The worst thing that could happen to a human being is to be eternally separated from GOD. GOD is the definition of infinite goodness. To be with GOD is to be whole and complete and perfectly satisfied. We were made to thrive in the presence of GOD. We were made for GOD. We are home when we belong to GOD. Our entire being and existence and sustenance is contingent upon GOD. Without GOD there is no life. Ask JESUS to save you and bring you back to GOD today.
# TL;DR mental note for making audio work
# on a fresh install of Void Linux:
$ xbps-install -S elogind dbus pipewire
$ ln -s /etc/sv/dbus /var/service/dbus
$ mkdir -p /etc/pipewire/pipewire.conf.d
$ ln -s /usr/share/examples/wireplumber/10-wireplumber.conf /etc/pipewire/pipewire.conf.d/
# In ".xinitrc", append this command just before window manager:
~ ...
~ pipewire &
~ exec i3
$ reboot
A timelapse of talking lamp posts on each side dashed past me as I cycled into the cerulean horizon. A creamy piggy floated across the face of the sun. Bump! My grandmother bicyle hit a rock on this gravel headed toward Ahpo’s house. Every morning, I am supposed to fetch yesterday’s newspaper from Ahma’s sister in exchange for a hearty bowl of green peas soup laced with minced pork. Yum yum. 30km of sweat and toil. Six days you shall cycle and on the seventh day GOD-knows-what. And so that was how a hobbit shall live for the rest of his life. But I digress, into a muggle-could-never-see path hidden behind an ordinary bush. A bullfrog croaked in a distance. The crickets were especially quiet today. Somewhere in the still water of the surrounding swamp, a nefarious swamp Thing was emerging. Ahpo lived right at the edge of Sorrowoods. She must have witnessed a lot of strange things, or not. I wondered how she went about her days with cloudy eyeballs and managed to conjure up my favorite food. Ding-ding the old rusty Christmas bell hanging off the porch roof and a yellow wooden door reluctantly opened up.
Out of the belly of the swamp black fingers strained to jab the blue heavens. That was how the locals described Sorrowoods. It was a place of abandoned babies and unwanted baggages, so they said. I once cycled through it. The air was still and cold and mists wafted upwards from charred trunk of mangroves as if they once burned in a fiery battle of ancient days. My Ahma warned me to stay away from this place: “The ghosts will catch you and bury you!” Every now and then, blue and red flashes illuminated up an otherwise grey tree line behind which were buried all the shame of desperate men and women. Hoard of reporters would beam blinding white flashes onto mud to unravel secrets of deeds done in the darkness where an occassional bat would be the only witness. The next day, the world would wake to know Sorrowoods again.