Does the Adversary Know the Day and the Hour?

Well…it would seem as if he does.

Lately people have been uncovering certain pivotal dates and numbers hidden in media for decades.  Some can seem like a stretch, some appear to be legitimately placed, and others are just downright creepy.  Do a search on the appearance of 9/11 in moves and television and things will quickly turn from coincidence to “whaaaaa…t,” especially considering that when you trace the sources of this so-called art it usually if not always derives from some person or organization who is admittedly a satanist, or illuminati member, or high level freemason or in some other way nefariously connected to the occult.

How is this possible?  Since Jesus Himself said that He didn’t?

Well, I’ve already gone over the problems with taking that verse in such a context within a previous post, but just know that I don’t subscribe to the idea of Jesus being as surprised by the day to the extent that an unbeliever would be, especially since He himself assures us that if we watch and pray, we won’t HAVE to be caught off guard by the day.

But even if we were to subscribe to that idea…let’s say that 2,000 years ago that day was up in the air.  At what point would the clues and signs begin to bring that day into view?

Well, the earliest speculation by a human that I’ve come across was that of Isaac Newton, who also predicted September 23, 2015 as the day using the prophecies in the Book of Daniel as mathematical inspiration.

And I know that we’ve all been conditioned to consider date setting a fool’s errand, but it really isn’t, if you know enough about what you are talking about.  Basically, if you ARE a fool, that’s exactly what it will be.

You can’t just do the math, you have to study the scriptures.  Because when you begin to study the ways of God, the process of elimination will become more precise and you will know that you cannot merely be satisfied with the math, but the symbolism, the meaning, the purpose, and the method.

And when you embrace all of those things, the day of Atonement 2015 becomes as conspicuous as Rudolph’s nose.

I think everyone can observe that end times prediction kicked into high gear around fifty years ago.  The trigger event?  The restoration of Israel and its capital Jerusalem in 1967.  Daniel 9:25 describes this event in detail being pivotal to the beginning of the end, such a gigantic piece of the puzzle that from knowing this event alone it could be relatively easy to predict many end times events.  And considering that these date setters could be within fifty years of the end times, the margin of error is pretty small.  But still, that doesn’t help when you’ve spent massive amounts of money to make billboards that say “We Can Know dot Com.”

Understand that all these date setters did not just suddenly fall off their rocker:  they were likely avid students of Bible prophecy that saw this event and tried to translate God’s little math riddle in Daniel but did not know enough about Biblical language to know that their solutions were incomplete.  Certainly it’s very awkward to the Western ear to hear that the rapture is coming on a Wednesday in September.  But when you hear that Jesus is coming on the day of Atonement in the year 5776, the year of the super Shemitah, year of Jubilee, in the month of Tishrei, well.  That’s sounding super legit now.

It’s because God’s calendar is Jewish.  And the Jewish calendar is not static but based on observation of nature.

At least, it wasn’t always.  As times got modern it became more of a hassle to wait for the grain to sprout to consider it the first month.  I mean the banks in New York or wherever ain’t got time for that, so the Jewish calendar has been off for quite some time.

But God still uses the old one.

And if one can keep track of the old one, then it becomes even easier to determine dates and times as laid out by God.

But I’m digressing.  How is it possible that Satan can know?

Well, aside from him being a former cherub knowing God quite closely, being a part of the spiritual realm, around since the beginning and considerably smarter than a date-setter alive in the 1960’s, there’s a couple other plausible theories.

Whatever the answer, it seems that he not only knows, but is flaunting it.

We all seem comfortable with the idea of Satan knowing that “his time is short,” but can we take it a step further and consider that he is throwing the date in our face?

But why would he?  I know why I’m obsessed with making sure that I’m found worthy to escape the great and terrible Day of the Lord when the restrainer would be removed, but what’s he talking about it for?

Well aside from the occult tendency to hide things in plain sight, September 23 for him would be like his birthday times a billion.  It’s gonna be a good day.  The best it can get for him, really.  September 23 begins his residency, as it were.

Meanwhile God will be shortening the days so that the remnant can survive his government.

And this mess???  I really CANNOT with him.

Today’s “Best Song Ever Made”

Today, the best song ever made is “I’m Walking on Sunshine,” by Katrina and the Waves.

Why?: Because it’s slightly warm on the 1st day of March and the first day in a couple days that it is sunny with no clouds and/or:

Because it is your day off.

