PinkEye: I think I’m coming down with a cold, DeliThin.
DeliThin: What? Well you are or you aren’t.
PE: Well…I…Think I am.
DT: Oh my god, just great!
PE: Well I might not be.
DT: Give it to me straight, PinkEye!
PE: Well I woke up with a sore throat and I feel some body aches.
DT: Great. Just great. You know—you know how susceptible I am to catching colds. You get a cold, and I get it twice as bad. To serve as illustration–Your name is PinkEye yet it’s me who lost sight in his left eye because I picked at it too much.
PE: Well, I mean…Its just that no one made you pick at your eye so much.
DT: It hurt, PinkEye. It hurt. It itched. I had pink eye. I scratched at my eye until it imploded because I had pink eye. I had pink eye because you had pink eye. Your name is PinkEye!
PE: I woke up in the middle of the night and you were rubbing my fingers directly onto your retina.
DT: Besides the point.
PE: I tried pulling away.
DT: Are you quite done? You finished? You just have to get the last word in don’t you? God, [rubs temples] I think I’m getting a headache from you.
PE: Headaches aren’t catchy.
DT: I hope this isn’t a summer cold.
PE: Summer colds are the worst. I know.
DT: If it isn’t bad enough I got to be locked away for life—I’ve got to be locked away with the fucking Velveteen Rabbit.
PE: I asked you yesterday if you wanted me to throw poop at the guard and get sent to solitary to give you your personal space and you said ‘no’!
DT: Well I didn’t know that you were incubating Swine Flu did I?
PE: I don’t think you can get Swine Flu from rat bites.
DT: Besides the point.
PE: Look, I’m not looking for an argument. If we could keep track of days from this dungeon, we’d find that we argue every day. It doesn’t need to be this way.
DT: You don’t like me.
PE: That’s not what I said at all.
DT: You hate me—you just said it.
PE: You are so dramatic! Look, all I’m saying is that we have enough hardship as it is. Advanced Interrogation Techniques, cruel and demeaning treatment from the guards…With the time we have together we can choose to make the best of it.
DT: I am making the best of it. You ever see me complain about the hoods we have to wear over our heads when paraded out in front of the laughing guards? I like the smell inside my hood. It smells like my breath. You see me complain about the windowless cell? I thank God that I don’t have to worry about early aging due to sun damage. My only problem is you!
PE: DeliThin, that’s it. I’m not your best friend anymore. [turns back to him]
DT: [sighs] I’ve never told anyone this before…My father was known as the ‘Butcher of Seville’. He once killed twelve cattle with his bare mouth. I remember he would come home covered in blood and plop down on the couch and I’d bring him his pipe and slippers. One day he didn’t come home. State Troopers picked him up while trying to transport black market foie gras into Connecticut. He got life in prison. He sent a note to me in a capsule he’d fed a pigeon which was totally unnecessary because he had weekly phone privileges, but that’s besides the point. You know what that note said?
PE: Don’t take your cellmate for granted?
DT: “Become a vegetarian. It’s more humane and more healthy.”
PE: That’s it?
DT: That’s it. I changed my name legally to DeliThin the next day. I was a rebellious teenager…PinkEye, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…
PE: Yeah? And?
DT: That’s it. I’ve been thinking….What?
PE: I’ve never told anyone this before…My dad was called Dr. Timothy Paulford. He had an ophthalmology practice in Malibu. He’d come home each day and check me for cataracts. One day he didn’t come home. He’d run off with his secretary. He sent me an email one day and you know what it said?
DT: Don’t give your cellmate colds?
PE: “Become a vegetarian. It’s more humane and more healthy.”
DT: We are so alike.
PE: More alike than either of us knew.
DT: Did you become a vegetarian?
PE: Of course! It’s more humane and more healthy!
DT: We are so unalike.
PE: More unalike than either of us will ever know.
DT: ….My headache is feeling better.
PE: I guess they are catchy because now I’m getting one.
DT: …I’d told you I’d been thinking, right?
PE: Yeah. And?
DT: That’s it. I’ve been thinking…What?
Tina: This is going to be the most memorable summer ever!
Sarah: You’re right, Tina! This is one summer at Loon Lake Camp that we’ll never forget!
T: Look at how excited I am! I’m getting goose bumps!
S: My hands are shaking in part because I’m detoxing but certainly also because camp starts today!
