January 28, 2010: Thanks to the heartfelt outpouring of support and affection following my last Blah-ugh! entry (wherein some people apparently confusingly thought I planned to commit suicide), I wanted to offer something more upbeat, more lighthearted.
Unfortunately, as hard as I've tried to think of something, I keep coming up blank. This may be a combination of things, of course, but a lot of it involves nutrition. (I just don't think I'm eating enough pie.)
Either way, let's talk of things gay and light, like creme fraiche and holographs. Has anyone ever been to Brazil? Don't you love banjo music? Whenever I see a rainbow, it makes me think of God. Whenever I see God, it makes me think of rainbows, especially the really big ones. Speaking of rain, I find walking in the rain an especially delightful pursuit, except when my shoes get wet. And speaking of getting wet, all this talk of happy, light gay things just makes me as wet as a gay woman in a sewing circle. Speaking of sewing, I read where old people have much more trouble see the tiny eyes of needles. Which reminds me of Donald Sutherland, who absolutely sounded like a Nazi in that movie, the one where he plays the "Neidel," which is German for "Needle." Speaking of Nazis, has anyone ever noticed that "Nazis" spelled backward is "Sizan," which sounds a lot like Cezanne ... and while his clouds may have a kind of awkward melancholy appeal, I find his whole style to be fascistic and based in a dictatorial single-mindedness. And do you think that's a coincidence? I don't!
But let's not stray too far from the more important matters of this day, which in a nutshell center on my ongoing survival and all the practices I do to maintain my fine and spritely attitude. Going forward, let's only talk of all things gay, like Groucho Marx would want us to.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Finding God In My Toilet
August 30, 2009: Those of you who've read my first novel TEMPORARY INSANITY -- (I know there are at least two of you out there, plus my late mentor, who committed suicide shortly after finishing it) -- know that two of my recurring literary themes are 1) going to the bathroom, and 2) God. What you may not recognize, however, is how often life imitates art, as an experience I had yesterday afternoon clearly demonstrates.
I was on a lovely walk down by Burying Hill Beach in Westport, CT, when I was overcome with a gut-wrenching compulsion to evacuate. Like Archie Bunker -- another fictitious character -- I fight to confine my waste-expulsion practices to my own home, but on rare occasions necessity thwarts custom, and with my car a good mile away and my intestines roiling like I'd swallowed a live ferret, it seemed only practical to take whatever opportunity I could find.
Imagine my delighted disbelief to discover not only a clean single bathroom with a lock on the door, but enough paper supplies for an entire army of incontinent men. I indulged myself with a sort of hearty gusto, took my time and care, and even washed my hands with the lovely machine-dispensed soap foam the Parks & Rec Department provided. In a state of gratitude, I noted to myself that God (Fate, Higher Power, the Universe, whatever the hell you want to call it) had seen to lead me to this literal sanctuary atop the hill, meeting the needs of a traveling pilgrim who viciously had to take a dump.
Before leaving, as a courtesy to the next incontinent man who'd need to sit, I flipped the seat up so it wouldn't be carelessly peed upon in the coming hours ... And printed underneath in soft, blue letters, there was that word again ... as it was reported being under the toilet seat in my novel -- "Church."
An inspired company, no doubt, meeting a great need of mankind with its unique and obviously spiritual brand of porcelain. Once again the lesson was clear, as it was demonstrated for my protagonist in my book -- (to paraphrase) Dogmas and doctrines will shift and pass (if you'll forgive the imagery), but when all is said and done, here is where you can always find peace, contentment and relief -- the trappings of a true spiritual experience!
Amen!
I was on a lovely walk down by Burying Hill Beach in Westport, CT, when I was overcome with a gut-wrenching compulsion to evacuate. Like Archie Bunker -- another fictitious character -- I fight to confine my waste-expulsion practices to my own home, but on rare occasions necessity thwarts custom, and with my car a good mile away and my intestines roiling like I'd swallowed a live ferret, it seemed only practical to take whatever opportunity I could find.
Imagine my delighted disbelief to discover not only a clean single bathroom with a lock on the door, but enough paper supplies for an entire army of incontinent men. I indulged myself with a sort of hearty gusto, took my time and care, and even washed my hands with the lovely machine-dispensed soap foam the Parks & Rec Department provided. In a state of gratitude, I noted to myself that God (Fate, Higher Power, the Universe, whatever the hell you want to call it) had seen to lead me to this literal sanctuary atop the hill, meeting the needs of a traveling pilgrim who viciously had to take a dump.
Before leaving, as a courtesy to the next incontinent man who'd need to sit, I flipped the seat up so it wouldn't be carelessly peed upon in the coming hours ... And printed underneath in soft, blue letters, there was that word again ... as it was reported being under the toilet seat in my novel -- "Church."
An inspired company, no doubt, meeting a great need of mankind with its unique and obviously spiritual brand of porcelain. Once again the lesson was clear, as it was demonstrated for my protagonist in my book -- (to paraphrase) Dogmas and doctrines will shift and pass (if you'll forgive the imagery), but when all is said and done, here is where you can always find peace, contentment and relief -- the trappings of a true spiritual experience!
Amen!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)