December 2 2023

wow. i haven't written anything specifically FOR in a long bit, so i'm just gonna be a little candid with you.

our orphanage needs your support.

we've not hit any goals this month and it's quite rough for pastor vinod and family to get everything done.

please, also pray for him and his family and all the children there.


i've been working a lot - i miss my writing time. 

i've been busting butt on a day job and a part time job to stay ahead of the financial curve building our house.

it's been rough.

but last week i put out two books, the book of lamach of cain and an uncomfortable and disastrous creature.

the week before that, i released a book under my pen name, polly little deer, as part of her birthday present series.

i've been doing a book for her each year as a birthday present.

pretty awesome.


i might make another couple of books for my OTHER pen name, mister lee and put them out, but i've gotta find the time.

i've been selling books like hotcakes. around two a day. pretty awesome stuff.

my writing is also on another website, the unexpected cosmology, which is fun.


i've been making NFT's and other art as well and posting them on my socials...

but, man, where does that TIME GO?

dunno, tbh [that's "to be honest" for you older folks].


i think it's gonna rain all day tomorrow and the house building might be a little behind as well as my GC just lost his mother-in-law.

pray for james and family.

and i hope they are able to get done as promised with this build.

that would be swell.


that's all i got.

no new updates on the board games empires and generals or down to brass facts.

but i still have a zillion ideas for new games and books all the time, so that's fun.

it's neat to be a weirdo.

have a great day, week, and sabbath.

-pauly hart

Drew Allen, Tulsa, Oklahoma, Abstract Visual Artist.

Fish of a different color


from here

You can't look at Drew Allen's acrylic-on-bass named

`Loud Mouth` without cracking a smile.

Allen definitely put some fun, character and color into

taxidermy when he made fish his canvas.

Yes, Allen paints on actual taxidermy fish, and the good

news for Allen is that he says he is seeing a demand for

these unique specimens of art.

His 11-inch `Pinky,` an acrylic-on-perch, has sold along

with the 10-inch `Happy,` an acrylic-on-crappie, and many

others. `God has blessed me,` he said. `All of a sudden

everything is selling like crazy.`

Allen has been successful marketing his art, which is

being sold at the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art in

Kansas City as well as galleries in Arkansas, Colorado and


`A lot of people might think it's kind of outdated to

have a taxidermy fish on the wall, and so a lot of people

are getting rid of them. Yet this is a work of art that

even someone who hates taxidermy will want to hang,` Allen


Still the question begs. What made him want to paint on

fish? `Everybody asks that and the only answer I have

is God,` he said. `Just one day I thought, hum, I think I

would like to paint a fish.` He's also painted salmon,

pike, shark and a 9-foot swordfish, his biggest to date.

Allen says that, believe it nor not, even in fish painting,

he has changed his styles a bit over the years which has

improved his art.

Allen preps the surface of the fish by sanding, then

begins by applying the coats of paint. He paints the entire

fish, inside their mouth and even their eyes. Every fish is

different in color and style. Crappie brothers `Billy

Bob` and `Joe Bob` feature zebra and giraffe prints,

respectively. An acrylic-on-trout features squiggle designs

because it is swimming upstream. `Secret Love,` an

acrylic-on- bass, has two hidden hearts. `Daisy,` an

acrylic-on-pike, is dressed in floral.

When the fish have big teeth, Allen downplays their

ferocity. Allen painted a shark's teeth white with one gold

tooth. A piranha that looked incredibly mean became a

kinder and gentler piranha with pink and purple polka

dots, white teeth plus a little gold tooth. His name?

`Tough Guy.`

Allen's medium being what it is, he's always in the

market for taxidermy fish to paint.

`I run want ads just saying, 'Wanted: Dead Fish,'` he

said. `Of course, sometimes I get calls from people who are

just going, 'What? What do you want?'`

But Allen is in to more than just fish. He also has a

series of acrylic paintings on canvas featuring landscapes

that illustrate his love of nature and color. They seem to

capture a sense of 19th-century impressionism with

contemporary eyes.

