Posts Tagged 'godless Digital Age'

The reason I am so hot—all the time—is that everyone else is so cold—all the time.

My father had an opportunity to learn the truth about my blog, thereby about me.

My father had an opportunity to tell me the truth about who had intentionally misrepresented me, by intentionally misrepresenting my blog.

My father had an opportunity to trust me.

My father had an opportunity to have a good relationship with me, in the last 621 days of his life.

And my father decided—on April 10, 2016—to intentionally miss all of these opportunities.

How different everything could have been, if my father would have simply visited my blog—as I asked him to do—and told me the truth about who had told him that vicious lie about my blog, thereby about me—as I asked him to do.

For me, it is like my father died on April 10, 2016, rather than December 22, 2017.

God damn this Digital Age—the coldness of these smartphone-addicted, Digital-Age people.

The reason I am so hot—all the time—is that everyone else is so cold—all the time.

ONE REASON I’M IN HELL (PART 1)

The phone conversation with my father, on Sunday, April 10, 2016, suddenly took a creepy, sinister turn.

“Somebody told me you had a blog—and that you’d written that Mike was gay, and died of AIDS.  Why would you write something like that?”

“Who told you that, Dad?”

“A man from our church—a friend of mine.”

“Dad, I did write that Mike was homosexual, and had died of AIDS complications (AIDS-related lymphoma).  But I also wrote that Mike was a brilliant musician, who was so appreciated and admired by the congregation of his church that he was given a scholarship to Yale Divinity School, at Yale University, to get his master’s degree in sacred music.  Did this man tell you that?”  [ THE GAY WRONGS MOVEMENT ]

“No, he didn’t.  He also told me you had written that I had physically abused you, when you were a child—and that your mother and I had emotionally abused you throughout your life.  Why would you write something like that?”

“Dad, I have written that you physically abused me, at times, when I was a child (by whipping me with a belt, in fits of rage, until he was too exhausted to whip me anymore), and that you and Mom have emotionally abused me, at times, throughout my life.  But Dad, I have also written about the many positive things you and Mom have done for me, throughout my life—especially the many wonderful things you both have taught me.  Dad, I’ve especially written about the many wonderful sayings Mom has taught me, throughout my life—wise teachings that have been so helpful to me.  And Dad, I’ve especially written about the many wonderful skills you have taught me—fishing, hunting, camping, and woodworking skills.  I may have even written how you taught me the lost art of sculling a boat.  Dad, I even wrote a birthday post for you, one year—then a birthday post for Mom.  Did this man tell you that?”  [ HAPPY 78th, DAD!  HAPPY 77th, MOM! ]

“No, he didn’t.”

“Well, Dad, I was going to tell you about my blog—but I was going to wait until you asked me about it.  Let me give you the website to my blog—and you can see, for yourself, what my blog is all about.”

“No, I don’t want to look at it.”

“Dad, did this man tell you why he was telling you this?”

“He said he was just concerned about your sharing all this personal information about our family on your blog.”

“Dad, that doesn’t make sense.  You didn’t even know what a blog was, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, Dad, this man knew.  And he also knew that I was the only person who could change anything on my blog—because I was the administrator of the blog.  If this man were concerned about anything I’d written on my blog, he would have immediately contacted me—and spoken with me about it.  He wouldn’t have contacted you—knowing you didn’t even know what a blog was.  But he never contacted me, Dad—no one has ever contacted me with concerns about anything I’ve ever written on my blog.  Dad, I rarely even write about my family, on my blog—in fact, most of my posts, lately, have been about political issues.  Dad, who was this man?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Dad, I just want to call this man, and tell him, ‘Sir, that was a terrible thing you did.  If you had any problem with anything I had written on my blog, you should have spoken with me about it—not my father.  Sir, my father didn’t even know what a blog was—but you certainly did.  And you certainly knew that I was the only person who could make any changes to anything I had written on my blog.’  Dad, this man has lied to you about my blog.  This man has gone through my blog’s archives, cherry-picked certain things I’ve written about my parents and my late brother—then taken those things completely out of context and proportion, in order to lead you to believe that the sole purpose of my blog is to expose and embarrass my family before the entire world. This man has grossly misrepresented my blog to you, in an attempt to make you feel betrayed by me.  And I simply want to confront him about this.  Please just tell me who this man was.”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

No matter what I said to my father, I could not convince him that it was my right to know who this mysterious man was.

