There’s an anti-god, anti-creator, anti-something book that has been building up in me over the years. It’s almost as if I’m being provoked into fits of rage so I begin writing it in earnest.

Just when I’ve let myself get further away from the feelings – the mind-shattering reality of it, BANG – it’s there again – in my face. Unavoidable. There is no getting rid of it – it’s life, this is life… this is what happens to some people, to some parents. It happens for no fucking apparent reason – and it could be god’s private joke. There’s no fucking sense to it whatsoever.

Today it happened like this…

I took a day off from working and enjoyed an amazing day with my lovely wife and our 13 month old daughter. She’s a handful, but I’m thankful for every second I have with her – knowing full-well that at any time our game may change and what was once the most beautiful game for us – may sour, be turned upside down, or set on fire and thrown off a mountain.

I surprised my wife with a trip to MK’s to eat. It’s her favorite. She loves the duck there for some reason. I should remind you that we live in Thailand.

MK’s is located in a large shopping center and inevitably when we go out we are stared at by some people as they try to see our daughter and what she looks like. Thais have a fascination with kids that are half-Thai – half something else. We’re used to it – it’s weird to me, but, whatever – it’s nothing to get excited over.

We just boarded the escalator leading up to the restaurant. I was holding our little girl in my left arm and she was facing over to my right. Next to us on the right there was a small section of video games and little animals and planes and spaceships that kids ride for 10 baht (30 cents) – like at malls in your country – I’m sure.

There was a thirtyish woman standing on one side of one of these rides – and facing us – and she was looking intently at me and my wife and then at our daughter. The look was one of intense curiosity – about what our daughter looked like – she was soaking it in and I swear I saw envy to such a degree that I could feel it from her. It was super intense, and yet I didn’t know why.

On the side of the ride closest to us on the escalator was a young girl – maybe 14, with this woman. This young girl too was looking at us from the side – very intently like her mom. The feeling I got from her was one of shame or embarrassment. I then realized these two were attending to a small child that was riding this contraption they sat on opposite ends of. As the escalator took us up I looked down into the ride and a small boy of about 4 years old crawled forward toward me and looked up into my eyes as best he could.

His face was horribly disfigured, gaunt. His eyes were misaligned and twisted. He looked at me so hard – trying to see – what was it that his mom and older sister were looking at.

It was like a 30.06 bullet just ripped through my cerebral cortex, destroying all gray matter. The shock of it is just like that.

Brainlessly, I smiled gently at the three of them – not at any one of them in particular, and continued up the escalator, saying nothing to my wife, nor making eye contact. When I make eye-contact with someone after an incident like this – like seeing this small boy did – sometimes I can’t hold it and I can cry instantly about it. I never look at people after. I file the event in my mind to be revisited when I’m alone and can give it the attention it deserves.

When I see a child with facial disfigurement, missing an arm, fingers, feet, legs, whatever it is – it’s a shock that goes instantly to my brain and the auto-response is a gentle smile, as if there was nothing I just saw that shocked the hell out of me. It probably comes from working in a place where I counseled those with traumatic brain injury for 18 months. I saw some horrible things. It probably also came from working with people with profound mental disability – distress – issues, like schizophrenia, temporary insanity in which family members are killed, borderline personality disorder, multiple personality disorder – or something else along those lines. Working with people that were dealt the shit hand has given me the ability to have no reaction when I see things that shake me to the core.

I react later – tonight as I cry in this room cursing god or whatever it was that started this sick game and fucked over children from the start. I don’t get that. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to pray it away and asked god countless times why and to make it all better… before I realized – god is responsible, not the cure for it. The cure is whatever we can do here to deal with it. The real cure would be to fix the game-maker. To fix god. I don’t have any silly illusions of that though.

For god so fucked the world that he gave his only son to die on the cross. Do you think it’s any better for these poor kids with fetal alcohol syndrome? Downs? Birth defects? 50 IQ’s?

No, it’s god’s game… it’s god’s intention. He had every fucking intention of making the game this way – or, it would not have been made this way.

In truth – I haven’t the slightest idea – does a god exist? Not even the slightest. If there is one, it needs held responsible for the horror-show state of the world. It’s unforgivable. It’s unfathomable. It’s unfuckingmerciful to have perpetrated on children these life-changing, life-fucking, afflictions.

I never go for more than a couple of days without seeing something that reminds me how fucked life is for some other people that got dealt shitty hands in the game. I’ve got to write this book before it tears me apart inside.

Did you ever feel directly what a kid with a distorted face that makes people grimace or gasp must feel like?

I have this uncanny ability to feel it – and feel it very strongly – and the hatred boils inside instantly at whatever began this wretched game.

The good news is – I just have to think about what I saw for the next couple hours I’m awake, and alone, and can cry and rage about it. The good news is that our little girl seems perfect, inside and out.

That’s the good news, and it’s nice there is some.

The bad news is that there is a little boy and his family that looked up and saw me and my wife, and our darling little girl and were reminded ONE MORE fucking time, how they were all dealt the shittiest of hands.

The bad news is that there are millions of kids and adults that were dealt the 5 card poker hand, that, when turned over – instead of aces or a full house like most of us got, their cards said in BIG RED BOLD 72 font –FUCKED!.

The first time I see god – I’m going to hit it with a pipe if one happens to be handy.