`I really enjoy these, and it's funny because looking at

these you'd think that it was the easiest thing to do, but

really these take more inspiration than any of the rest,`

he said.

His wife Kathryn, who has found her niche in abstract

painting, calls him a modern day Monet. Allen, who says he

has trouble with `drabness,` would just as well prefer to

be living in the scenes he paints.

`I am a nature freak,` he said. `Living right here on

the corner of the city is driving me crazy.`

Allen finds himself at a good time in his life. It

wasn't too many years ago, he said, that he was spending

his time stealing and selling drugs. But all has that has


`I gave my life to God seven years ago and it was like

instantly I had this talent that I never knew I had,` Allen


Traveling around the world as a college student to

Australia, New Zealand and Fiji was the catalyst for change

in Allen's life. `I came into contact with several

types of cults, a hippie cult, biker cult, some new-agey

weird stuff, and finally I realized that I needed Jesus,`

he said. `The word says commit yourself, commit your works

unto the Lord and he will give you the desires of your

heart.` Taking that notion to heart, Allen, in addition

to discovering his talent in art, became a self-starter in

home renovation. After he renovated his first home and

leased it out, he began doing the same thing with more and

more homes.

`Now we're just buying and fixing them up and selling

them,` he said.

Through this work, Allen became the owner of Drew

Properties, a real estate investment company, and is the

co-owner of Allen Contracting and Millennium Construction.

Allen, 26, says that people are surprised when they

realize his age.

`I'll be at a firm and they meet me and they're kind of

like, 'Where's your dad?'` he said.

Allen also appears in commercials for businesses like

Taco Mayo and Mazzio's.

`And I give every single bit of the credit to God. He's

doing it. He's raising me up,` Allen said.

But Allen says that his long-range goal for the future

is to establish youth ranches around the world. Art is at

least one of the means in which he hopes to fund them.

In the near future, Allen says he hopes to be moving to

Costa Rica later this year to start a youth ranch.

Allen hosted the Tulsa Art Show in April, which

benefited Youth-Reach, a boys home for at-risk kids in


For those interested in Allen's art work, call 745-9555

or 230-8869.

Give me all culture.

 Recently my wife and I have become hillbillies. Maybe. If you live in an RV, park by the swamp, have a white truck, and own a straw hat, then maybe you are. I know my neighbors are. Maybe I'm one too. I might be the only one in the camp ground celebrating the Biblical Feasts, wearing tzitt-zits, or blowing a shofar, but, I think I've become a hillbilly and there's nothing wrong with that in my estimation.

I've also been working at a tour guide company, learning the amazing stories about Savannah, Georgia from the Historical Society as well as others who have lived there all of their life. There are pretender tour guides, like me, who wander in from the wiley wastelands of rural Indiana and set up shop. We can only pretend to presume any sort of sway with the local crowd, and instead, ply our wares of junk knowledge on the unsuspecting tourist from Maine.

However, being immersed, as I have been, in deep Georgia life, I find myself not being a local, but able to think like one, and have come to hate the idea of more of my type moving here and gentrifying the place. I believe that I've been moved into more and more of an "us vs. them" mind-set, being closed off and moving far away from the new US Democrat "woke" message of all of us are the same, just from different places of the globe. the message that all of us space-monkeys just need to get along in the new matriarchy, in this brave new world.

Interestingly that both becoming both a hillbilly and a historian have moved me deeper and more away from the "New America" into an older and more cultured mindset. Instead of a mish-mash of cultures, I now see and appreciate all cultures in their own right. Is one culture more important than another? No, most certainly not. But they are indeed different. There can be no melody culture upon culture, but there most certainly can be harmony.