T: I’ve got to say, Sarah, that I think I’m going to win ‘counselor of the year’.
S: Not so fast, Tina. I’ve held that honor for the last three years. I’m not going to give it up easily.
T: We’ll just have to wait and see! I think a lot of campers are going to find Jesus this summer.
S: And lose weight.
T: That’s right. Having Arizona’s only Baptist affiliated Fat Camp assures us we’re gonna get a lot of backslid chubbies. This is going to be a memorable year.
S: I’m going to remember it as the summer that our ‘no drownings’ streak ended.
T: The campers haven’t even arrived yet!
S: I know. It was the Camp Nurse, Ms. Burnett.
T: We don’t even have a lake! It dried up in last year’s drought!
S: I know. She drowned in a pool of her own blood.
T: The five year ‘no drowning’ streak is finally over? This IS going to be a memorable summer. Of course, this is also just my first year at Loon Lake so that makes it pretty memorable.
S: I remember my first year working here. I was a virgin then.
T: …I hope the campers come soon. I can’t wait to get into the craft shack and make friendship bracelets!
S: I used up all the thread. Sorry….I made an auto-asphyxiation noose.
T: …Kids are really going to meet Jesus here, I can feel it!
S: And lose weight.
T: Right- and lose weight. Speaking of, I’m hungry.
S: The camp cook died this morning so there won’t be dinner. Just to let you know.
T: How?
S: Slipped in Ms. Burnett’s blood. And then he drowned in it.
T: Two drownings in one day! After a 5 year streak! Where did all her blood come from anyway?
S: I can’t wait to get these kids started on a crash course diet!
T: And learn about martyrs, and spiritual warfare, and possession, and Ephesians,
S: Ha! Kids don’t care about that stuff anymore! Now its all “iPhone” this, and “Xbox” that. We haven’t even had a proper demon possession the last two summers.
T: Well, I’m sure that will change. I myself already had a demon of overeating cast out of me this morning.
S: And it shows, Tina. Looking good!
T: Oh, hush! You’re too kind. But you’re right. I’m looking pretty good. I really don’t know how I can eat all that I do and stay so slim!
S: Ah, the metabolism and vanity of youth.
T: This is going to be such a memorable summer.
S: I’m going to remember as much of this summer as I can, given all the heavy mind-erasing drugs I’ll be using. But before I forget, I should tell you that there will be a planned burning of the soccer field tomorrow.
T: Oh No! I’d planned a soccer tournament and tithe-drive on the field tomorrow! But I guess to prevent wildfires, you’ve just got to pre-burn some areas.
S: Oh, it has nothing to do with wildfires. I’m burning it as part of my soccer tournament and sermon illustration.
T: To show the kids what hell is like? Fight fire with fire as it were?
S: I didn’t think of that. No, its just for them to stand by it and sweat out some water weight.
T: Your sermon is….
S: “And Jesus Wept: Keeping your water weight down.” It’s a three part series.
T: This is going to be so memorable!
S: It sure will be! Like I remember when I went into your room this morning and replaced your Tic Tacs with Sugarfree Tic-Tacs.
T: Tic-Tacs?….You mean my mood stabilizer and bi-polar medications? I thought they looked funny!
S: Whatever they were, you can expect to lose some weight with Sugarfree Tic-Tacs.
T: I’m on 4000 milligrams of anti-psychotics on an 8 hour cycle, Sarah! I’ll lose my mind before I lose weight!
S: All your screaming is really killing my crank buzz and crushing my heroine chill, man.
T: I’m sorry.
S: Thank you. Apology accepted.
T: I keep forgetting that you’re an old pro at this summer camp thing.
S: That’s right. And you’re just a greenhorn. You don’t know the grim realities of a Bible/Fat Camp.
T: Please show me the ropes.
S: I will. I promise to give you all the insider 411.
T: No, I mean your auto-asphyxiation noose. I’m feeling my brain chemistry radically changing and I’d like to regulate through a tabooed life-threatening form of erotic self-harm.
S: Now you’re talking like a seasoned Bible Camp Counselor.
T: Ah! A Bible/FAT Camp Counselor.
S: C’mon. Let’s go get you a noose and then burn the dead. We’ve got overweight Christian preteens to get ready for.
