What An Ass!

It is only when we place God at the End not at the Beginning, that the Universe falls into order. God is an Unutterable Sigh in the Human Heart, said the old German Mystic, and therewith said the last word.

                                                                                                                         
                                                                          Havelock Ellis

            Today I am going to revisit a position that is Kryptonite to the theological world. The mere thought of it will propel most of you to investigate securing the greasy talents of some malodorous shyster in an attempt to set a new precedent in personal  injury law by suing the pants off me for the willful destruction of a hero system, from this point on referred to as Schneider v. Texas. The statement to follow is a shotgun blast, a blunt force trauma and an anal Rolfing not seen since Darwin cold cocked the world in 1859. As an idea it is pure emetic causing the hardest, stone cold killer to tremble behind his cellmate’s leather slip, the priestiest priest to chuck his collar into the baptismal pond and even the most wild-eyed Jihadist to put down his strontium 90. This manifesto smashes your house of cards, plunges a dagger into the back of your most sacred cow…and pierces the corporate hymen of your most decrepit existence. And I’m not even going to charge you a cover.

              Life has no meaning Bitch! That’s right I’m calling YOU a bitch Mr. And Mrs. Citizen of the world. Deep down you know that the animal games you play everyday are a lie; a vital one to be sure that keeps you from committing a deservedly ignominious seppuku. Life basically consists of a series of thumb twiddling time killers designed with our complicit consent. We embrace this vital lie with the fervor of country music fans and staunchly rise up to fend off the heathens who don’t. You can bet your last Viagra I’ll be keeping a roscoe under my pillow when this thing hits the streets. 

              How do I know this considering I would have to be God himself or the UnGod or or worse yet some crazed absolutist? And even if I was God and knew that life had no meaning then I wouldn’t exist, but would instead spend my days playing that lovable bystander in the proverbial one act-er about man’s historical inability to get out of the way of his own way. Well, I am not God. I can’t even get a blowjob from my wife and I’m in a fairly convincing tax bracket, but to say that life has absolute meaning is as untenable as saying it doesn’t. This is a very arrogant position because the meaning of life is ultimately unknowable, just as declaring it an empty vessel is the same, but it is only from this position that I can possibly take solace.

              For you see my lumpen liars it is my contention that the true believers take no risk. They are steadfast and unbending. Their hero systems are constructed on the strongest foundations that never waver. Their faith is absolute. This is where it becomes tricky. You can’t have faith without doubt. That is what faith is. Remove doubt and you have a lethal cocktail for murder as Nietzsche pointed out. Heads will eventually roll. Life for the true believer is a luge run narrow and true. He knows his life is scripted and that it will never veer so why try in any meaningful way? He knows he’ll be covered on the backside when his maker rewards him with a front row seat because he believed. Considering how many bags of pork rinds and Lazyboys are sold in this country do you question the veracity of my premise?

            However, Man still wages war to conquer reason. He craves meaning and constructs it like there’s no tomorrow, but the denial of his own mortality is the wheel that gets the most grease. By denying his animal existence Man props himself up against this bulwark with mendacity designed to masquerade the fact that he is really nothing more than a rutting fornicator, though I have to admit the receiver of his ministrations wear some pretty hot Manolo Blahnik stilettos sometimes. Man, those shoes are hot, but that’s not really the point here or is it? So Man pretends he is better than the dog in the street and uses every waking moment to deny his mortality, creating totems to greatness that ever eludes his grasp. The worm of corporal oblivion always rides herd over his meager talents. What an Ass! Man’s great task is to create meaning out of his meaningless condition. See hot shoes above. Could it be in Man’s masterfully ingenious way stiletto heals are just another way of denying our animal nature, the disguising of the hoof so to speak? Tabitha Stevens’s a nom de porn if there ever was one had the death defying idea to update the corona around the egress of her alimentary canal.

            Apparently it had fallen to disrepair or it was looking a little long in the tooth I’m not sure which, but Miss Stevens decided to seek some youthful remedy and was willing to use a bleach to vivify the region. The procedure, which must be repeated daily and is accompanied by a burning sensation, registers over 10,000 on the Scoville meter. The bleach claims to remove years from the aging embouchure leaving a more youthful appearance and hopefully landing her those coveted anal roles she’s been losing to younger assholes. If the appearance of your bilge annoys you so goddamn much Miss Stevens I’m sure you can find a couple of chowder heads in the business you’re in to detail it for you once a month. What kind of death denial do you have to be in to bleach your asshole? You kraythee!…You nuth!…We are all born between piss and shit for crying our loud.

            Even as I write millions of planets are cratering, billions of stars are becoming black holes, natural disasters are killing thousands, ethnic cleansers are cleansing, pro lifers are making bombs, Klansmen are preparing crosses, jug headed Browns fans are barking, The Sudan is liquidating, breasts are being implanted, graffiti is being sprayed and steroids are being abused. From all the psychotic rituals for the dead to the 10,000 practicing religions around the world everything, I say everything is a palliative for the ultimate joke. Say it loud and say it proud. Reality has no remorse! Get used to it! It’s a City Hall no son of an unwed dog can fight.

            Something is holy to everybody as Paul Tillich once observed.  It is the choice of what is holy that needs condemning or maybe we should ask what is the best illusion to live under. How does it feel to be alive in the cosmos now?

            Can any religion have the truth, absolutely? Absolute faith is the most disturbing oxymoron of our time. (Both former president Bush and Osama Bin laden made faith based policy decisions all the time too.) How can any orthodoxy preside over another with the authority of absolute infallibility? How egotistical is it to assume your sad little prescription for immortality is divine and not the caterwauling of a madman. Man pursues his absolutes with the determination of a telemarketer on amphetamines. He forces meaning upon life because the prospect of living in a meaningless universe is too much to bear.  So he narrows down and lives life in the most manageable of bites. I’m talking to you, you, the useless chooch with the remote control over there. I don’t want to get all warm and fuzzy about this meaningless thing, but if you want I’ll write a snappy theme song for it right now muthafucka!  Just try me. It’ll go down easier that way. That’s what you want. Don’t worry it’ll be bouncy too with funny lyrics like everything else in your black and white world.

            I prefer to think that life has no meaning because life itself is such a mystery that to departmentalize it into some kind of controllable twaddle is to rob it of its one great dimension, the very mystery itself. It is the mystery that provides the awe to achieve greatness and not some phalanx of inchoate doctrines that hammers its constituency into pusillanimous sycophants. By not tethering to dogma and a doctrinaire worldview everything is up for grabs and life unfolds in all of the possibilities creating a much richer bounty. I want to live a life that is not cut off from experience.

              So to sum it up: You can either cure aids or sit on the stoop waiting for the grim reaper to bring you your last case of Iron City beer. It’s up to you. As Ernest Becker announced “The most any of us can seem to do is to fashion something-an object or ourselves-and drop it into the confusion, make an offering of it, so to speak, to the life force.” So go home and get to work. Write a symphony or some really clever dirty limericks. Invent something useful like a home retracting stripper pole or a bean dip server molded from the vagina of Paris Hilton. I don’t care what it is just give me a third dimension, that’s all I ask. But to sit around worrying about some afterlife with harp music and bad paneling, I’d rather take 40,000 volts any old day.

            Well, that’s it baby! What did I tell you…all laid out like the lox at Sol’s delicatessen. You are standing on the edge of the abyss in clown shoes. Enjoy! Ladies and Gentlemen, will you welcome the Big Bupkis!  Mr. Nothingness to you…a man who needs no further introduction…Oblivion.

           

            And just what exactly is my immortality project you ask? You’ve just read it.