Back into the past, back into a simpler more narrowed culture I go. Appreciative of all cultures, but shunning the integration of one upon another, much like I shun the idea of my Banana Pudding touching my Collard Greens. I don't mind if the greens touch my Macaroni and Cheese, but I'll let my stomach mix them, not my mouth. I don't want, I don't need the mixing, and, on a whole, it's not good for the overall taste.

Give me the Gullah Geechee stories. Give me their culture as equal to the Irish Stevedore. Give me the tradition of the Caribbean brickmason and the Scottish farmer. If there's one thing I've learned from Savannah, Georgia - All men are equal and worthy of the respect of their heritage.

The Seventh Pope

The Seventh Pope

by Pauly Hart

Saturday July 30th, 2022

Alex and Emma were enjoying their night just like every other night they'd stayed in Savannah Georgia. They hadn’t cared for the Paula Dean Restaurant experience but they had a lot of fun at Treylor Hitch and Corleone’s. They had some time to kill before going back to The Mansion on Forsythe, so they were hanging out at Spanky's on River Street. It was pretty crowded. The music was loud and the air was thick with that common late night heat that Savannah offered its visitors every day in July.

Emma had a Painkiller in hand. She had asked for Cruzan coconut instead of that nasty Pussers rum everyone wanted to use. Alex had his Rum cream on the rocks - extra rocks. They were slightly buzzed and enjoying it all. 

The first push came from the outside. They were at the bar near the back so they could see it more than feelit. At first everyone was surprised and animated. Some laughed at the mild shoving until one woman screamed bloody murder. Like… Actual bloody murder… Not just the lame catchphrase people say when they exaggerate all of their stories. No, someone was actually being murdered and it was a bit splashy.

The moment many of the people in Spankys realized what was happening was the exact moment that things went sideways.

The mob moved as one, back in towards the restaurant, almost crushing everyone on the back wall. Alex grabbed Emma and yanked her hard, into the bar area, barely escaping the people.

From their point of view it was a hot mess. There were three groups of people. Emma, Alex, and the one bartender were inside the bar area. There were the people already inside the restaurant, crushing each other towards the back, and then there were the people coming inside the restaurant. Oh. And I should mention a very small minority: One person gnawing on the neck of another person having pinned them to the ground. There was a great deal of thrashing from the victim and a great deal of crunching from the attacker.

It was around five full and really long seconds of this. One group watching the other while also watching the insane act of cannibalism in front of them. The group who were coming into the restaurant weren’t exactly people maybe. They were rotting and decomposing former people. Many of them still had loose dirt in their clothes from the graves they’d escaped. That’s exactly what they were. The risen dead.

It should have been expected by everyone involved. The risen dead obviously knew what their own perceived reality was, everyone in the room knew Savannah was haunted, and the bartender always expected something crazy to happen. Around the six second mark, the crowd of the risen dead who were coming into the restaurant lurched forward as one. If there was ever a need for a “ready-set-go” in the minds of the people already inside the restaurant, this was it. For at that very moment, all of the still alive humans freaked the fuck out.

If there had been any way to shrink the mob more up against the wall than it already had been, it was impossible. Yet it happened. People really just are bags of meat after all. The mob shrank back further towards the wall and then in one insane moment, the risen dead ran straight into them.

The bartender, a short girl with bangs, handed a wooden baseball bat to Alex. She had her purse in her hands and was fumbling through it. Bringing out a 9mm she raised it towards the cannibal eater. One shot and it fell over. She couldn’t reach her arm over the bar to see the victim on the floor so she didn’t think to dispatch the victim. She wasn’t thrashing anymore anyway. Motioning to Alex and Emma she vaulted over the pass-through area, where the servers picked up their drinks. She strode towards the entrance, shooting two more of the dead in the face on her way. Alex went after her, and fended off a lurching man in a priest’s frock while Emma clamored over.

They raced behind the bartender who was running along the cobblestone street, dodging a leaning dead person here, and a crawling one there. She rarely shot the gun, as most of the faster ones had been at the bar. They ran west towards the Lincoln ramp. From the Boar’s Head Tavern, a window broke and a man fell out onto the street, bouncing the awning of the candy store below it. The large black man in an apron got up slowly. He saw the three escapees and raised his knife.

