The Charlotte Bishop Should Not Care About Me

I live in dread of my own children.

It will be tiring to hear me complain about something which I detailed out in my last article. I was just trying to write from the heart to soothe my own soul because I am close to tears from a day with a lot of failed naps and no opportunity to write until this very moment, and I swear when I finally sat down to do it, I heard the echo of a small child’s voice down the hall. Should I turn on a light, should I make a noise, should I mention “outside”, “hungry”, “water”, then hours of pain and difficulty assault me. Children scream in my face. I am not allowed to go to the bathroom. All the things I love are held at threat. Recently, my daughter was upset that I told her to leave my wife’s linen room and wash her hands after being outside digging in the dirt. She ran to the bathroom, turned the tap over the counter (what a nifty feature!), and let the faucet run at full blast.

I usually gain the most sublime comfort from being able to write once a day. I tell my friends that I am narcissistic. What I mean by that is that I have a very complex and tender soul that requires— Ah! I hear him! He did see the light!

Wife: “What are you doing?”

Son: “Where’s dad?” (Johnny Cash’s Little Boy Named John plays in the background)

Wife: “Go back to bed.”

Son: “I want to see him! I want to see dad!” (Voice peters off screaming as she drags him to bed, and I consider whether to walk away from this article now.)

That brief interruption, which I have written exactly as it occurred in this typing, having passed, let us return to the subject: What I mean by narcissistic is that my soul requires a lot of attention to keep running. Somewhere in all the mechanisms, dials, gears, matrices, input screens, and abstractions, there is a little print-slot that churns out critical errors onto a notebook page with a broken pen until my hand cramps, and I switch to a laptop. This is a log that has been stored up however long since the last time I wrote, and if I unload it, then I can keep running the machine into the ground a little longer for the sake of my wife and children.

After my needs which no one should care about, let me tell you about a bishop under which I narrowly avoided perplexing my soul. Or rather, let me tell you about two days influenced by his thinking and writing.

I saw that, in Charlotte, Bishop Martin had restricted the Latin Mass to a little converted Protestant chapel in Mooresville. I saw this because of subscriptions I have that have a curious little internecine history which is a microcosm of the relationship between the SSPX and the FSSP. Perhaps I can elaborate on that later. First, I want to tell you of the immediate thoughts that went through my head:

Well, those people deserve it. I told ‘em.

I wonder if the chapel is closer to that one family.

I had met that one family when they visited my parish. After Mass, they were holding their newborn, and I greeted them in my usual way:

“Hello, I am part of the Welcome Committee. I used to be part of the Unwelcome Committee, but they saw I didn’t mind talking to crazy people, so now I am part of the Welcome Committee, too.”

“Uh, hello. How are you?”

“Well, I am doing pretty good. There’s our Lord, and I got to see Him, and I don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills next month, but I’m pretty happy.”

“What?”

People think I am weird because I am very sincere, and nobody expects to deal with the interior thoughts of a man like me in a normal day. Long story short, these folks ended up helping me start a business by buying me the equipment and the education in a tradition skill (butchery), and we have been friends ever since, despite my incredible ability to say offensive and uncomfortable things to them every time I see them. I have tried hard to stop doing this. I am still trying.

For the other thought, the reason why I think those people deserve it is a simple metaphysical fact. We get the leaders we deserve in the Church. The tone may sound all negative here, but I do not want to say anything bad about the bishop. I will say a couple things about him now, and then I will give an example which could be abstracted to understand why the denizens of the Charlotte diocese deserve their good bishop.

That family’s head, Mr. Soandso, sent me the link to the bishop’s letter after the SSPX newsletter sent it earlier that day (they had pushed out the FSSP element. The FSSP element had their own newsletter which sent me a petition via this good man. I signed it, saying that rigidity and contempt for the poor prevalent among traditional communities would probably be best addressed by a pastor who got to know them, their culture, and their love for the Latin Mass to perhaps the detriment of their neighbor.) I said to myself, “If it’s important to that good man, I will read it.” I noticed immediately that the letter had been “shelved” and that it was addressed to “my brother priests”, and that basically, it should never have been in the hands of either me or Mr. Soandso. Regardless, caring for his soul, I read the first few paragraphs and agreed with just about everything the bishop had to say. As I continued, I started to see some things with which I disagreed. Then, my wife came up and said, “Have you seen this?”, and I wondered to myself why in the world my wife is seeing this letter.

