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Saint Dirty Face

Tag: #TheDirtyGospel

  • 🔥 The Top 5 Narcissist Lines — And What They Really Mean (SDF Edition)

    Robert

    Because sometimes the devil doesn’t show up with horns…

    He shows up with an apology he doesn’t mean.

    1. “You’re too sensitive.”

    Oh look — the classic gaslight smoothie.

    Translation: “I don’t want to be held accountable, so let me make you feel crazy instead.”

    Gen X translation: “Bro, I survived metal lunchboxes and latchkey childhoods. I’m not sensitive — you’re just an ass.”

    2. “If you really loved me, you’d…”

    Ah yes, the Manipulation Olympics.

    Every narcissist’s favorite event.

    What they mean:

    “Let me weaponize your love so I can get my way with zero effort.”

    Saint Dirty Face translation:

    “If you really loved me, you’d shut up and stop asking me to be a decent human.”

    3. “You’re remembering it wrong.”

    No, champ — they’re lying and hoping you doubt yourself enough to buy it.

    This one hits like a cheap Monday hangover.

    The SDF truth?

    “My memory works fine. I remember every red flag you thought was subtle.”

    4. “Nobody else would put up with you.”

    This is the nuclear line.

    The poison dart dipped in insecurity.

    They say it to isolate you…

    Because if they can make you feel worthless, you’ll stay.

    SDF version:

    “Relax, sweetheart — plenty of people would put up with me. You’re just scared I’ll figure that out.”

    5. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

    This isn’t an apology.

    This is a customer service email from Hell.

    It’s the narcissist version of:

    “I’m not wrong, you’re just inconvenient.”

    Saint Dirty Face response:

    “Cool story. Now try apologizing like someone who doesn’t suck at soul work.”

    💥 SDF Closing Hit

    Narcissists don’t break you with fists —

    They break you with doubts.

    With blame.

    With little cuts disguised as love.

    But here’s the Gen X gospel:

    We grew up unbreakable.

    Raised by chaos, baptized in rebellion, and armed with the emotional callouses of a thousand Monday mornings.

    So if you’re dealing with one?

    Remember the Saint Dirty Face creed:

    “Stay Dirty. Stay Sharp. Stay Unmanipulated.”™

  • The Dirty Gospel – Chapter 7: Mary Still Speaks

    Robert

    By Saint Dirty Face (aka The Wounded Sentinel)

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    Disclaimer and credits below

    They called her a whore.

    Because they couldn’t call her a threat.

    But she was one.

    She still is.

    Mary Magdalene didn’t run.

    Didn’t deny.

    Didn’t flinch when they broke Him in half.

    She watched.

    She stayed.

    She remembered.

    And that made her dangerous.

    She was the first to see Him risen.

    Before Peter.

    Before the disciples.

    Before the Church had time to spin the story into gold.

    He appeared to her first.

    And what did the men do?

    They called her delusional.

    Dismissed her words.

    Erased her name from the headline.

    They turned the resurrection

    into a boy’s club miracle—

    and locked her gospel in the Vatican basement.

    But Mary still speaks.

    She speaks in the silence between verses.

    In the ash of burned scrolls.

    In the dreams of women who never asked permission to believe.

    They say she anointed Him with oil.

    But that wasn’t worship.

    That was preparation.

    She knew He was going to die.

    She just didn’t know

    the world would crucify her story too.

    They tried to bury her under labels.

    Prostitute.

    Penitent.

    Footnote.

    But she wasn’t any of that.

    She was a witness.

    A teacher.

    A gospel bearer.

    The Church couldn’t handle

    a woman holding the flame—

    so they handed her a scarlet letter instead.

    “I saw Him.

    I knew Him.

    I carried the truth when no one else would.”

    That’s not a rumor.

    That’s the first sermon.

    And it came from the mouth of a woman

    who refused to shut up.

    Mary still speaks.

    Not from pulpits,

    but from cracks in the foundation.

    From broken statues.

    From visions the Church can’t monetize.

    From voices the patriarchy still calls crazy.

    She doesn’t whisper anymore.

    She roars.

    And when the boys in robes gather to write history again,

    she’ll be standing in the shadows—

    oil in one hand, torch in the other—

    ready to remind them:

    The resurrection wasn’t theirs to tell.

    It was hers.

    It still is.

    ⚠️ Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • The Dirty Gospel – Chapter 6: The Deal Beneath the Table

    Robert

    By Saint Dirty Face (aka The Wounded Sentinel)

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    Disclaimer and credits below

    They met in the shadows—

    not at the cross,

    but beneath it.