Jill raised her hands and explained that they weren't dead and they just wanted to get off River Street. There were a lot of dead here, walking east from old Fort Wayne and The Pirate’s House.

Accepting the idea that they were all on the same team, they slowly made their way up Factors Walk towards Bay Street. There was a close call around the Lincoln Ramp at the blind curve when one of the dead fell off the wall in front of them. It took the cook and the bartender all they had to pull Alex off from beating the corpse into a fine jelly. Emma was the only one weaponless but she did a great job of leaping away from the limping dead when needed.

Savannah is a Necropolis There were no graveyards as easy markers. The whole town was a hodgepodge of cemeteries here and there, built upon. The old town dead were burried where they fell often, after Yellow Fever, massive fires, and bloody wars. If they need to build, they just moved the headstones, not the actual bodies.

As they made it up and onto Bay Street, it was chaos. The dead were walking out in front of large semis and there were wrecks everywhere. People were being eaten alive and the stench was awful. They barely made it over to Abercorn around from The Hampton Inn. There were people in every window looking down. One man holding a rifle from on top of the inn, but he was not firing on anyone, not yet at least. The four wondered how long it would take him to start.

At the Bryan Street Parking Garage it was quiet and there was no movement. They stopped for a moment to gather their wits. The bartender’s name was Jill and the cook’s name was Tyrone. Before she was a bartender, Jill worked for a tour-guide company and knew a little about where the dead were buried. Oddly enough, even though growing up here, Tyrone knew nothing of the history of the place, but he sure knew his way around. At Jill’s suggestion they would walk straight south towards the cemetery. Everyone thought Jill was crazy but she had a good point.

Tyrone mentioned they were all religious folk. And if they had bothered to pay attention, all of the dead were either priests, nuns, or other Roman Catholic workers. Not really workers, but you know… Regular Catholics, Anna mentioned. And then it made sense. Jill told them that Colonial Park Cemetery hadn’t allowed any Catholics in it at all. It would be the safest place in town. They talked it out.

There was the Jewish cemetery area over at Bull and Oglethorpe. An entire block. There was the “Old Negro Burial Ground” over at the Massey school and Potter’s field was right next to that. They couldn’t rely on either of the last two… Just because you were African American didn’t mean you weren’t Catholic.

Wait. What about the Hudu?

Tyrone told them.

The Hudu were African Spiritualists who were also Catholics. His aunt was Hudu.

Like Voodoo? Alex and Emma were completely lost.

Like a spur from original Catholics. Jill was helping.

Colonial Park Cemetery it was.

Every single area in Savannah had the dead buried under it. Buildings wouldn’t be safe from them. And they were seeing it. Men in white collars with dripping faces inside buildings stalking the living. They couldn’t risk going indoors.

Emma had her phone out checking it. The top news on every site was the risen dead epidemic and something to do with The Pope.

Jill had been right, it was deserted. It was creepy and they could hear the various screams, gunfire, and explosions all around town. Emma pulled her phone out again. They all crowded around it.

Oddly, FOX news had the best coverage. There was a press conference with Pope John Paul III. He was pleading with everyone to not kill the risen dead. He was calling it their first resurrection. He begged the reporters in the room when they all began shouting questions at him. There was a scuffle and a man shot into the air from the crowd. He was quickly taken down by the Swiss guard, oddly with their halberds. The head rolled loosely on the floor before the camera cut away.

But things got even weirder, even more quickly. From behind the curtain a commotion and Pope Paul III was thrown to the ground by what looked to be another Pope. There was a sick snapping noise and suddenly the new dirtier Pope lifted Pope Paul III’s severed head into the air.

It was Pope Benedict the 16th… The Seventh Black Pope.

He was back… And this time… He was here to stay.