I called the senior pastor at my parents’ church, Jeff Spiller.  There was no answer—apparently he wasn’t home.

I called one of my parents’ friends, Jerry Wilson—a communication arts professor at the University of South Alabama, who had also been my faculty advisor at one time—Dr. Wilson didn’t know who it could be.

I even called the Mobile chapter of NAMI (the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill)—my father had mentioned that this man was also a member of his and my mother’s NAMI group.  Since it was Sunday, the office was closed—I left several messages.

I called my father back, and begged him to tell me who this mysterious man was—he hung up on me.

I called him back again—he hung up on me.

I called him back, again and again—he hung up on me, again and again.

Finally, my father said, “Scott, I’m going to block this phone if you don’t stop asking me who told me about your blog—Scott, I’m going to block this number if you don’t stop asking me who told me about your blog.”

That phone was my parents’ landline phone—the one I’d known from my childhood.  That phone number was (251) 661-6228—the phone number my parents had taught me to memorize, as a child, in case I ever had to call them, for any reason.

After my father told me he was going to block that phone from me if I didn’t stop asking him who told him about my blog—block that phone number from me if I didn’t stop asking him who told him about my blog—he hung up on me again.

I was exhausted—I went to sleep.

A DIFFERENT APPROACH

—Original Message—

Sent: Tue, Dec 12, 2017 4:53 pm

Subject: FROM SCOTT MAYO, RE TWO ONLINE PETITIONS I HAVE STARTED

I appreciate your time and consideration, in reading this email.

For a long time now, I’ve been very concerned about the direction our country, the United States, is taking.

Since 2012, I’ve been especially concerned about the destructive impact that unrestrained Digital-Age technology—particularly cellular technology (cellphones and smartphones) and social media (Facebook, Twitter, et al)—is having on our country.

And since June 22, 2015, I’ve been especially concerned about an ongoing trend of state and local politicians censoring their constituents’ historical flags, and destroying their constituents’ historical monuments—without their constituents’ consent.  This posthumous extermination of the Confederate States of America is destructive to the United States of America—and I have been doing all I can to bring awareness to it, and to elicit the help of my fellow Southern Americans, my fellow Americans, and my fellow human beings worldwide, in stopping this destructive trend.

I have started two petitions on the website, Change.org, on which I would appreciate your adding your signature to mine.

The first is to President Trump, requesting that he remove Nikki Haley from his presidential cabinet—because Nikki Haley is the initial perpetrator of this posthumous extermination of the Confederate States of America, and because Nikki Haley is being rewarded for her exploitation of a mass murder.

The second is to Pensacola Mayor Ashton Hayward and the Escambia County Board of County Commissioners to return the First Confederate Flag to its rightful place in Pensacola’s Five-Flags Displays—the historical flags displays of the five nations under which Pensacola, Florida, has lived and thrived.  These local politicians have censored the First Confederate Flag from our historical flags displays since June 24, 2015—without our consent.  They have not even let us vote on this.

Our country, the United States of America, is in serious danger of self-destruction.  The sociopolitical chaos our country is experiencing in this Digital Age is unprecedented in its history.  And this sociopolitical chaos—driven by unrestrained Digital-Age technology—is spreading all over our world.

Most of us seem to be pretending that everything is fine—as if our country’s problems will simply go away if we ignore them.  But this is never the case—no country’s problems simply go away, as if by magic.

Many of us are quite aware of the danger posed to our country, but feel so powerless to do anything about it that we just give up—we just do nothing, and look forward to our deaths, or to a Biblical event that will require no action on our part.

Of course, neither of these approaches is ever effective.

We can turn our country—and our world—around.  But we can only do this together—and with small, incremental actions.

And signing online petitions is a way of taking small, incremental actions together.