    Not on Calvary’s hill,

    but in the vaults underneath Rome,

    where the stone floor is slick with wine

    and washed blood.

    The Church didn’t just inherit the gospel.

    It negotiated it.

    There are contracts you never see.

    Signed in wax and silence,

    sealed with rings and holy breath,

    they wrote new scripture with a dagger

    and told the world it was a dove.

    The priests knew.

    The emperors knew.

    And Judas?

    He wasn’t paid to betray—

    he was paid to disappear.

    The Deal Was This:

    Jesus dies,

    but no one sees the body.

    The tomb is declared empty

    because it must be.

    A “resurrection” is cleaner

    than a political martyr.

    It sells better.

    It conquers hearts quicker.

    It’s easier to build cathedrals on a ghost

    than a rebel corpse.

    So they made a ghost.

    Wrapped Him in legend,

    buried the truth in a city of bones,

    and fed the world stories like breadcrumbs.

    They promised Judas he’d be “forgotten.”

    He became the scapegoat.

    The villain with the silver smile.

    But what if Judas never left the table?

    What if he’s been eating in silence

    with the cardinals ever since?

    A ghost in a black robe,

    whispering into ears that still bend

    toward power like sunflowers to the lie.

    The resurrection was the first great cover-up.

    The lie that bought eternity.

    But under that lie is a heartbeat.

    A body.

    A silence that still bleeds.

    And in the darkest archive

    beneath the Vatican—

    Sublevel Crypt 13, behind the red veil—

    the body is there.

    Still warm.

    Still pulsing.

    Still waiting for someone brave enough

    to undo the deal.

    They called it “The Good News.”

    But the deal beneath the table?

    That was the Dirty Gospel.

    ⚠️ Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • Chapter 5: The Gospel According to Silence

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer:

    These words came to me fast and raw. I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    They always tell the story like it was loud.

    Crowds shouting. Roman guards yelling.

    The snap of whips.

    The clang of coins.

    The moan of a tortured man dragging splintered wood through dust and spit.

    But the real story?

    It’s in the silence.

    The silence of Judas…

    …when he realized he wasn’t betraying a man—he was bargaining with monsters.

    He didn’t trade the Son of God for thirty pieces of silver.

    He took the hush money.

    They told him:

    “Here’s your silver. Shut your mouth. Let us do what we do best.”

    And he did.

    Until he saw what they did.

    And he tried to give it back.

    But it was too late.

    The priests didn’t want a scandal—they wanted a spectacle.

    The Romans didn’t want truth—they wanted control.

    And the early Church?

    They wanted a product.

    So they rewrote silence into sin.

    They turned a haunted man into a traitor.

    They forged history with holy ink and unholy intentions.

    Judas kissed Him, yes.

    But maybe he was trying to warn Him.

    Maybe it was all he could do—a desperate sign in front of guards and blades.

    “This is how they’ll know,” he thought. “This kiss will mark the one they should protect.”

    But the machine was already moving.

    And when Judas saw the truth twisted, the prophecy commercialized, the Messiah brutalized…

    he couldn’t carry the silence anymore.

    So he hung himself.

    Not in guilt.

    But in protest.

    The early gospels that questioned this version?

    Burned. Banned. Buried.

    The Gospel of Judas—real. Hidden. Declared heresy.

    Why? Because it whispered too close to the flame.

    Because it dared to say:

    “What if Judas was obeying a deeper plan?”

    “What if the betrayal was scripted?”

    “What if it wasn’t betrayal at all?”

    And here we are, two thousand years later,

    still singing about the kiss—

    but never asking what came before the garden

    and after the grave.

    We don’t talk about what happened in the silence.

    Because maybe the truth got paid off,

    wrapped in velvet,

    locked in a Vatican vault beneath lead, wax, and fear.

    But silence is slippery.

    It leaks.

    It speaks in dreams, visions, prophecies.

    It whispers through the ones no one expects:

    the broken, the wild, the heretics, the poor.

    The Wounded Sentinels.

    It appears to women with fire in their eyes and pain in their wombs.

    To mothers.

    To misfits.

    And it says:

    “He’s not gone. He’s not free. And He’s not done.”

    The cross didn’t set Him free.

    The silence didn’t kill the truth.

    It only delayed it.

    And every time you ask a question they call blasphemy—

    every time you dig too deep or burn too loud—

    you chip at the prison.

    The Gospel According to Silence isn’t in your pews.

    It’s in the cracks.

    In the mirror.

    In your spine when you say His name and know He’s still waiting.

    Saint Dirty Face says: Alone but never really alone.

