God is an App.

The Life Coach asked me “What are you really good at?” Because success lies in our greatest strength. The answer is not sales, interior design, carpentry, auditioning for a musical. I am good at worrying. You might consider that we are all very good at that skill, just like we are all pretty good at breathing and sleeping. But I want to be of service to the world. It’s a market economy. Will you pay me a trifle to worry for you?
No. It’s like paying me a trifle to take a shit for you. Worry is personal. Worries are an integral part of your consciousness. To be human, to know certain truths, like we’re fucked, is to worry. To be intelligent is to worry about serious issues- Global Warming. To be stupid is to worry about minuscule issues-My husband is cheating on me. If would be wonderful if another person could worry for you, but that is the role of religious fanaticism. Give it up to God, any God, who cares which God- make one up- and hand your burden to that non-enity who is birthed from worry. No worry: No God. God is an app. — God is a download- God is a technique to control your concerns. Grab his balls with all your might- just as you would grab at the last apple on the Tree of Life. Survival of the Most Holy. Look to your left and right? Who’s got the best tables at the best restaurants? Image (1) img_4536.JPG for post 152

Car as Canvas

Scan 21Tough on the resale value, maybe, but critical for immediate identification of your vehicle in a miles wide Walmart parking lot. Would anyone steal this car? No. Leave your keys in it. Keep the doors ajar. Will anyone hit this car, cut in front of you on the highway, ride your bumper? I guess no. Instincts prevail; stay clear of that which is suspect- the Other. Is it an aging half blind hippie behind the wheel or a lunatic with a gun? Worse yet, a frustrated artist.   You’ll have room to maneuver on the road; You will own the road. Speed up, slow down, orchestrate the momentum, lead from behind. When the car finally dies, it becomes an automatic art installation- available for scrap metal- which you offer to a sculptor in exchange for a shard of the left bumper- a shard you can blow torch into a silver chandelier. A car isn’t ever just a car.

Reverse Photoshopping

older  Someday soon it will be cool to be old- really old, almost dead. It will be hip to be wrinkled and age spotted and creviced. Why? because everything that looks perfect will be suspect…. Life, if not experienced through a technological app, is a manipulation– from recording studios to photography, reality is a hologram- a non-truth, a sucker punch- a complete sham. We all know it but we feel we don’t have any choice but to participate. The stakes get higher, the perfection more perfect- more than perfect, unworldly, unreal, distorted, like a Disney cartoon – with the birdies singing in the trees, feathers unruffled, doing a little birdie dance across a tree limb. The birdies on the screen do not age, and they do not die. We all know better…. and soon we will crave the underbelly– the false note, the dull sunset.  In order

to prepare for this cultural turn-about, I suggest reverse photoshopping-sound recording, etc. – embracing and enhancing our defects in an effort to get real. Now, excuse me while I make an appointment with a plastic surgeon.

Diamond Deal

I bought a big fake gawdy diamond ring for 59 dollars yesterday. I am visiting Sarasota, Florida and every woman in the Sarasota YMCA classes are sporting real ones, and my God, they’re huge. They’re so huge, they look fake. They look just like mine except mine, being fake, looks real. I wore it to a class this morning. You see girls? …Somebody rich loves me, too! I wear torn clothes and old sneakers and have unruly hair and wrinkles because I am SO loved that I don’t have to worry about it! I didn’t want this ring, it isn’t really me. As you can see, I don’t like ostentatious— but he gave it to me, so what can I do?! Do we think a rich man’s love is worth more than a poor man’s love? Think about it. Let’s say they both love you equally. Let’s say you love them equally. Is it possible that a rich man’s love is worth more because he probably has more options than a poor man? DOES he have more options or less? Does he fear Gold Diggers and is therefore unable to really trust a woman so in truth has less options? Why am I wearing this fake ring?? What am I communicating to myself? That I would feel more worthy if a rich man loved me? Why might that be? I resent wealthy people. They embarrass me.  Well, this ring looks good and it feels good, fake or not.