She had a miscarriage seven months ago. This was the time that we would have had our baby born. We had a babysitter over today that almost could not make it because her mother was going into labor. Her mother is from our church, and my wife has seen her regularly with friends and relatives flock around her, while we have very nearly nobody to say a word to us after Mass. (The baby was born the night I wrote this article. Say a Hail Mary for them; it’s hard running a family anymore and having babies.) My wife is very sensitive emotionally, and her health is very tender. Yet here is a private, unpublished letter directed at priests by a bishop of the Catholic Church in a diocese far away, and here is my wife reading it and being affected by it emotionally.

Here is the example I promised. A few days prior to all this I had been in a 12” clearance crawlspace digging through sewage. We had a broken sewer pipe. We also had a leaky toilet that was dumping water into our crawlspace through this sewer pipe. My water bill was three times as high as usual. I went through a month or two of insurance rigmarole with phone calls, visits, stressful jargon, plumbers charging money, in order to get a quote of $3500 which provided me with a $1200 check. This check I could not deposit but had to mail to my mortgage company so that they could deposit it, and then if I do their paperwork correctly, they will allow me to set up a third party payment processor with my social security number to send the money as soon as the computers and robots confirm that everything is okay with me as a person. This has taken dozens of hours to do.

I could not afford the $2300, so I did the work myself. At the end of it, I had a cut sewer pipe and a less leaky toilet and could confirm, after spending $200 on supplies (half of which are the wrong size), that the problem will not be fixed by what I am doing. How will it be fixed? Who knows. I have to tunnel an indefinite distance to find out if it might be fixable.

My wife is out of a bathroom because of this. Days prior, I had gone up on the roof in order to look at four leaks which were there when we bought the house. They were caused by shoddy workmanship. I don’t know how to fix it. I have asked one person who told me how, and I looked, and I confirmed that I had no idea what he was talking about. He’s a good man. He lives far away. I asked a good local man, and he said he would try to send a friend out to look at it. I haven’t heard about it since. He has made several offers like that for problems on my property, and he usually does not come through. He’s a good man. He works very hard, and his wife just had a baby last night, and he just cannot be expected to do extra things right now. Another good man sent me a roofing contractor and was trying to help me pay for it. The contractor looked at it. He said it would be a very large quote. I never got the quote.

In order to comfort myself on these failures, I laid a floor amateurishly. It took me weeks. I would go until I got so mad at my children for getting in the way that I was worried about having to go to confession. Maybe I can include some pictures. I finally finished it, and now they have a little playroom that has a roof leak and seeps water in at the floor. It is helping me manage them.

In the midst of laying this floor, I was texting an old friend from the Charlotte Diocese. This friend is a parapalegic. When I lived near the Charlotte Diocese, I had a quarter-acre, and I was so desirous of having a Catholic neighbor or a relative nearby, that I had offered to give this land away to a half-dozen people. The last of which was this parapalegic. I put together a plan to build the house for him according to his needs and even to take care of him in my family’s schedule. I saw it as an opportunity for heroic virtue. My pastor agreed with me and said that the local Latinos from Spanish Mass would help me build it. Another good man acquired thousands of dollars of lumber milled from his property. This friend of mine, however, decided not to do it because of the Holy Ghost, which told him it was a bad idea. He had expressed some concerns that I would be overbearing or over controlling or something of that nature.

Fair enough. I had a similar message come from the Holy Ghost to a family who had a whole empty house next to their house and wanted to find Catholic neighbors to fill it. We really wanted to move into it and sell our house to get out of our tiny mortgage and live like monks. In the example of St. Anthony coming to Italy, I made myself sound like quite a burden to them. Hence, the Holy Ghost told them not to do it, and I do not know if that house is still empty. When my wife told them we were losing our house, they did not mention its current status to me.

 
My sister, too, had an intuition (I don’t think she knows what the Holy Ghost is) which was very similar in its implications about me. It was when my mother had been in a coma with black eyes. The man who gave her the black eyes was staying in a house she owned which was very behind on taxes. I wanted to evict him to sell the house. My mother said he had not given her the black eyes once she got out of her coma and safely to my apartment in Everett, Washington. My sister said she didn’t have a good feeling about what I was trying to do. 