Francisco's Money Speech

"So you think that money is the root of all evil?” said Francisco d’Anconia. “Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can’t exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil? 

“When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears not all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor–your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money. Is this what you consider evil? 

“Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your food by means of nothing but physical motions–and you’ll learn that man’s mind is the root of all the goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth. 

“But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean? It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man’s capacity to think. Then is money made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made–before it can be looted or mooched–made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can’t consume more than he has produced.’ 

“To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no power to prescribe the value of your effort except the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss–the recognition that they are not beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery–that you must offer them values, not wounds–that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods. Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men’s stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best that your money can find. And when men live by trade–with reason, not force, as their final arbiter–it is the best product that wins, the best performance, the man of best judgment and highest ability–and the degree of a man’s productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you consider evil? 

“But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality–the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind. 

“Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants: money will not give him a code of values, if he’s evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with a purpose, if he’s evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him, drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason why you call it evil? 

“Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth–the man who would make his own fortune no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him. But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one, would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil? 

“Money is your means of survival. The verdict you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men’s vices or men’s stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment’s or a penny’s worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you’ll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of your hatred of money? 

“Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money? 

“Or did you say it’s the love of money that’s the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It’s the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money–and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it. 

“Let me give you a tip on a clue to men’s characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it. 

“Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil. That sentence is the leper’s bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need means to deal with one another–their only substitute, if they abandon money, is the muzzle of a gun. 

“But money demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no courage, pride or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich–will not remain rich for long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will hasten to relieve him of the guilt–and of his life, as he deserves. 

“Then you will see the rise of the men of the double standard–the men who live by force, yet count on those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money–the men who are the hitchhikers of virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them. But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law–men who use force to seize the wealth of disarmed victims–then money becomes its creators’ avenger. Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they’ve passed a law to disarm them. But their loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter. 

“Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money. Money is the barometer of a society’s virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion–when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing–when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors–when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don’t protect you against them, but protect them against you–when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice–you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that it does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot. 

“Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men’s protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to produce it. Paper is a check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch for the day when it bounces, marked, ‘Account overdrawn.’ 

“When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, ‘Who is destroying the world? You are. 

“You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization, and you wonder why it’s crumbling around you, while you’re damning its life-blood–money. You look upon money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of your cities. Throughout men’s history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another, whose names changed, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor of slaves–slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody’s mind and left unimproved for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer, Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers–as industrialists. 

“To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money–and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man’s mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being–the self-made man–the American industrialist. 

“If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose–because it contains all the others–the fact that they were the people who created the phrase ‘to make money.’ No other language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static quantity–to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted or obtained as a favor. Americans were the first to understand that wealth has to be created. The words ‘to make money’ hold the essence of human morality. 

“Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters’ continents. Now the looters’ credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards, and your magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide– as, I think, he will. 

“Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction. When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. Blood, whips, and guns–or dollars. Take your choice–there is no other–and your time is running out.”

Targum Johnathan Paraphrased Genesis Chapter 22 Sample Copy

 Targum Johnathan Paraphrased

Genesis Chapter 22

Sample Copy


Johnathan Ben Uzziel

JW Etheridge


Pauly Hart

This full text, this version, this document, and any reproduction of this document and all fragments of this text has full copyright © by Pauly Hart 2021.

Full Work ISBN 978-1-955399-32-6

Purchase the whole work HERE

Please do not distribute or reproduce.

Genesis Chapter 22 Targum

Translated from the Palestinian by Jonathan Ben Uzziel

Translated into English by J.W. Etheridge

Translated into Modern English by Pauly Hart

Jerusalem Fragments Combined with text

Phraseology fragments shifted for continuity

Please find this sample copy mutatis mutandis knowing that it will remain such until altered by Pauly Hart only.


Chapter 22

    After this, Isaac and Ishmael argued.

    Ishmael said, “It is right that I inherit father's things because I’m his firstborn son.”