WHY ON EARTH DOES GOD HAVE TO PAINT? / CENTRIPETAL ART
By Rafael Chodos, Based on Selected Works and Writings of JUNKO CHODOS
Giotto Multimedia, 2009
———————–
Rafael Chodos’ Why on Earth Does God Have to Paint?/ Centripetal Art acts as a baptism into the post-modern landscape of junctures of art and religion. Troubling and formative, it is nothing short of a crisis point between what has come before and the promises that lie ahead. While clear in its spiritual direction, it is immediately accessible to spiritual aspirants of many traditions. The author, husband of internationally celebrated artist Junko Chodos, has initiated a delightful and thoroughly post-modern midrashic project upon her art that through traditional and web-based publication will aid future forays into art and theology.
Like the best of post-modern spiritual inquiries, this book defies easy categorization and eschews being definitive or prescriptive in favor of authentically and humbly offering possibilities for the spiritual seeker and artist. And it has an uneasy prophetic power: Junko Chodos’ art calls to spiritual refugees across our contemporary landscape with an exhilarating corpus of work reflective of the aspirations of a twenty-first century mysticism.
This book is an exploration of the life, spiritual journey, and mission of Junko Chodos and the art that her ardent spirit has forged. Included is a processional of the visitants, or iconic themes present in Junko’s art, biographies of both Junko and Rafael Chodos, treatments upon her style and process, and a stirring description of the artist’s vision of centripetal art and integrity as foundational to her art. With intertextual sensibility Rafael deftly includes private correspondence of the artist, studio notebooks and diaries reflecting the contemporary consciousness that rends text, welcoming readers to participate spontaneously unrestricted by genre and media expectations. More than catalog or collection, Why on Earth invites the reader to contact image and text at once rendering it an intimate and sensual engagement.
Although the book is challenging, it is a highly engaging book for even the uninitiated or the collegiate student of post-modern art and/or theology and it balances many functions. It is a post-modern treatise where readers can witness how Junko reflects the commitment to non-commercial integrity, collaboration among artists and the centrality of bodies as seen in her FATHOM project, an acute awareness of the danger and promise of technology, and the role of art in establishing justice-in-community. It also is an epistle of hope and inspiration to post-colonial theorists. Individuals who like Junko have experienced subaltern cultures, war, or the multivalent violences of consciences no longer at home within creedal religion will be livened through the reflections within the book’s reflections of Junko’s identity as spiritual refugee.
These many themes and functions find their narrative integrity here as a living archaeology of mysticism. Through their collaboration, Junko and Rafael Chodos erase prejudices, dichotomies, and limitations of the modern worldview. The political is the spiritual, the artist is the prophet, and law, justice, art, and religion are all joined by the same strivings of the human spirit. Artist, art, and viewer intimately participate in the shared return to the same spiritual center.
Central to the book’s mystic vision is centripetal art, which affirms that the human heart will ever remain undefeated by imperialism, social divisions, and dogmatism. For whether the darkness is within an individual’s own psyche or arises from the devastations of war, yet comes the redemptive hope that art still may usher one to the center of divine presence.
The book is available at CentripetalArt.com and Amazon.com
Feel free to copy and email this letter to Joan Faul, mayor of Atwater.
mayor@atwater.org
“I am writing in hopes that Atwater’s leadership will
step up and begin the process of forgiveness and reconciliation necessary after Frago’s racist actions and failure to be accountable to those actions.
Atwater has taken a blow to its reputation, there is no doubt. There are already rumblings about boycotts and loss in tourism. Persons of color and all Californians of good conscience are feeling distanced from and hurt by Atwater as a whole.
Some of Frago’s damage could have been abated. Atwater’s official website could have issued a full disclosure statement with plans of action, apologies, and explicit commitments to racial justice. As of early Saturday morning, this easily accomplished measure of action has not taken place.
I, representing just one of thousands of Californians, am looking for Atwater’s best and brightest to bring resolution to the blight Frago has brought. We are in a time where even the smallest amount of courage and moral fortitude can separate mediocre civil servants from tomorrow’s dream casters and engines of change. Who will stand for equal treatment under law? Who will say no to racial bullying?
Frago has revealed himself to be unfit to serve Atwater, or any other great American city for that matter. Not only were his decisions short sighted, dangerous, and his actions racist, but by his not taking immediate responsiblity he has mired Atwater in controversy. He must be placed on suspension or fired if he does not own up to his mistakes and step down.
We are looking to Atwater’s leadership to see who will resolve this. America today needs bold leaders who embrace the highest standards of racial justice. We await your action.”
