Sunday, January 29, 2006


"I am a rock. I am an island." - Paul Simon

There seems to be this common misunderstanding that those who comfort and coddle and advise and encourage are somehow pathologically self-sufficient, resolute, iconic, like some great standing stone of lost function but enduring significance, immune in the eyes of observers to the monstrous relentless onslaught of time. Yet in truth, secretly, the stone feels keenly its constant diminishment, mourning every bit lost to the erosion wrought by each of the centuries' raindrops. Perhaps the knowledge of its function is lost not only to the vagrancy of witness memory, but also to the nihilistic indifference it cultivates, a response to the apparent invisibility of its plight.

Thursday, January 05, 2006


night terrors

Last night, there I was, tossing and turning, drifting in and out, nearly asleep, yet something was bothering me. Suddenly I was jolted fully awake by the alarming realization that I had partaken of neither alcohol nor cigarettes nor sex in two days. Now, I too scoffed when I heard the rumors that our governor was secretly infusing Mormonism into the public water supply, but now I wasn’t so sure. What if it was true? Fear and horror rattled me to the bone. Was I in danger of spending eternity with my relatives? Surreptitiously palming semi-masticated wads of Great Aunt Eustace’s noxious fruitcake into a napkin while smiling and nodding like a Precious Moments bobble-head as Uncle Herbert enthusiastically recounts the myriad adventures of his life with Amway… forever?

I don’t know how they can call such a thing Heaven. I have it on good authority from several drunken partially dressed young missionaries that members of the Osmond family that have had near death experiences report having heard the distinct sounds of salsa bands and body shots (no, I don’t know what that sounds like, ask Jimmy) emanating from the lower floors as they ascended the glowing celestial elevator to the eternal bliss of the great paneled family room in the sky. I believe they were turned away until “the next batch of Chex mix is out of the oven.” Truly a mystery religion.

Chex… cereal… food before coffee? Coffee! Ah, sweet sacred caffeine! I had swilled not one but at least two environmentally un-friendly vessels worth of coffee in these same perilously pure two days. Hazzah! I was saved. Then I thought, perhaps I should sue the Pope. Not that he has anything to do with Mormons, but I needed to get my mind off all this religion and get some sleep.

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