    But Isaac said, “It's right that I should inherit what is the father's, because I am the son of his wife, Sarah and you’re the son of her maid Hagar.”

    Ishmael answered, “I’m more righteous than you! I was circumcised at thirteen years old. If it had been my will to not be, they wouldn’t have delivered me to be circumcised. You were circumcised at eight days old. If you knew what was happening, maybe they wouldn’t have delivered you to be circumcised.

    Isaac responded and said, “Look, I’m 36 years old today! As blessed as He is, if the Holy One were to ask of me for all my body parts, I wouldn’t delay.”

    And it was after these things these words were heard before Yahweh of the world, and The Word of Yahweh immediately tested Abraham with the tenth trial.

    He said to him, “Abraham!”

    And Abraham said, “You see me.”

    He said, “Go get the son you love… Now. Get Isaac. Go to the land of worship and offer him as a whole burnt offering. Do it at Mount Moriah, the mountain that I told you about.”

    Abraham rose up in the morning and saddled his donkey. He took the two younger men with him (Eliezer and Ishmael), and he took his son, Isaac. He cut small wood, fig wood, and palm wood. These were used for burning the offering. He got up and went to the land of which Yahweh had told him. On the third day Abraham looked up and saw a cloud of great beauty simmering on top of the mountain. He understood what it was when he was still very far away.

Abraham said to his men, “You wait here with the donkey. I’ll go up there with the young man, to prove the ‘So your sons will be’ promise will happen. We will worship Yahweh of the world, and come back to you.”

    Abraham took the wood of the offering and put it on his son Isaac. In his hand he took the fire and the knife; and they went together.

    Isaac spoke to his father Abraham, “Father?”

    “Here I am,” he said.

    “I see the fire and the wood. But where is the lamb for the offering?” He asked.

    Abraham said, “The Word of Yahweh will prepare for Himself a lamb for the offering. If He does not… then you are the offering.”

    Both of them went with a humble heart, in unity. 

    Then they came to the place Yahweh had told him about. And Abraham rebuilt the altar that Adam had built. The same one that had been destroyed by the waters of the flood. The same one that Noah had rebuilt after it had been destroyed in the age of division. He stacked the wood neatly on it, tied up Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. Abraham stretched out his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.

    Isaac said to his father: “Bind my hands tight father, because in the hour of my distress I might tremble and confuse you. Then your offering will be profane. I’ll be cast into the pit of destruction in the world to come.”

    Abraham looked into the eyes of Isaac, but the eyes of Isaac looked towards the angels on high. Isaac saw them, but Abraham didn’t. 

    In that moment the angels came down from on high, and said one to another, “Come, behold how these lonesome righteous ones who are in the world. This one slays, the other is going to be slain. The slayer won’t put it off. He who is going to be slain takes all the risk.”

    Then The Angel of Yahweh called to him from the heavens. He said, “Abraham! Abraham!”

    Abraham answered in sanctuary language, “I’m here!”

    He said, “Don’t reach out to hurt the young man. Don’t do anything evil to him. Now I know that you fear Yahweh. You haven’t withheld your only son from Me.”

    Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw a certain ram which had been created between the evenings of the foundation of the world. This ram was held in the entanglement of a tree by his horns. Abraham took him, and offered him as an offering instead of his son. And there Abraham gave thanks and prayed in The Name of The Word of Yahweh.

    He said, “I pray through The Mercies that are before You Adonai. You are Yahweh who sees, and is not seen. I pray for mercy before You Adonai. You knew that it wasn’t at the bottom of my heart to turn away from doing this thing. The whole thing is known before You that there was no division in my heart. From the time that You commanded me to offer Isaac my son - to make him dust and ashes before You… But I arose in the morning and performed The Word with joy. I have fulfilled The Word. So now I pray for The Mercies from You, Adonai Elohim. When the children of Isaac are in their hour of need? You remember the binding of their father Isaac for them. Forgive and forget their sins. Deliver them out of all need. This will be their memory. You will hear them and deliver them. Their descendants will say: ‘In the mountain of the house of the sanctuary of Yahweh, Abraham offered his son Isaac. In this mountain of the house of the sanctuary the majesty of The Shekinah of Yahweh was revealed unto him.’”