I sent this letter to Gary Frago today-please feel free to copy it and email it to Mr. Frago yourself at:
gfrago@atwater.org
“Mr. Gary Frago,
I am deeply concerned and hurt about the revelation of your
racist actions and unpatriotic leanings. Your complacence in the face of society’s worst
tendencies shows a lack of moral strength and a vacuum of judgment.
After you have participated in such slander and hate-language, you have compromised your ability to serve America in worthy fashion. America is the land of the free and home of the brave-not a country where we can allow racist actions from our leaders.
“Out of many, one.” Says my dollar. America has always and will continue to flourish because of our rich heritage. Your actions reflect an unpatriotic vision of America, one that would never be able to survive.
We true Americans and people of faith know that all God’s people are beautiful, worthy of dignity, and deserve equal treatment under law.
I am a California resident, Christian, and patriot. Our country deserves better than
your being complicit in racist messages. Atwater governance must assure that all of its officials can readily serve all Californians.
I am requesting that you step down from your position immediately and that a full apology and commitment to racial justice be made by Atwater’s government. We Californians need to know that Atwater is ready to serve all Americans without bigotry and prejudice so as to not stand in the way of justice and equal treatment under law.”
Frago’s contact information: Gary Frago
City Council Member
750 Bellevue Road
Atwater, CA 95301
209-357-6300
209-357-6302
Joan Faul, Atwater’s Mayor Contact Info: Joan Faul
Mayor
750 Bellevue Road
Atwater, CA 95301
209-357-6300
209-357-6302 jfaul@atwater.org
Billions of people around the world think religious genius and Pop Religion Icon Jesus Christ is dead and buried but nothing could be further from the truth.
ALIVE – OR NOT?
You be the judge.
In fact, say religious sources around the world in a position to know, the ‘Original Jesus Christ Superstar’ died and then rose from the dead three days later to allow humanity to escape the crushing pressures of life in sin -and he is now socked away equally in heaven, in Christians’ hearts via the Holy Ghost, in communion wafers, in icons, in images burned into tortillas, and equally everywhere at once due to a power known as omnipresence.
And in the strangest twist of all, say the insiders, once he’s rested and ready, Jesus Christ, age 2009, will blow the lid off speculations that he is “either dead, gone, uncaring in a Deist way, or absolute sham” and make a comeback tour on May 21 2011. Adoring fans are already buying tickets to Frankenmuth Michigan’s World Beer Expo to celebrate his surprise career turn.
“Jesus Christ is following in the footsteps of others he greatly admired –Amelia Earhart, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Jim Morrison, L. Ron Hubbard, all who faked their deaths and are still alive, and in hiding, today,” Pastor Joshua Loomis, of Topeka’s Victory Chapel said in this previous Sunday’s sermon.
“Make no mistake, Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior, both as a performer and as and showman and marketer and promoter. Remember when he made water into wine just to get the publicity? Remember when he reputedly was trying to combat imperialism, injustice, ethnic bigotry, and classism through non-violent protest and inclusive fellowship? If you look at his history of stunts he’s pulled to keep himself in the public eye, like loving social outcasts and committing himself to egoless service, the idea that he would rise from his death makes sense.” Loomis said.
“Let’s face it – Jesus Christ has been vilified by many in the the liberal media and by people who just don’t like him. He’s been called ‘Just A Good Man’ and ‘Chief Among the Prophets But Yet Not God’, ‘The Firstborn of Creation-Meaning an Angel’, ‘The Son of God, Meaning a Human Turned God Who Created This World And Is Son Of Elohim Who Lives Near The Planet Kolob’, et cetera, et cetera. When Jesus comes back May 21, 2011 he’ll set matters straight and by the way it will be awesome to hang out in Frankenmuth Michigan for their beer festival. I love Michigan!” The pastor said, to his congregation’s ‘amens’.
“Yes, he’s got billions of fans. Yes, he’s sold perhaps billions of books about him. But for all the love he gets, there are those who still get their rocks off by being asswipes to other people and justify it by using his name and legacy. It ain’t right, and it hurts overall sales. With all due respect to the President of United States, Jesus Christ on a ‘Back from the Dead, Gone, or Uncaring Tour’ will make Obama look like a B-List celebrity.” Pastor Loomis then quoted at length from I Corinthians chapter thirteen and Frankenmuth’s website.
