GOD, NO ROCK; ROCK, NO GOD

"Hey Peter--I can see your house from here!"




Or, "CHOP WOOD, HOLD YOUR WATER..."

The previous quotes are both perversions of Zen koans…the imploration to “Chop wood, carry water” (i.e. shut up and drive), and the ancient monk lament, “Dog, no rock; rock, no dog”—the closest Western equivalent being, “There’s never a cop there when you need one…” (but have a bag of dope on hand, and there’s a virtual parade of badges, flashing lights, and checkpoints…a jackboot cavalcade of nightsticks seeking blood blisters and sweaty, painful shelter deep within).

I’ve been hunting for solid quotes on mankind’s plight, as hope runs out, as if into the street—we’re obviously fucked, and any guess why is just as good as mine.
Once more, Mondo Cane had it right.

(Be patient...it's coming...)

Another quote I’m fond of is from an older sci-fi show. Years ago, my friend Brandon tried to pique my interest into the great Babylon 5. Of course, I’d have none of it then… Recently, however, I had the first two seasons forced on me, quite nearly Clockwork Orange style. I am subsequently forced to admit my adoration: Damn…that was probably the best-written thing on television, ever. How had this escaped me? That show was fucking great—I totally missed out. And worst of all? Now I must endure Brandon’s unholy glee at my expense. But anyway…

“You may wish to return to the past from which you came, my dear. The future is not what it used to be.”

--Ambassador G’Kar, addressing a confused human awaked from cryogenic slumber after 200 long years.

Surprisingly sage for a Snakehead, don’t you think? Consider this headline:

“A 54-year-old man in the Tokyo suburb of Musashimurayama became the latest person to be killed by a suicide jumper's inadvertently landing on him...” [Chattanooga Times Free Press, 2-9-05]

Practically tripping over each other, aren’t we? We’re becoming fatalistic--like pigs that want to be eaten, in exchange for a taste of bacon. It’s as if we want to force the hand of fate, and faith, and learn the name of God in person. We don’t know what “He” said to anyone these days; thus, we want a personal audience. Our only happy, peaceful moments are merely those swift, taut spaces between our disappointments. Our “blessings” are defined as all that’s not been taken from us yet.

(no, wait for it…wait for it…)

My friend Roger had a breakdown years ago. He was the leader of a once-prominent Christian Metal band in the 1980’s. Roger preached with fire, vigor…violent affirmations of faith and peace. He thought he had the answers—and that they resided solely in the “Word Of God”; he thought he held the truth, and that it was by sheer default the Truth for all. But life was not so kind; and he soon found that all the answers one can muster wouldn’t make the questions go away; knowing “the Truth” about life did nothing to make it simpler in the end. One night, he was ready to end it; it was the moment that he realized all he didn’t really know, and came to terms with terms not outlined in the contract that he signed with the “Divine.”
He didn’t know; neither do we. He was willing to shoot himself to meet God face to face. He wanted to know…and that seemed to be the only way.

Ultimately, he learned to enjoy life for what it is, and while it is. Mind you, he doesn’t always sound like he enjoys it…but that in itself is one of the many things that he enjoys.

(wait…it’s coming…wait for it..)

I went through this myself; and my last prayers to “the Lord” were prayers for death. Though I’ve learned much the same lessons Roger has, I wonder about those youthful post-teen prayers. Perhaps the only reason I was spared involved the wait-time of the Holy in processing requests. Perhaps we all pray for death at some point in our lives. Perhaps our lifespans are determined not by diet or design, but by how long it takes our gods to grant our wishes…

“Hello, this is God. I’m not in right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, please press #, or stay on the…”

BEEP.
”Thank you for calling Heaven’s automated system. Your prayers are important to us, and your pitiful pleas for mercy may be recorded for customer satisfaction. To request a swift demise, please press 1…to request a smiting of your enemies, press 2…to request the hand of a maiden or luck in gambling, please stay on the line, and an angel will assist you. Please have credit cards ready…”

BEEP.

“You have selected option 1; if this is correct, please press…”

BEEP.

“Please stay on the line; your prayer will be answered in the order it was received. The current wait time for sweet, sweet death is presently 65 years. To specify further options, please return to the main menu. Thank you. Amen.”

Still, nature listens. We just might get our wish.

The globe is dimming… The fish are scared… And all the best shows are cancelled.

(hold on…wait…it’s coming…honest...)

Another quote is brought to memory:

“…If you were a malevolent, evil force and you said, “How can I turn God against America? What can I do to get God mad at the people of America to cause this great land to vomit out the people?” Well, I’d pick five things. I’d begin to have incest, I’d begin to commit adultery wherever possible, all over the country, and sexuality. I’d begin to have them offering up and killing their babies. I’d get them having homosexual relations, and then I’d have them having sex with animals.”

--Pat Robertson, 1986 (San Francisco Examiner)

That said, I would like to make an open request, a plea, if you will—

(drum roll—here it comes…)

AN OPEN LETTER TO PAT ROBERTSON:

“Bush is now convinced of coming Doom. China threatened us. Iran, Cuba, and Egypt openly mock us. Syria and North Korea are lining up. Only the war in Iraq has produced anything positive of note—positive in the sense that it has left our nation with a surplus of single, lonely women. (And there’s only one way to console a widow, you know…)

The only sensible 2008 Presidential Candidate turned out to be hoax. Corporate Radio is so fearful of real Rock N’ Roll resurfacing, that they’re threatened by an ad for Chicken Fries.

Surely, we have incurred the wrath of a vengeful deity, yes?

It is, therefore, with solemn consternation that I implore you, not merely as a Man of God—nay, but as a Man (and all love for crispy chicken fries aside):

Please, Mr. Robertson…stop.

Please stop having incest. Your family will thank you; your nation will thank you.

Please stop committing adultery, wherever it is, and if it is possible.

Stop sacrificing infants. Please, Pat—listen to reason. Enough is enough is enough.

Stop having homosexual relations. Stop having sex with animals. Stop having other people do it for you. Please, I say—we all say—STOP. Look at the condition of our nation. This has all gone way too far. Please stop turning God against us, Pat. The incest, the butt-sex, the infant sacrifice and ritual zoophilia…can you tell me that it’s worth our children’s future?

Mr. Robertson, we call to you: please stop these incestuous, adulterous, man-on-man-on-mongoose burning child-flesh orgies now. Your God has seen, and we have suffered…each and every one.

Haven’t we suffered enough?”

***

Again, I say…

The globe is dimming. The fish are scared. And all the best shows are cancelled in the end.

)+(

(Ah, fuck it...I'm just bummed out because it's my birthday tomorrow...who am I kidding?)