With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island
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As you all know, we continuously contend with preachers who promote their productivity in Cosmic Shithouses all over the universe. And when they wipe their Cosmic Asses, there’s nothing there but the same old shit that you and I have been living with for years.
Now I don’t mean to criticize the so-called innovators, but this element is found in each of us.
“Go out into the world, Son, and get yourself
A Piece of the Rock.
And cherish it,
And nourish it,
And bring it into a greater whole.
And God will see it is good.
And then He will drop it upon you,
And smash your fucking head.
That’s the way it goes. I’ve yet to find a place where people who are feeling high don’t end up feeling low.
But the world isn’t all bad. All we have to do is find the right path, the right guru, the right teacher, the right smart ass, or get lost in some game that seems conducive to something.
“Transpersonalize! . . . (The Sacred Word) . . .
Oh, it feels so good to say it!
I know for sure that I am truly a God when I can come up with such beautiful garbage.
But then I wonder if I’m really doing it. . . .
Doesn’t The Word say something about going beyond one’s self?
. . . Self? . . .
(And now we embark upon a word game. As you enter the hall of mirrors, be careful not to kick one cause the crazy asshole waiting behind will blow your brains beyond your reach with a sawed-off horseshit gun.)
“What is the self?
The self is all things.
What, then, is all?
All is every thing.
Then “thing” is all, too. Right?
Then what about things?
Things are things, man.
But then how do we separate the self from anything else?
Fuck, I don’t know. Leave me alone, will ya?
Yeah, but you said you could
I don’t care what I said.
Well, why don’t you care?
If you don’t get the hell out of here . . .
You’re going to what? You can’t do anything to me. I’m part of you.
You shithead! You bastard! Always bugging the hell out of me just when I want to have some fun. You spoil it all! You SHITHEAD!
Well if I’m a shithead, so are you.
(kicks the mirror)
How do we prevent mental arguments exhibiting in forms of anxiety and other assorted goodies? I guess it has something to do with realizing they exist and accepting them as part of reality, no more nor less desirable than other parts.
“Pain, you say? Can’t hack that, man. Anything else, NOT PAIN.
Well, what’s so bad about pain anyways?
What makes a beautiful tree beautiful?
How do we know a well done show is well done?
What makes a good fuck good?
Is it the chick on the corner that comes up to you, drops her pants, spreads her legs, and says “It’s all yours?” . . . Or is it the PAINFUL waiting, the PAINFUL love, the PAINFUL sharing, and all the PAINFUL preceding events that make it worth doing?
“Well, maybe pain isn’t so PAINFUL after all. But how does this apply to anything?
How does anything apply to anything?
Well, I guess I could use it the next time the kid down the street comes over to beat on me.
Sure you could! What’s a few black eyes and a couple of broken legs anyway? It’s all in fun!
Huh-what? Wait a minute. . . .
Just then, far off in the horizon, we see a tiny light emerge. Slowly rising above the trees coming closer and closer and closer until it’s nearly on top of us and all aflame and dazzling and frightening and beautiful and exciting and spelling out a four-letter-word in the sky:
G - I - V - E.
(Later we realize it was chicken man on his latest gasoline-and-magnesium-powder suicide trip.)
And with that immortal wisdom floating around in our craniums, we need only flush the divine commode and be freed of our wickedness forever!
A fellow schmuck,