More on this story as it develops – exclusively at www.mindflowers.net
But not everyone is convinced. There are some who believe that Jesus Christ has, in fact, died. Secular Humanist and volunteer firefighter Mike Gresch says Elvis Presley welcomed Jesus into the Great Nothingness. “Non-existence isn’t all that bad I’d imagine. Anywho, god bless him. I love that guy. Elvis, I mean. And Jesus too I guess. I wish them both well.” Gresch then added, “Frankenmuth Michigan is a great town and it has some of the nicest people you’d want to meet. Jesus or no Jesus, I’ll be there come May 21 2011.”
Police Officer Patty: Okay now Mr. Sherman-I know that you’ve gone through a lot but this will all be over soon.
Mr. Sherman: I can’t take anymore of this! This coffee that is. This is the worst police station coffee I’ve ever had!
POP: I’m sorry. Its just that with budget cuts and everything-
MS: I didn’t ask you for any excuses, Patty…Now, I’ve been waiting patiently for like an hour now-
POP: And I appreciate your patience. First we’ll get these handcuffs off you-
MS: Thank you! They’re on really tight. I can hardly even comb my fingers through my hair!
POP: We’ll get them off you as soon as we get the key. Officer Lou ate the key and he’s drinking Milk of Magnesia as we speak.
Police Officer Lou: (enters) hey guys-here’s that key. Sorry about that.
MS: About time, Lou!
POP: Lou, can you also get me the murder victim’s skull from the evidence locker?
POL: Uhhh…That might take a while to get the key to the evidence locker.
POP: (Looks gently accusing and shakes her head)
POL: I have an eating disorder, Patty. You KNOW that. (exits in a huff)
MS: Don’t make excuses for yourself, Lou! (Patty takes off MS’s cuffs) Ahhh. Now that’s better.
POP: And you’ll have to promise not to choke me again.
MS: No one can tell the future, Patty.
POP: I’m not asking you for a horoscope, Mr. Sherman- just that you won’t choke me again.
MS: Are you familiar with existentialism, Patty?
POP: Of course. My last murder case was committed with an extension cord. (MS looks unsure) And the murder victim was an octopus with an extra tentacle. (MS looks more unsure)…and it got me thinking about the meaning of my life. (MS finally looks appeased)
MS: Well, my point is, Patty-we can never be certain of what will be. Or WHO we’ll be at any given time. There is no essential ‘self’, Patty.
POP: You…your wisdom is powerful. You’re like a philosopher king.
MS: (chokes Patty for three seconds and then sits, looking innocent)
POP: You just choked me!
MS: That was the Mr. Sherman of the past, Patty. I live in the now.
POP: You facinate me (looks romantically at MS).
Police Offficer Lou: (enters) Hey guys! (senses romantic aire) Sorry to interrupt. I got that skull for you. (holds up tiny
container)
POP: Thank you Lou…(looks at inquisitively) That’s much smaller than I had expected.
POL: Well it IS the skull of a squirrel.
POP: I know that! Of course I know that. Still-its remarkably small.
MS: That is small. Even for a squirrel.
POL: …and I cremated it…and I spilled some of it…and I ate some of it.
POP: That skull was our only evidence, Lou! Well this case has just been flushed down the toilet.
POL: Oh yeah. And I flushed some of it down the toilet too.
MS: Well then, in that case I think that I’ll be going.
POP: Lou, will you do me a favor and leave us alone for a minute?
POL: Hey, it was good to see you again Mr. Sherman! Hope to see you soon.
MS: Oh, I’m sure you will. I’m here everyday. Say ‘hi’ to the wife and kids for me.
POL: Will do. Oh, and I didn’t forget-I still have your DVDs of ‘Silence of the Lambs’ and ‘American Psycho’. I’ll bring them for you tomorrow. Seeya! (exits)
MS: Well, Patty-we’ve been doing this dance for how many years now? You bring me in on trumped up charges with
either no evidence or lots of evidence that is quickly ingested by your partner…why don’t we just stop playing these silly games and tell each other how we really feel?
POP: You’re right. Let’s stop playing charades with each other’s hearts. Let’s stop holding the sex themed playing cards of lust so close to our heaving chests. Let’s tell each other the truth.
MS: Where do I begin? (takes her in his arms) Firstly- I killed that squirrel. Secondly- I love you.
POP: And I must tell you Mr. Sherman that I plan on killing you right now. (she pulls free and points her gun at him)
MS: I wasn’t expecting that.