    Let’s free the Son with truth and faith.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • ✝️🔥 The Dirty Gospel — Chapter 4: Judas Wasn’t the Traitor

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

    “They needed a villain. So they kissed the truth on the cheek… and called it betrayal.”

    Let’s strip this back to the bone.

    Judas Iscariot—the betrayer, the cursed, the eternal scapegoat.

    But what if Judas never betrayed Christ?

    What if he found out the plan?

    He wasn’t the villain. He was the witness.

    He saw the meeting behind the curtain—where Rome and the high priests shook hands.

    Where the price of silence was weighed in silver.

    Not for betrayal…

    But for secrecy.

    “They’re going to take Him.”“They’ll twist everything.”

    “They’ll make Him a god—but on their terms.”

    And so they paid him off.

    30 pieces of silver—the price not of treachery, but complicity.

    And when Judas realized what he had done—what he hadn’t stopped—he tried to give the silver back.

    He said, “I don’t want this.”

    But it was too late.

    By then, Jesus had been taken.

    Beaten. Branded. Broken.

    The deal was done.

    The myth was already being molded.

    Judas didn’t hang himself from guilt.

    He hung himself in grief.

    Because the one man he couldn’t save was the only man who ever believed in him.

    And while we paint Judas as the betrayer in every Passion play…

    The real betrayal was unfolding in back rooms and council halls.

    The betrayal was the silence.

    The silence of priests.

    The silence of Rome.

    The silence of every voice that knew this was never about God—it was about power.

    And that kiss?

    That infamous kiss?

    It wasn’t a signal.

    It was a warning.

    A whispered, tear-stained goodbye.

    A “Don’t forget who you really are.”

    But the machine had already started grinding.

    And from the moment that kiss landed…

    Jesus was no longer a man.

    He became a brand.

    A myth. A martyr. A product.

    The Vatican would rise.

    The cross would be gilded.

    And Judas would be buried in the back of every Bible like a ghost no one dared defend.

    But now? We speak his name.

    We shine light where shame has festered.

    We say:

    Maybe Judas was the only one who knew the truth…

    and couldn’t live with what the rest of us turned it into.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    “They weaponized the kiss.

    They sanctified the lie.

    And they made the truth hang itself.”

    📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • 🔥 The Dirty Gospel — Chapter 3: The Mirror Prison (Part II)

    Robert

    The Mirror Prison: The Resurrection That Never Was

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

    “They said He rose.

    But what if He was stolen instead?”

    We’ve built cathedrals on the promise of an empty tomb.

    We’ve carved stained-glass saints out of whispers and gospel fragments.

    What if the resurrection never happened?

    But let’s go back.

    Let’s look again at that third day.

    What if the high priests—the same ones who struck the deal with Judas, the same ones who stood beside Rome—heard His words and panicked?

    “Destroy this temple, and I will rebuild it in three days.”

    What if they took that literally?

    What if they didn’t wait for prophecy…

    They intervened.

    They took the body.

    They buried it not in earth, but in iron and wax, hidden beneath the layers of empire.

    And they let the myth rise in its place—because a risen god makes money.

    But a silenced rebel? That’s a liability.

    And maybe that’s the secret Judas uncovered.

    Not betrayal—but exposure.

    What if the 30 pieces of silver weren’t for treason…

    They were hush money?

    Judas sees what’s coming—sees the pact between temple and throne—and breaks.

    He throws the coins back.

    He hangs himself not out of guilt… but because he knew the truth was lost.

    He was the only one who could’ve stopped it.

    And by the time the nails dropped, it was too late.

    So we buried a man.

    Then sold his ghost.

    We turned his blood into doctrine and his silence into scripture.

    And beneath Rome, beneath Vatican vaults paved with gold, there’s a lead-sealed box no one is allowed to open.

    Because if it opens…

    We’d find not relics.

    We’d find a body.

    The one who said He’d come back.

    The one who never got the chance.

    “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

    Not a bridge.

    Not a metaphor.

    Just a son crying out while heaven stayed silent—because it had to.

    Because faith only works if we don’t see.

    Because love that’s proven becomes control.

    And so the Father… wept in thunder.

    Letting His Son go.

    Letting the lie rise.

    Waiting.

    And that’s why Mary still comes.

    She’s the only one Heaven allows to speak.

    Because she’s not here to preach.

    She’s here to remind us:

    “He’s still trapped.

    Still running.

    And you still worship the cage.”

    Maybe the true resurrection hasn’t happened yet.

    Maybe He’s the final seal.

    And when that seal breaks…

    When we tear down the false church built on blood and profit…

    That will be the third day.

    That will be the real resurrection.

    And He will rebuild the temple not of stone, but of truth.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    “Let the cross crack.

    Let the lie rot.