    Then the Angel of Yahweh called to Abraham a second time from the heavens, saying, “By My Word I’ve sworn,” said Yahweh, 

    “Since you’ve done this, and haven’t held back the only son you had, I will bless you. I will multiply your sons as the stars of the heavens. They will be like the sand which is on the seashore. Your sons will inherit the cities of their enemies. And all the peoples of the earth shall be blessed through the righteousness of your son, because you have obeyed My Word.”

    So the angels on high took Isaac and brought him into the school of the great Shem. He was there for three years. The same day Abraham returned to his young men. They got and went together to The Well of the Seven. And Abraham lived at Beira-desheva. It was after Abraham had bound Isaac Satan came and told Sarah that Abraham had killed Isaac. And Sarah got up and cried out, and died from the agony of strangulation. But Abraham was resting along the road on his way home.

    Abraham heard news on the way: “Milcha’s had sons for your brother Nachor. She’s been made pregnant because of the righteousness of her sister. The firstborn is Uts, then his brother Booz, then Kemuel (master of the Aramean magicians), Keshed, Chazo, Pildash, Jidlaph, Bethuel. And Bethuel has had Rebecca.”

    These eight took Milcha to Nacor, the brother of Abraham. His concubine, Rëuma, also gave birth to Tebach, Gacham, Tachash, and Maacha. 


Thank you for your interest. Please find the whole work on HERE

Prune Belly Syndrome Interview

For those of you who don't know, I'm a survivor of Prune Belly Syndrome.

Here I am being interviewed by my friend Mike.

It was a blessing to get to talk to him.


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Many more books

August was a fun month!

After translating The Testament of Job in Modern English,

and writing The Word of Yahweh unto Enoch

I found myself a little listless.

So in September I went a little crazy

and compiled all of my best

stories, poems, and essays

into 20 different short volumes.

Pictured is Rush of Many Waters Volume 6.

I'm using all of Franz Marc's Blue Horses,

and some of his others for the twenty volumes.

I wish he had made 20 blue horses,

but alas.

I was forced to use cows and birds and dogs as well.

That's fine.

Thanks Franz.

full cover of #6 back, front

Open Letter to my brothers and sisters in Mainland China

 Hello bride of Christ of Mainland China, the body of Christ, and to the Ekklesia around the world,

My name is Pauly Hart and it has been my pleasure to have YHVH, maker of this world, bless me with the understanding of how He created it. This quest was not intentional and I did not look forward to breaking paradigms in my life in this way. I was raised to believe that George Lucas and Gene Roddenberry, of Star Wars and Star Trek fame, were compatible with the gospels. I was so very wrong.

During the course of my studies from 2012 even until today, I am flabbergasted and undone by our God and his system of creation. It's a daily discovery of who, what, when, where, why, and how the world works under my feet. Just the other day I put together the mystery of how fossil fuels had to change their name if I subscribed to the idea of a 6,000 year old earth with one great deluge. Even geologically, there is no way for the dinosaurs to have been buried that deeply and for them to have decomposed so well in large clumps.

Biblical Cosmology, the idea of it all, continues to help me unravel the mysteries of the lies perpetuated upon me by the systems of the world. For we are in the world and not of it, we are a chosen people, a peculiar nation... Set apart and holy for Him. So why would we listen when they tell us of their pseudo-science? Why? Because we've been programmed to. Most all media (except certain places like vine media) have come under the fist of Satan in collusion with his puppet governments. Remember Psalm 2 - YHVH in heaven laughs at the plans of governments. May we also strive to be like Him and not the puppets of the world, who just blindly do as they are told.