POP: I wouldn’t have expected you to expect this.
MS: I thought that we had a rapport together! The way that you’d tell me I looked handsome in handcuffs, the way that you let me couchsurf at your place last summer….we went to your sister’s Bat Mitzvah together for Christ’s sake.
POP: It was all an elaborate scheme to earn your trust. Seventeen years of botching your murder cases just to get in your good graces.
MS: You won’t kill me, Patty. You don’t have the balls. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.
POP: Truth be told-it was ME who killed that extra tentacled octopus I told you about earlier. And truth be told, I do have balls. And a fully functional and uncircumsized penis.
MS: But….but….Patty…you’re Jewish!
POP: And I consider killing you a mitzvah! (raises gun and pulls trigger but it is empty, nothing happens. She looks at it confused)
Police Officer Lou: (enters) Oh, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say goodnight to Mr. Sherman again. Goodnight, buddy. I love you. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and sorry Patty, I ate all the bullets that were in your gun. Sorry. (to MS in a whisper) I love you.
MS: So where do we go from here?
POP: I just wish we could start all over again. Go back to the way things were. I’ve been such a fool-been so afraid of love-
MS: I didn’t ask for any excuses, Patty. Besides, that was ‘us’ in the past. I live in the now. And right now-I want someone to spend the rest of my ‘nows’ with. I’ll tell you what…I’m going over to the wharf to club some catfish to death. And I sure would like some company.
POP: How could I say ‘no’ to someone who looks so handsome in handcuffs? (they link arms and walk for the exit)
MS: I know a nice little vegan cafe on the way. They have a great kosher menu. (they exit)
The night previous, I returned to my bed chamber after nodding in goodnight to my departing dinner guests and found my sleep to be hard fought. I thought it would be another night of wrestling with the demons of regret, the voices of “why did you bring up Charlemagne at dessert? You know Ms. Devonshire is Francophobic!” echoing in my fretful-host post-party reflections but I was soon alerted to it being something else entirely.
A hot eruption of vomit from my gullet across my down comforter and unto my stately new globe with the recently updated “passage to India” cartography told me that my third helping of corned beef hash was more than just a probable deciding factor in Ms. Devonshire’s declining my advances-it was an invitation to a shamanistic voyage of the mind. My friend and fellow member of the City’s exclusive Men’s Club, Dr. Mortolo had begun recently exploring the uncharted recesses of the human mind through the use of electromagnets, hypnoelectric shock, lightning rods, applications of leeches, and electrified leeches to great increase of knowledge. Among his findings, Dr. Mortolo concluded that Beef Hash was but one way to travel to the spirit realms which envelope the ether layer just below the watery heavens. The same effects could be reached through ample voltage directed through the brain pan or through the medicinal drug ‘cocaine’, but corned beef hash of the sort I’d eaten a pound and a half of was the most potent and successful means to achieve this altered state.
Another round of vomiting, this time painting my silk drapes, readied me for my spiritual voyage. I was not in the least worried nor upset. My upbringing was afterall, as a Methodist and I had grown accustomed to fearful flights into the edges of sanity.
The first thing I became aware of was that I was floating in a perfectly white space. Or rather, a white lack of space. There was absolutely nothing about. It was as though I’d been transported back to Minnesota in the winter (a devilish vision for anyone in of itself) and all about me was pure whiteout. I was fully aware of my body: my powdered wig, my parasol, my wooden clogs, my merkin, my wooden teeth, my ivory inlaid false eyebrows; all was in place only there was no reference point to gauge myself against.
I walked. Or rather, I made a walking motion for there was no ‘floor’ to be had. After what felt like an infinity of this repeated walking motion without any sensation of progress, I felt as one who has been attempting to solicit a direct answer from a politician or seminarian. At long last, I saw the dirty tip of a digging spade appear as a gnat before my face and then the entirety of said shovel as it ‘dug’ deeper then followed by a venturing hand. I was plucked from the dread whiteness as a gopher may from its burrow and came up in a humble farmer’s field.
“I thought you mighta’ been watermelon.” The oafish looking brute said in a purely working class accent.
“Watermelons grow above ground, dear sir.” I said, brushing off my crushed velvet cape and wiping clean my nez pince.
“Then how come I’ve never seen one?” he countered.
“If you’ve never seen one, then mayhap you have seen one and not known it, my good man.”