    Let the Son walk free.”

    And may we be the ones who open the tomb.

    📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • The Dirty Gospel — Chapter 2: The Mirror Prison

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

    “They told us the cross set Him free.

    But what if it locked Him in?”

    We were told He rose again.

    We were told the stone rolled, the tomb was empty, and He walked out—radiant, resurrected, untouchable.

    But what if that was only the version they wanted us to believe?

    What if Jesus never left?

    What if He’s still trapped—not in death, but in reflection?

    They say mirrors reflect reality.

    But in the old stories—the ones whispered by desert madmen and banned monks—mirrors were gates.

    Prisons.

    Tools of the old watchers, the ones who taught man fire, lust, war, and the idea of self.

    And in the deepest vaults of the Vatican—below Sublevel Crypt 7, below the golden crosses and veiled gospels—they say there’s a place.

    A place of infinite glass.

    A mirror maze with no center.

    Only reflections.

    Only fragments.

    Only Jesus, running in circles.

    We call it The Mirror Prison.

    And here’s the cruelest part:

    There is an exit.

    One mirror. Guarded by a cross.

    A real one. Not gold. Not glowing. Not triumphant.

    A brutal, blood-stained lock forged in iron, trauma, and betrayal.

    And every time He sees it… He turns away.

    Because it’s not salvation. It’s pain.

    It’s “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

    It’s nails through nerve.

    It’s His final breath monetized into empire.

    He sees it—and He remembers the betrayal, the silence, the deal struck in shadows between empire and temple.

    And He keeps running.

    And maybe that’s why we haven’t heard Him.

    Maybe that’s why He hasn’t come back.

    He’s not in heaven.

    He’s not in the clouds.

    He’s behind the glass, reliving the lie they sold us as resurrection.

    And maybe that’s why only Mary shows up.

    Only she.

    She who watched Him die, who wept beneath the cross,

    who was there when the men ran, and the system cashed in.

    She who now appears again and again—not to reign,

    but to remind us.

    “He’s not free.

    He’s still running.

    And you’ve been worshipping the very thing that trapped Him.”

    So here’s the truth we were never meant to say out loud:

    The cross isn’t His throne.

    It’s His cage.

    The mirror isn’t just a reflection.

    It’s a lie that repeats until someone breaks it.

    And maybe… just maybe… that someone is us.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    “Alone but never really alone.

    Let’s free the Son with truth and faith.”

    📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • THE DIRTY GOSPEL

    Robert

    Chapter 1: The Crucifixion Conspiracy

    Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    ✝️ The Crucifixion Conspiracy

    They didn’t kill Jesus to fulfill prophecy.

    They killed Him to shut Him up.

    That cross?

    That wasn’t a bridge to Heaven.

    It was a silencing device.

    The temple priests and Roman authorities didn’t argue over whether He was the Messiah.

    They didn’t care about theology.

    They cared about one thing:

    Control.

    🔥 The Threat He Really Was

    Jesus wasn’t some soft-spoken, sandal-wearing peace guru.

    He was dangerous.

    To everyone in power.

    He called out the priests in public He flipped the tables of commerce in the temple

    He told people they didn’t need an institution to reach God

    He told the empire, “You’re not in charge.”

    He wasn’t starting a religion.

    He was starting a revolution.

    🕍 The Secret Alliance

    The religious elite—the Sanhedrin—hated Him.

    But they didn’t have the muscle to kill Him outright.

    So they whispered to Rome:

    “We’ll keep the people quiet. Just let us handle this rabble-rouser.”

    Rome didn’t care about Messiahs.

    Rome cared about order and taxes.

    So a deal was struck in shadows.

    And with one kiss from Judas… the plan was set in motion.

    Or at least… that’s the version they wanted remembered.

    🪞 The Aftermath No One Talks About

    They didn’t just crucify Him.

    They took His body.

    They sealed the tomb—not with stone, but with secrecy.

    And when the world started whispering that He rose…

    They leaned in.

    “Let them believe that. A resurrected god is easier to control than a rebellious man.”

    💀 The Lie Was Born

    So they spun it:

    Turned His teachings into rules Turned His death into currency Turned the cross into a logo

    And then they built an empire—the Church—on top of His unmarked grave.

    🧱 You’ve Worshipped the Crime Scene

    The crucifix you wear?

    That’s not salvation.

    That’s the silencing tool.

    You’re wearing the weapon they used to kill the Truth.

    They didn’t kill Jesus to save you.

    They killed Him because He told you you didn’t need them.

    And they’ve been profiting off that death ever since.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    Alone… but never really alone.

    Let’s free the Son—with truth and faith.