Please click on the links below, and—unless either of these petitions is against everything you believe in—add your signature to these online petitions.  Your signature will be greatly appreciated—perhaps more than you know.

https://www.change.org/p/president-trump-remove-the-dishonorable-nikki-r-haley-from-your-cabinet-immediately-so-you-can-immediately-restore-some-honor-to-your-cabinet

https://www.change.org/p/pensacola-mayor-grover-c-robinson-iv-and-escambia-county-board-of-county-commissioners-return-the-first-confederate-flag-to-its-rightful-place-in-pensacola-s-five-flags-displays

And if you want to learn more about the issues mentioned in this email, you are welcome to view my blog, Solosocial, at solosocial.wordpress.com, and to comment on posts, if you so desire.

Again, thank you so much for your time and consideration.

Scott Wesley Mayo

[Grover C. Robinson IV is now the Mayor of Pensacola, Florida, and Robert Bender is now the Escambia County Commissioner for District 4.  I have updated my petition to return our First Confederate Flag to our Five Flags Displays, to reflect these changes.]

SIXTH WILL AND TESTAMENT

This Digital Age is bringing out the worst in people.

And the more Digital-Age stuff they have, the worse they are getting.

This is the reason our government is such a mess—at the federal, state, and local levels.

The people are such a mess.

Their smartphones are nothing but little, electronic drugs—and they are nothing but drug addicts.

And our government is nothing but a pusher—at the federal, state, and local levels.

And our corporations are nothing but pushers.

The smartphone is the most insidiously addictive drug ever developed in human history.

Every single smartphone user is addicted to his or her smartphone, to some degree.

The apps (applications) are what drives the addiction.

‘Get this app,’ ‘Get that app.’

This is how our government and our corporations are pushing this little, electronic drug.

The more apps smartphone users get, the more addicted to their Digital-Age pacifiers they get.

Their smartphones are mindless, godless, and inhuman—and they get more and more mindless, godless, and inhuman, as they get more and more addicted to those little, electronic drugs.

Only those, like me, who chose not to get cellphones or smartphones, in the first place, can see what’s going on.

Only those, like me, who chose not to get Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or other social media accounts, in the first place, can see what’s going on.

Only those, like me, who choose to limit the Digital-Age technology in their lives, can see what’s going on.

A SHORT SERMON FOR TODAY

God is not limited to one system of beliefs; God’s Word is not limited to one form of communication.  God is beyond anything we humans can imagine, classify, or manipulate.  In attempting to limit God, we only limit ourselves.

 

No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.  Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

Matthew 6:24

 

Om Asato Maa Sadgamaya

Tamaso Maa Jyotir Gamaya

Mrityor Maa Amrtam Gamaya.

Om Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih.

(Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 1st Adhyaya, 3rd Brahmana, 28th Mantra)

O Lord please lead me from the unreal to the real.

Lead me from darkness to light (i.e. from ignorance to knowledge).

Lead me from death to immortality.

May there be peace, peace and perfect peace.

 

Because God’s Word is not limited to one form of communication, it can be found in the scriptures of different religions—including Christianity and Hinduism.

God leads us from the unreal to the real.

God leads us from darkness to light.

God leads us from death to immortality.

But mammon leads us from the real to the unreal.

Mammon leads us from light to darkness.

And mammon leads us from immortality to death.

When we serve God, we are lead from the unreal to the real.

When we serve God, we are lead from darkness to light.

When we serve God, we are lead from death to immortality.

But when we serve mammon, we are lead from the real to the unreal.

When we serve mammon, we are lead from light to darkness.

And when we serve mammon, we are lead from immortality to death.

May we serve God.

May we not serve mammon.

And, yes, may there be peace, peace, and perfect peace.

This is Hell.

Hell is not hot, but cold.

And Hell is not a place, but a time.

Hell is a time when the air is cold, the water is cold, the ground is cold—and the people are cold.

This is Hell.

THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE TO BE

The emergency room at any hospital in the United States is the most dangerous place to be, anywhere in the United States.

“God sees the truth, but waits.”

