to mention the fact that I was entering puberty, and knew with absolute certainty that my uncontrollable lust was earning me a one-way trip to the lake of fire. I had recently discovered masturbation and applied myself to the act with utmost diligence. I couldn’t seem to stop myself, and afterwards I prayed to God, begging his forgiveness. I had no idea that it was normal to have such urges; no one had ever explained such things to me. There was a non-stop war inside me—I wanted to be “good,” but couldn’t quite seem to manage it. My sexual appetite was insatiable, and I thought most people were morons. Yeah, I was on my way to the devil’s playground, alright. It all seems so ridiculous now, but back then it was the most deadly serious thing in the world.
Oddly enough, this same children’s book was where I first encountered the man known as Aleister Crowley. Now I know it was all propaganda, but at that young age I was amazed that someone could be so brazenly hedonistic and sinful.
I’ve read much about this man and his life’s work over the years, and it’s incredible how little people really understand of him. His words have been miscon-strued, twisted, taken out of context, and misunderstood continuously. If you don’t know the key with which to decipher him, then you’ll never understand what you’re reading. Others don’t even want to understand, and would rather use Damien Echols
27
his name or image to sway and scare the ignorant, just as the prosecutor did during my trial.
After many years of study and contemplation, I now believe the only hell that exists is having to live in that tin roof shack in the middle of nowhere.
XI
This new Chinese restaurant/church was a bit more civilized than the last one. At least there was no one rolling around on the floor or speaking in tongues. There was no magick oil or spontaneous healings. There was plenty of backbiting to make up for it, though. Never in my life had I encountered more people who found it impossible to mind their own business than I found in that church.
Someone was constantly whispering about someone else and then smiling to his or her face. Their entire lives revolved around this melodrama. Surrounded by such behavior, it was easy to see the type of characters who would stone someone to death in the old days. If put to a vote, they would cheerfully resurrect the practice.
The minister was a tiny, old, white-haired man who cried almost the entire time he preached. His wife could have easily passed for his sister, as they were the exact same size and shape, and there was even a resemblance in their facial features. They were the only people in the entire church who seemed to have any sanity left, and I believe it was their efforts alone that held the congregation together. Every so often they showed up at our house with a few garbage bags full of clothes. Their grandson was slightly older than me, so when he outgrew his clothes they passed them on to my family, for me and my sister. These were the only guests we could receive that didn’t make me feel humiliated by our living conditions. That old man strolled right in wearing a three-piece suit and seemed completely at home, sitting on the couch and sipping iced tea. He often told stories about how he grew up dirt poor, and I felt no shame in his presence. Ditto for his wife. She never frowned, always seemed to be enjoying herself, and attempted to practice the art of conversation with my mother.
I don’t believe Jack ever arrived anyplace on time, but especially not at church.
Our transportation was a ten-year-old pickup truck and the four of us would be crammed into it every Sunday morning to show up at least ten minutes late. It’s aggravating enough to be packed into the cab of a truck with not enough room to move, but on top of that you had to inhale the overpowering scent of cheap after-shave, juicy fruit gum, perfume, hairspray, and the exhaust that came through the hole in
Oddly enough, this same children’s book was where I first encountered the man known as Aleister Crowley. Now I know it was all propaganda, but at that young age I was amazed that someone could be so brazenly hedonistic and sinful.
I’ve read much about this man and his life’s work over the years, and it’s incredible how little people really understand of him. His words have been miscon-strued, twisted, taken out of context, and misunderstood continuously. If you don’t know the key with which to decipher him, then you’ll never understand what you’re reading. Others don’t even want to understand, and would rather use Damien Echols
27
his name or image to sway and scare the ignorant, just as the prosecutor did during my trial.
After many years of study and contemplation, I now believe the only hell that exists is having to live in that tin roof shack in the middle of nowhere.
XI
This new Chinese restaurant/church was a bit more civilized than the last one. At least there was no one rolling around on the floor or speaking in tongues. There was no magick oil or spontaneous healings. There was plenty of backbiting to make up for it, though. Never in my life had I encountered more people who found it impossible to mind their own business than I found in that church.
Someone was constantly whispering about someone else and then smiling to his or her face. Their entire lives revolved around this melodrama. Surrounded by such behavior, it was easy to see the type of characters who would stone someone to death in the old days. If put to a vote, they would cheerfully resurrect the practice.
The minister was a tiny, old, white-haired man who cried almost the entire time he preached. His wife could have easily passed for his sister, as they were the exact same size and shape, and there was even a resemblance in their facial features. They were the only people in the entire church who seemed to have any sanity left, and I believe it was their efforts alone that held the congregation together. Every so often they showed up at our house with a few garbage bags full of clothes. Their grandson was slightly older than me, so when he outgrew his clothes they passed them on to my family, for me and my sister. These were the only guests we could receive that didn’t make me feel humiliated by our living conditions. That old man strolled right in wearing a three-piece suit and seemed completely at home, sitting on the couch and sipping iced tea. He often told stories about how he grew up dirt poor, and I felt no shame in his presence. Ditto for his wife. She never frowned, always seemed to be enjoying herself, and attempted to practice the art of conversation with my mother.
I don’t believe Jack ever arrived anyplace on time, but especially not at church.
Our transportation was a ten-year-old pickup truck and the four of us would be crammed into it every Sunday morning to show up at least ten minutes late. It’s aggravating enough to be packed into the cab of a truck with not enough room to move, but on top of that you had to inhale the overpowering scent of cheap after-shave, juicy fruit gum, perfume, hairspray, and the exhaust that came through the hole in
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