 
I get it. I am an intense person. The Holy Ghost has been flying around to let everyone know. To soften the blow, I have included several pictures of the paradise (you will have to go here if you care to see them, until I get better at using this system) which was spurned by all those blindsided people in Charlotte who were not prepared to accept alms in the form of soil. If I had the rights, which I have requested, I would include the song by The Hillbilly Thomists, Heaven or Tennessee, which is a fair description of my current exile in Egypt, which is an anagram for Texas.

The Charlotte Diocese is full of good people. Many of them gave us money at various times to help us. None of the anger I have felt towards them at various times is really just or fair. I will say that I felt some anger at my friend because he asked me how I was doing, and I responded with the message from my article some time ago which I linked at the front of this article and which I will link now.

What caused the anger was his response to that heartfelt report of my state. He gave many signs of sympathy and then carefully suggested that if I just acquired gainful employment that all my troubles would improve.

The reason it caused me anger is the reason I have begun to do these articles. When I moved to Tennessee, I switched my job and made less money. It covered my expenses. When my daughter was born, I switched and got into real estate. I made a lot of money in real estate. I was fired suddenly six months into it, found out we were going to have another baby, and heard that my father-in-law had committed suicide, all within a couple weeks. After the funeral, I realized that God wanted me to stay home and care for my wife in her grief and pregnancy. That grief has never really been assuaged. I am trying to this day to find someone more qualified than me to talk to her, and I cannot. Nobody cares.

I made money in creative ways in order to give my wife the time she needed. She did not need an excessive amount from me. We had more children, and that also took my time. My friend from that family helped me get into a business I could do from home, but even for that, I needed someone to help me watch the children. The pressure on my soul grew, and I really wanted someone to watch my children at Mass so I could pray a little. Our parish was mostly retirees, but no one had time to do this for us, and I was told: “You cannot expect other people to watch your children,” from the same holy woman who spends hours praying every day and told me also, “You can’t just make your wife a baby-machine. You have to keep discerning if God wants you to have more children.”

I discerned for a long time what to do about this. In the end, I moved to Texas. I entered immediately into “gainful” employment. I had a miscarriage kill my son the first week I went to a job. I went back to the job the next day. After a few months, I found an opportunity, and I left that job in order to run my own business.

What angered me was this: Who in the world takes the time to understand someone like me before giving me advice? Did my friend know that I had had gainful employment, and that it directly led to the death of my son? No, but he does now, if he believes the angry reply I gave him, directed at all the folks back at that parish.

Everybody I know in Charlotte is anxious about losing the Latin Mass. There were a handful that were anxious about losing my family when they heard we were leaving town and losing our home. I can list them with the fingers of one hand. Some people made half-hearted gestures, but I do not include these ones, because they thought I should make all my own independent decisions, raise my children myself without expecting help from strangers, etcetera, etcetera.

It is probably my fault. I did not grow up Catholic. When I was eight years old, my parents divorced, and both my mother and my father had new potential suitors in their homes while I lived with them. I lived with my father’s girlfriend a while before she returned to an alcohol problem which killed her shortly after that. My father is a good man; his hand was kind of forced in that situation, and he rushed to get me out of there when she took such an unexpected turn. My mother is a good woman, as well, and I hope she lives near me one day. They both hate Texas. I hate Texas, too, to be honest, but the people are pretty good.

Catholics by and large have grown up in homes that are not as broken as atheistic or deistic homes like I grew up in. Because of this, they tend to have better opportunities. The sons listen to the fathers. The parents prepare their children. They go to college and pursue gainful employment. They have money and relatives.

The water turns up heat slowly to boiling, and the crustaceans with the thinnest shells scream first. As the economic system becomes worse and worse, Catholics are the last to be driven to extremes. They still recommend going to college. They still think gainful employment saves souls.

I do not. I think that with Income Tax, Inflation, Insurance, and Interest Rates, which are all caused by usury, that every American is going to be squeezed for all he’s worth for the sake of effeminate and occultic overlords. They will lose their homes, their families, and their lives. I have seen it happen plenty. Suicide, drug addiction, divorce, confusion. There are plenty of Catholics being affected by it as well.

I have dedicated my life and especially my publishing work to defeating this problem. I have many things going on, including at this moment helping people start their own businesses for the tax benefits if nothing else. I hope that with a good example I can convert people to the Catholic faith. People are suffering very much, and it is all caused by this one problem. I would be glad to explain that to you.

Please support me here: https://www.subscribestar.com/taurus-necrus-productions

Please follow me here: TaurusNecrus.Substack.Com

Please direct questions and concerns here: TaurusNecrus@Gmail.Com