ITEMS MY FATHER PROMISED TO ME

One Saturday, months ago, my brother-in-law Jeffrey Clentis Pool called me, and told me that the house I had grown up in—at 5922 Vogel Road, Mobile, Alabama 36693—had just been sold.

I asked Jeff why he had never told me the house was for sale—and he hung up on me.

I called him back, again and again, just trying to find out what the hell was going on—no one had ever told me that house was for sale—and he kept hanging up.

While I kept calling him, my mother called me.  My mother asked me why I was “talking bad” to my sister Elaine Elizabeth Mayo Pool and brother-in-law Jeff.  I explained that I wasn’t “talking bad”—that I was simply asking Jeff why he and Elaine had never told me the house in Mobile was for sale.

Jeff and Elaine came here to this house—they brought me some items that had belonged to my late father.

I had sent my sisters and brothers-in-law an email listing the items that my father had promised to leave for me, upon his death.  Right after I sent that email, my sister Elaine lied to my mother that I had sent her an “ugly” email.  I explained to my mother that I had not sent Elaine an “ugly” email—that I had just sent her an email listing the items my father had promised me.

But knowing that my sister Elaine had lied to my mother about the purpose and tone of that email—just as she had lied to my father about the purpose and tone of my blog, on April 10, 2016—I decided that I had better post the contents of the email on my blog, so the whole world could know what my father had promised me.

Of course Elaine saw that post too—my sisters Elaine and Catherine Cecilia Mayo Wright, with the support of my brothers-in-law Jeff and Thomas Grady Wright—have been following my blog since late March, 2016.  And my sister Elaine, in particular, has been lying to my parents, my psychiatrist, and even my pastor, about the purpose and tone of my blog, since April 10, 2016.

That Saturday, months ago, I looked at the items that Elaine and Jeff had brought here.  The only one of those items that was on my list of items my father had promised me was the stereo equipment.

There was something wrapped up in green felt—I unwrapped it, and found that it was an antique crosscut saw.  I asked Elaine and Jeff where the Imperial Japanese sword was.  They said they didn’t know—that my father had given it away before moving to North Alabama, but they didn’t know whom he had given it to.  I asked Elaine and Jeff where the antique (or vintage) clock was.  They said they didn’t know—that my father had given it away before moving to North Alabama, but they didn’t know whom he had given it to.

I told them they were lying.  I told them my father had always told me that he would always keep family heirlooms in the family—that if he gave those items away at all, he gave those items to them, as well as Cathy and Tom.

Then Elaine got really ugly.  She pointed her finger at me, and started telling me that I was being ungrateful.

That’s when I verbally tore her up.

I called her a cunt.  I reminded her of what she had started on April 10, 2016—and how she had estranged me from my father for the last 621 days of his life, with her lies.

Then Jeff got out his smartphone, and started making a video of me—without my consent.

I said, “Oh, so are you going to put this on social media now, Jeff?”

Jeff smirked, and said, “No, I’m going to share this with your mother!”

Then I made sure my mother would know what Jeff was doing.  I said, on the video, “Mom, Jeff is making this video without my permission.  Instead of resolving this dispute with me, Jeff has decided to make a video of me, without my permission—and show it to you, with the intention of hurting you.”

I decided to get the whole truth out on the video—to loudly share the whole truth with my neighbors.  I told my neighbors everything, as loudly as I could.

As I was loudly speaking on the video, Elaine called the sheriff’s department.

I eventually got tired of seeing Jeff’s smirk, and tried to grab that goddamned smartphone from him.

I realize, now, that I should have punched him—that the only way I could have gotten that smartphone away from him was if I punched him in that smirking face.  It was only after I tried to grab that goddamned smartphone away from Jeff that he finally put it away.

When the Escambia Sheriff’s deputies arrived, Jeff made a point to approach a female deputy, shake her hand, and introduce himself.  I almost laughed as I remarked at Jeff’s grandstanding behavior.