Why else?:  Because walking on sunshine is a hopelessly positive concept.

Best heard/sung:  Outdoors, obviously.  Preferably in the car in regular-grade traffic (only if it is your day off; if not, then interstate or parkway only)

Yeah, the song is about love, but that really doesn’t matter, b/c you don’t have to be in love to really appreciate it or take full advantage of it.  You just have to know what sunshine is.  And walking.  The rhythm of the song is such that, even if you did know the verses, you must wait for the chorus longer than you want to, but not enough to fast forward through the song, so it creates the perfect tension that pairs beautifully with one of the most ecstatic, deliciously impossible choruses in pop music.  It declares maniacally: “I’m walkin’ on sunshiiine/whoooah!”  three times no less.  And then with audacity reinforced by saxophones she asks you– as if you would know!– “and don’t it feel good!”  To this you never reply or even think, “yes it does!” and that doesn’t bother anyone.  This unanswered rhetoric goes emboldened into the distance, confident that you agree.

Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel Review: 4 out of 5

If Mariah Carey has learned a single lesson through the evolution of her long career, it’s that she can’t please everyone. It’s no secret the songstress spent the first era of her career making, and keeping, the people happy; in this, she succeeded and was rewarded. The independence wielded in what is known as the “Butterfly era” however, began to disrupt this generally harmonious arrangement. As a result, the diverse rainbow of fans she has caught with the net of her dynamic instincts over the years have often waged war against each other over who was the “best” or the “real” Mariah, and with the exception of the “Lambs,” the self-proclaimed title of Mariah’s die hard fans, much of Mariah’s fan base has been a revolving door of disgruntled, newly recruited, and repentant supporters.

Mariah’s latest batch of bait, Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel, will unfortunately catch only more of the same. As much as we’re all waiting for Mariah to rediscover that transcendent kernel of musical genius that inspires the population beyond the moment, for now you’ll have to settle for the relatively decent hit seeker that is Memoirs. On this newest offering, Mariah’s drawn a line in the R&B sand, and the masses will have to find solace in the idea that the diva is planting permanent roots in the music she, and only she, wants to make. If you don’t like it, find the revolving door.

At times, the album falls into the same trap that too often befell E=MC2 i.e. trying to make another “We Belong Together.” However, one can overlook the similarities in vocal delivery and repetitive “come back baby please” themes a little more on this album, since Mimi plays further with her lyrical and vocal style and makes full use of her assets, as expected. The result is a more convincing, less forgettable pop-soul hybrid that seems more fitting of the “Emancipation sequel” seal that accompanied the previous album. More importantly, there’s no more Jermaine Dupri. Mariah enlists fellow hit maker Terius Nash a.k.a “The Dream” and producer “Tricky” Stewart to collaborate on the entire album. The trio made “Touch My Body” together, and vaguely desperate attempt to top the charts though it may be, the album, thankfully, is not one hour long “Touch My Body” song, although there is a good deal overuse of the finger snap sound. A whole lot. But you will be reminded of one thing throughout the album: the woman’s voice is some freak of celestial nature. If you’re a fan of the voice, you will purchase, and enjoy, the album.

On another note, the effort is yet another interesting insight into the artist’s psyche, most notably the underrated role her sense of humor plays in her music. The boldest example would have to be “Up Out My Face,” on which she postulates, “If we were two Lego blocks, even the Harvard University graduating class of 2010 couldn’t put us back together again,” all in about two bars, and in as many octaves. She continues to parody her own voice in places, a tradition that seemed to begin on E=MC2 with “Migrate,” and beats the crass to the punch with “More Than Just Friends” in which she invites her would be lover to make her “hit the top of my soprano.”

Mariah gives her 1st generation fans a few shout outs on songs like “Candy Bling” where she samples the obscure 90’s hip hop gem “Back in the Day” by Ahmad. On “Impossible,” cooing a love song most likely inspired by recent nuptials, Carey gives significant homage to Jodeci, inadvertently revealing the intriguing notion of what songs other than her own became a cultural influence during her hectic 90’s domination.

For pop Mariah lovers: sorry. There’s not much of an offering for you this time. There’s a sturdy ballad near the end called “Angel’s Cry,” which will remind you of a good song you’ve heard but can’t remember, and there’s the somewhat disappointing remake of “I Want to Know What Love Is.” It seems like Mimi was going for a sure thing on this one, so I wonder why she sabotaged it by phoning it in. It wasn’t even given the dignity of being as long as the original– I’m pretty sure cutting short a song with a gospel choir in it is a musical sin.

