the Satanic universe
Bogie helps shape my destiny
Welcome to The Satanic Universe. I am your seer and spiritual detective, Robert S Urbanek. Through dreams, symbols, and synchronicity, I reveal a new reality and crack open the mind of the Creator.
I don't carry a Holy Book in my trench coat. I'm packing heat and brass knuckles. The God I'm looking for runs a crooked casino, Earth, in a bad part of town, the Milky Way. The wheels are rigged, and the decks are cold. Einstein said God does not play dice with the universe. Yes, He does, and the dice are loaded. God leaves little to chance. You may call it Intelligent Design. I call it Cheating.
I don't have faith; I have reasonable suspicion. I picked up that attitude from my mentor, a certain hardboiled gumshoe and soldier of fortune. He keeps showing up in unexpected places.
About 1987 I was visiting my mother's house in Buena Park, California. As we sat at the dining room table, she began dismantling a still life picture. She wanted to dump the art but keep the frame. As she removed the cardboard backing and turned it over, we discovered a 14 by 17-inch poster for a 1951 Humphrey Bogart movie, Sirocco.
Welcome to The Satanic Universe. I am your seer and spiritual detective, Robert S Urbanek. Through dreams, symbols, and synchronicity, I reveal a new reality and crack open the mind of the Creator.
I don't carry a Holy Book in my trench coat. I'm packing heat and brass knuckles. The God I'm looking for runs a crooked casino, Earth, in a bad part of town, the Milky Way. The wheels are rigged, and the decks are cold. Einstein said God does not play dice with the universe. Yes, He does, and the dice are loaded. God leaves little to chance. You may call it Intelligent Design. I call it Cheating.
I don't have faith; I have reasonable suspicion. I picked up that attitude from my mentor, a certain hardboiled gumshoe and soldier of fortune. He keeps showing up in unexpected places.
About 1987 I was visiting my mother's house in Buena Park, California. As we sat at the dining room table, she began dismantling a still life picture. She wanted to dump the art but keep the frame. As she removed the cardboard backing and turned it over, we discovered a 14 by 17-inch poster for a 1951 Humphrey Bogart movie, Sirocco.
The poster proclaims "Bogart's Socko in Sirocco" and shows Bogart in a trench coat, Lee J. Cobb in a tussle with Marta Toren, and a belly dancer with two fez-wearing musicians. In the film, Bogie, as Harry Smith, is selling weapons to terrorists who are fighting the French occupiers in Syria. Yes, kind of like helping al-Qaeda or ISIS.
I got the poster reframed and it now hangs in my home.
Spiritual father Back in the 1940s, my mother was a real “looker.” She worked at Ontra Cafeteria in Hollywood. People suggested she become a model. She once had a date with actor Howard Duff. About three months before she died, she told me her friends had offered to set her up on a date with Bogart, but she turned them down because "he had too many girlfriends." My jaw dropped. If things had worked out, my dad could have been Bogie, not the man she married. Of course, that would have been a different me.
Nevertheless, I have followed in Harry Smith's footsteps by writing material, such as my Nine Eleven essay, which could give theological ammunition to jihadists. Why would I do something like that? God told me to. Or the devil made me do it. Or it may be entirely my own idea, though I have serious doubts about the concept of free will. My future may not be written on the wall, but it seems to be hanging on the wall, in the pictures in my house.
Words I ignore: Don’t go there. Words I embrace: Untroubled, scornful, outrageous -- That is how wisdom wants us to be. She is a woman and never loves anyone but a warrior — Friedrich Nietzsche
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AMAZON ZOMBIE: POETRY FROM A TO Z
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Images View of Milky Way, ESO/S Brunier, http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso0932a/, CC BY 4.0; Sirocco © 1951 Columbia Pictures Corp., fair use
I got the poster reframed and it now hangs in my home.
Spiritual father Back in the 1940s, my mother was a real “looker.” She worked at Ontra Cafeteria in Hollywood. People suggested she become a model. She once had a date with actor Howard Duff. About three months before she died, she told me her friends had offered to set her up on a date with Bogart, but she turned them down because "he had too many girlfriends." My jaw dropped. If things had worked out, my dad could have been Bogie, not the man she married. Of course, that would have been a different me.
Nevertheless, I have followed in Harry Smith's footsteps by writing material, such as my Nine Eleven essay, which could give theological ammunition to jihadists. Why would I do something like that? God told me to. Or the devil made me do it. Or it may be entirely my own idea, though I have serious doubts about the concept of free will. My future may not be written on the wall, but it seems to be hanging on the wall, in the pictures in my house.
Words I ignore: Don’t go there. Words I embrace: Untroubled, scornful, outrageous -- That is how wisdom wants us to be. She is a woman and never loves anyone but a warrior — Friedrich Nietzsche
Featured page: Ra Cycle
You may also enjoy:
AMAZON ZOMBIE: POETRY FROM A TO Z
October 21, 2021
Images View of Milky Way, ESO/S Brunier, http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso0932a/, CC BY 4.0; Sirocco © 1951 Columbia Pictures Corp., fair use