A male deputy spoke with me, as the female deputy spoke with Jeff and Elaine.  Before the deputies left, I explained to that deputy that my brother-in-law had made a video of me, on his smartphone, without my permission—and asked him if he could order my brother-in-law to erase the video.  He said that would have to wait for the civil suit (the civil lawsuit that I intended to file—and still intend to file—against my sisters and brothers-in-law).  In fairness to that deputy, he may have been unable to order my brother-in-law to erase the video—it may have been legal for my brother-in-law to make a video of me, without my consent, right in front of my residence.  But if that is the case—if anyone can legally make a video of anyone else, just outside his or her private residence, without his or her consent—that law needs to change.

My mother hasn’t spoken with me since that Saturday, months ago.  I thought that the video Jeff made of me, without my permission, would backfire on him and Elaine.  But Jeff edited the video—I know he did.  At the very least, Jeff edited out the part in which I explain to my mother that Jeff is making this video without my permission.

My sisters Elaine Elizabeth Mayo Pool and Catherine Cecilia Mayo Wright, and my brothers-in-law Jeffrey Clentis Pool and Thomas Grady Wright, have viciously lied to my parents, about me, since April 10, 2016.

And my sisters Elaine Elizabeth Mayo Pool and Catherine Cecilia Mayo Wright, and my brothers-in-law Jeffrey Clentis Pool and Thomas Grady Wright, have viciously lied to me, about my parents’ whereabouts, since March 11, 2017.

On April 10, 2016, my sister Elaine—with the support of my sister Cathy and brothers-in-law Jeff and Tom—intentionally misled my father to believe that the sole purpose of my blog was to expose and embarrass my family before the entire world.  That was—and has always been—a vicious lie.

But right here, right now, I, Scott Wesley Mayo, expose my sisters Elaine Elizabeth Mayo Pool and Catherine Cecilia Mayo Wright, and my brothers-in-law Jeffrey Clentis Pool and Thomas Grady Wright, for the evil they have done to me—and to my parents—since April 10, 2016.

“God sees the truth, but waits.”

#MeToo is doing a lot more harm than good.

When I was a teenager in Mobile, I volunteered with Teen Line, for a time.

Teen Line was a crisis line for teenagers and pre-teenagers.

One call I received was from a pre-teenage girl who revealed to me that her pastor had molested her—and was continuing to molest her, as I recall.

I encouraged her to report this to someone she knew and trusted—and I hope she did.

Just after I moved here to Pensacola, in 1998, I joined a Toastmasters chapter—the Monday Nite Toastmasters (I had been a longtime member of at least two Toastmasters chapters in Mobile).

Monday Nite Toastmasters met at Morrisons in University Mall, which was later bought out by Piccadilly.

One Monday we met at the Rape Crisis Center though.

We had a regular meeting there.

As I recall, the purpose of this was to inspire the women there—or at least inform them about Toastmasters International.

To my knowledge, all of the volunteers at the Rape Crisis Center were rape victims survivors themselves.

What surprised me most about these women was how plain they looked.

Not ugly—just plain.

I remember wondering why anyone would want to rape a woman as plain as each of these women was.

What also surprised me was how quiet these women were.

Not mousy—just quiet.

I remember wondering why anyone would want to rape a woman as quiet as each of these women was.

In 1998 and 1999, I was in my early thirties.

I didn’t yet understand that rape had nothing to do with the appearance or demeanor of the victim—that rapists preyed on the most vulnerable women, children, and men.

What I remember most about the women I met at the Rape Crisis Center, that time my Toastmasters chapter met there, is this:

None of those women resembled the loud, obnoxious, overconfident, aggressive, entitled, privileged, mindless, shallow, belligerent, self-absorbed, misandrist, wolf-crying, teasing, baiting, leftist, smartphone-addicted, social-media-addicted, pampered, game-playing, control-freaking, trigger-happy, spoiled-rotten, virtue-signaling, girls-in-women’s-bodies that make up the bulk of this #MeToo “movement.”

These #MeToo brats are harming a lot of people.

But they are probably harming legitimate victims survivors of rape and child molestation, most of all.

#MeToo is harming a lot of people.

But it is probably harming legitimate victims survivors of rape and child molestation, most of all.

#MeToo is doing a lot more harm than good.

TWO PAINTINGS THAT SHOW HOW I FEEL IN THIS DIABOLICAL DIGITAL AGE


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