sins. I remember the visual. I was young. It was John Boy
screaming in pain as the sins of the sin eater became his, and he internalized them.

Poasted by: pnarco
« on: June 07, 2010, 07:54:35 PM »


Philip Larkin  - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.