All in all the artistic impression Memoirs gives is one of a relaxed, ‘round-the-way, drama-addicted girl making music, which is somewhat of an impressive feat for a larger than life superstar with the unparalleled range and imposing presence of a diva. Her gift of melody informs the slow, hard beats she insists on in this stage of her career, lending her credible arrangements to an otherwise overexposed branch of her beloved hip hop. The album gives indelible voice to the spectrum of women looking for love in sometimes right, often times wrong, places– a fitting dedication to imperfect angels everywhere, past, present, and future.

I would have no friends…

If I could sing like this…

If I opened my mouth and THAT came out?  I would be one stuck-up you know what.  I hear it, I’m watching it, I still don’t believe it.  She’s not even TRYING to sing!!!  When did we stop making this kind of talent?

The white guy’s a little awkward.  Especially when it gets to all the romantic parts, and he looks like he’s having to constantly remind himself NOT to touch her.  And he looks a little like George W.  Awkward.

MJ Elegiac Opus in four Movements (Rough Draft)

Something beautiful has left this place…
Without warning, without a symphony
God came down at dawn and crouched alongside the bed and waited
For the exact time of the exact moment He and only He knew, when it was appropriate to lift his soul like a swindler, a kid on the street with nimble fingers

Something joyous and grand, something regal has gone out of this place…
Without announcement, without so much as a knock on the door or chirping bird, a car horn, a marching band
And the void threatens to flatten my soul like the edges of a copper coin
Suggests that I give up right now and raise a finger in hopes of finding blame to place

My God, something beautiful was just here!
Trailed a sparkling beauty across the night sky that could be seen for what must’ve been millions of miles.
Did you catch it? Say that you did.
Say that you were there, that you shared it with us all.
Lest I break down right here in this dirt on your behalf, unable to lift my heavy head.
It makes it hard to sing again at first.
I hear you crying falsetto and it is doves,
and you were making your way upward all this time.

Dear Michael,
How are you? I am well.
Though I could be better.
This morning I was cleaning out your space, the one in my heart.
And you know what I found? Old shoeboxes full of joy,
Crisp and stacked like letters. Big heaping piles of it.
I’m still finding it. Under the couch, in the close, behind the fridge.
How much of that shit did we use?
I wouldn’t dare throw it out. I suspect it will keep.
I sat right where I was and went through it.
You make me smile so.
With your gasps and grabs and “shamone’s” and otherwise inexplicable exclamations,
I am collecting them like raw colored diamonds.
You seem to have chosen now to be more alive to me. Why?
At once I am inconsolable.
Then you flash that smile,
say something silly, standing bow-legged and grappling at your bee ay ell ell ess for God’s sake
And I am altogether lifted involuntary, high out of woe and into a joy I could somehow never reach while you were here.

Someone pleaded in front of no one in particular: “VISIT ME IN MY DREAMS!”
And I was soon arrested with tears that seemed too hot
Yes, because I loved you but probably because I lacked courage to ask that.
Oh how the world is on my shoulders now.
And I remember some stupid thing you told me,
About how I should straighten up my act, boogie down.
Off the wall, off the wall. I’m supposed to live my life this way.
And you’re right. But that don’t make it easy.
You were the one who woke me in the morning.
And when anyone calls it’s your voice I hear.

I trust I will see you again.
I don’t much have an interest in any place that would separate us.
Heaven is a place that is also full of light and beauty and good will.
It is a place that you seemed to know well, as if you’d been and were trying to get back.
Mama said you wouldn’t’ve come back even if you could. Good for you.
When was the last time you were so selfish?
I bet it was like this.
I bet you took one look down at all that was left,
at the continents left arrested, empty, unbuilt stadiums,
and the boy with the sad eyes
and the father and the family’s joined hands like children in a summer game.
I bet the satellites were beaming hot with details and speculation and unreliable sources.
But then I bet you took one look up,
into that love,
spectacular and without noise and negotiations and contracts,
and flashing bulbs and leading questions and tinted windows, and children forced to lie
I bet you looked into those eyes,
pleading without condition and devoid of carefully crafted motives
but all encompassing and more than you could’ve ever imagined.
You probably looks right into those eyes,
and that was that.

Michael Jackson August 29, 1958-June 25th 2009

Michael Jackson: August 29, 1958-June 25th 2009