That put him in the throes of thought and I hated to have troubled his mind so. To relieve him of his efforts, I told him of my experience in the void. “I was afloat in a vacuum of nothing!” I concluded and half expected his proletariat’s ears to begin fuming.
“P’haps it was you that was everything.” he said back without a courteous bow. “That is,” he continued as he placed a plug of chewing tobacco in his jowly mouth, “If there was nothing else around, you composed the whole.”
I clicked open my pocket watch and saw the hands were moving backwards, a phenomenon I owed to either the beef hash or my nightcap of laudanum drank from my lead lined grail. “Sir,” I said “I haven’t the foggiest notion of what it is you are trying to express.”
“That is, when the universe was the size of you (which it was but briefly despite your great girth) that all was measured by it, and within it. Distance is a flexible and arbitrary idea-and by your description, I would say that before I plucked you like so much a beet or a watermelon (not to contradict your belief of watermelons) from the ground you were everywhere.” The farmer placed a plug of tobacco under his right eyelid.
I felt quite put off by the man’s haughty demeanor and I told him as much. With a smart lash of my riding crop across his mealy mouth, I bid him adeiu. If the tears in his eyes were any sign, my departing hail triggered an active Francophobia within him and I quickly replaced it with a “good day” accented by another taste of my riding crop.
As I turned to make my way towards a village I’d espied upon the horizon, I was transported upon a great gust of wind back to my four poster and the candlelight of my room.
My bedroom door opened and in came my maid inquiring to my well being. I threw my chamber pot at her and in my distress instructed her to fill it. Thankfully she quickly obliged and then left me to entertain my troubled thoughts of the night’s happenings.
Had the night’s voyage been a trip through the astral plane? Or had I been privy to the ‘seventh heaven’ spoken of by the Apostle? I put the guessing aside and settled down for bed joined by my fourteen wolfhounds and decided that the morning’s breakfast would be corned beef hash and trepanation.
Nathan: You know, I’ve made up my mind-I’m ready to quit.
Paul: Good. For. You. Nathan. I will support you one hundred percent.
N: Its just that I’ve faced up to myself you know-I’ve seen clearly that this is the road I need to take.
P: I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve been wasting away, looking tired all the time….
N: That’s right Paul, and that’s why I need to quit my job.
P: And I’ve got your stapler and family photos already in a cardboard box…I pack up your stuff everyday at lunch-just in case.
N: Thanks, Paul. I’ll just take that box from you and also my unemployment check thank you very much.
P: That’s not really how it works, Nathan.
N: Too soon isn’t it? I need to go home and Tweet about how awesome it is being unemployed and getting checks from the government for NOT working right? And then the money starts pouring in? Or do I need to get stoned before noon and then BBQ half naked on my porch until my stupid employed neighbors and wife come home?
P: Actually, Nathan, Uh, you need to get fired to get unemployment.
N: Are you hiring?
P: We happen to have a youth pastor position that JUST opened up a minute ago, yes.
N: You see, that’s the problem. I hate kids.
P: I know you do. For the last 12 years, you’ve said that to me everyday.
N: Don’t you have anything else open?
P: We’re looking for an accountant, an organist and we are also in need of a bell ringer.
N: Like a hunchback?
P: You will need to get a hunch implant, yes.
N: A hunch! I’ll have to have it removed each weekend for my carousing. And Trinity Baptist doesn’t have health coverage and I can’t shell out thousands of dollars to have a deformity removed each week just so I can still cruise the red light district!
P: These are things you should have thought about BEFORE quitting. You are always acting too quickly.
N: I know.
P: Sure that’s a helpful characteristic in some cases-like when that demon possessed woman tried to spit venom at me and you shielded me with an impromptu cross made of two bread sticks. But it can be a detriment too, Nathan. Like when you baptized the Thompson kid while it was still being born.
N: That would have been a great idea had it not been a breech birth! Of course, since the soul lives in the brain, that Thompson kid will go to hell, but that can’t be pinned on me.
P: …I’ve been thinking.
N: About hiring me.
P: Yes. As the new head pastor.
N: But…Paul. What will you do?
P: I’ll go back to farming. Where I belong. I’ve sown the wild oats of the gospel in this little chapel for well on to 30 years now, and I think its time I packed up the shovel of my Bible, the hoe of my overhead projector, the wagon of my ‘thought of the day’ calendar, the silo of my guitar-
N: I get the picture…Now am I hired or what?