I realize that what I am writing is wildly unpopular with the government I live under, the New United States of Joe Biden, and the stranglehold that he has placed on our economy. Such foolishness I have never seen in a leader. Probably in the future we will look more like your country. Free to decide between living their way, or prison. It is a sad state of affairs. That my country has been the police force for the world is shameful. That we invade for opium, for oil, for gold, for control, and for the sake of bloodshed is shameful. There have been no good President leaders here since... Well, ever. This nation was formed on the lap of the Masonic lodge, and was given over to Central Bankers long ago. 

Long ago, during a time of contemplation, I had a tattoo placed upon my body, on the back of my neck. "Lamb over me." or "Righteousness" in the one character in Mandarin. I did this for several reasons. The first reason I did it was to declare my intent before all who would meet me. That I am righteous before Him. But the reasons unfold from there, in a manifold idea. That I will never see my own righteousness... That my righteousness follows me around... That my righteousness is always on the back of my mind, or the last of my thoughts... These English idioms are cute to me, but they stand secure in my reasons. The last reason that I think the tattoo will remain fixed upon my neck may be for the salvation of the soul of my executioner. For the only way I will cease proclaiming the gospel... The WHOLE gospel of God is if they take off my head. And if the guillotine worker sees my tattoo, let him understand that He is doing the injustice to one whom has already been paid for. If he understands what it is he cuts, let his soul meet with mine in the great hereafter. And though Genesis 6:3 promises me 120 years on this earth, it may be that I must embrace the calling of martyr.

Someone told me that the belief in the stationary and enclosed world (called "Flat Earth") was not a salvation issue. I told them, that for many, it may well be. Soon coming is the possible Technological Singularity. If and when that time arrives, several things will happen all at once. The identification chip that you have on your phone will be planted in your hand. You will be forced to come under control of the Beast's system, and you will not be able to buy or sell on the market without it. However... The next step, and believe me, it will happen, is the coming Alien Messiah.

Many laugh at this, but let me ask you something: "Why have they been showing us this very scenario since they released "A Trip to the Moon" in 1902 by Georges Méliès. Would it surprise you that the great grandfather of that fiction was a Bishop in the Church of England from 1638?  It was a novel titled: "The Man in the Moone." How strange indeed that 100 years after Luther laughed at Copernicus, the Church would start such a heresy? For some it must have been easy. And it gets easier and easier every day to believe in aliens. But The Word of God declares otherwise. The Word calls us His only. Read John 3:16 once again. Ask yourself... Is it easier to believe that there is only one world or only one savior?

Life has just begun to come back to good theology for you. You are leaving behind the lies and shedding off the paradigms of the old ways, the ways of the liars. The ways of the puppets. Though God had blinded your eyes before, He allows you to open them now for the first time and understand the revelations that He has for you now. Your time of growth is opening. Your time of healing is at hand. Your time of super-natural infilling is coming soon. Ask The Father for the Ruach Ho'kodesh to infill you. Ask Him to cover you with his anointing mantle for signs, healings, and miracles. The Spirit of YHVH, The Spirit of Holiness never died. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever - Holy, holy, holy.

The reason for understanding the reality of the flat earth is to bring POWER into your life. He has opened your mind, now, fill it with His WORD. Fill it and give it to others.

I leave you with the most famous quote from Martin Luther:

"There is talk of a new astrologer who wants to prove that the earth moves and goes around instead of the sky, the sun, the moon, just as if somebody were moving in a carriage or ship might hold that he was sitting still and at rest while the earth and the trees walked and moved. But that is how things are nowadays: when a man wishes to be clever he must needs invent something special, and the way he does it must needs be the best! The fool wants to turn the whole art of astronomy upside-down. However, as Holy Scripture tells us, so did Joshua bid the sun to stand still and not the earth." -Martin Luther, Luther's Tablebook (Tischreden)

Sincerely your brother in Christ,

Pauly Hart