P: Yes, son. Trinity Baptist is in your keeping now.
N: Praise God! You’ve passed on the keys to the kingdom and now its me who can rule this Church with an iron fist!
P: Iron fist in a velvet glove I hope.
N: No, most likely an iron fist in a chain mail glove. My first order of business will be to fire myself so that I can live off the fat of the land-collect unemployment, be a welfare queen…
P: Again, I don’t think you understand unemployment at all. You won’t be able to fire yourself. That’s just a fancy way of saying you quit.
N: I really should have read up on this whole unemployment thing. Now I’ve got a church full of idiots to run, no youth pastor…
Hubjub: (a hunchback) Hello. I’m Hubjub. I’m here for the organist job interview. (To Paul) Are you the pastor?
P: No, I’m a farmer.
N: I’m pastor of these parts. The name is Nathan-Pastor Nathan and don’t you forget it, Hobknob.
H: Hubjub.
N: You play the organ?
H: Not at all.
N: Its a tough job market out there, Hufflepuff. I hate to tell you, but you’re competing against a high school drop out, a former GM CEO, and a Jonas Brother for that organist job. Do you have any references?
H: (To Paul) Will you be a reference?
P: Sure.
H: One hundred percent of farmers in this office recommend me.
N: That’s pretty convincing. But I’m still not sold.
H: (to Nathan) will you be a reference?
N: Sure.
H: Two out of three people in this office recommend me and one third of the people in this room will perform sex acts on his references.
P: Referencationalists.
N: Actually, we’re Baptists.
P: Wait-sex acts?
H: Sure! I’d do anything for a job. Except get training appropriate for the job I’m applying for.
N: Would you learn how to read in order to be an erotica reader to a blind man?
H: That I would do…
N: (stabs out his eyes with a pencil) Ahhhh!
H: …Hypothetically.
N: Ahh! I’m always acting too quickly!
P: We all have our weaknesses. Nothing to be ashamed of. God accepts everyone as they are.
H: My weakness is killing my coworkers. You hear about that triple homocide at Notre Dame last week?
N: Was that you?
H: You’re lookin’ at him! Oops. Sorry, no offense.
N: None taken. Wow. You still here, Paul? You hear that? We’re in the presence of a notorious hunchback!
P: Yeah. I’m standing right next to you. My hand is on your shoulder. And my other hand is on your thigh.
N: (touches Paul’s hand and then his face) Your face is so smooth!
P: As a former pastor and current farmer I have to stay looking young-so I use face lotion and drink the blood of the innocent.
N: Its so hard to find an innocent nowadays isn’t it?
H: You’re telling me!
P: You said it.
N: You know what, HotTub? You’re hired.
H: As Organist!
N: No. As Pastor.
H: Yay! I’ve always wanted to be a pastor.
N: Under one condition. You hire me as church accountant and then fire me.
H: I’ll have to warn you, there will be a brief period where you will technically be my coworker.
N: That’s a chance I’m willing to take.
P: Well, I should be going. I’ve got some fields to plow.
N: You’re not going to stick around and see if the hunchback kills me before he fires me or if I will attain my heart’s desire of being unemployed? You can’t stay to find out if I have some resolution?
P: I’d normally love to. But I have some job interviews to conduct at my farm.
H: You’re hiring? What position?
P: Mule.
H: Someone to pull your plow like a mule?
P: No, drug mule. I’m going to run a cocaine farm.
N: Cocaine comes from a plant. That’s weird. I never thought about that. ”Cocaine Farm”. Weird.
H: I want to apply as a mule!
P: Do you have references?
H: (To Nathan) Will you be a reference?
N: ….Oh! Are you talking to me? I’m sorry, I can’t see. Uh, sure I’ll recommend you. Paul, you should hire HumJaw here.
P: You’re hired!
H: (unsheaths his sword, stabs Paul in the heart)
P: Gaahhhhh!
N: See you guys! Take care! See you later. (Sits at desk)
H: Hello? I’m here for the job interview?
N: Gah! You scared me. Hello. My name is Nathan.
H: Yeah. I know.
N: HumblePie? Is that you?
H: No. My name is Hubjub.
N: Oh, good to meet you. Please have a seat.
H: Thanks. I’d like to apply for the organist position.
N: Have you ever considered being a pastor by chance?
H: Yay! I’ve always wanted to be a pastor!
