You're Okay

You're not in pain, dear. You're not. Everything is fine. Look, I know you think you're hurting, but you're not. I'm your mother and I've been here for your whole life. Trust me. You're fine.

That's not blood. I know it looks like you're bleeding, but that's just ketchup. You were drinking ketchup out of the bottle and you just happened to spill some on yourself. Go on, taste some.

All right, it tastes like blood. But that's only because Heinz release a new, extra salty, tomato free ketchup. You're right - it's not very good. But you're open minded, and that's why you decided to try it. That's just the great sort of person you are.

So, do you believe me now? You're not in pain. That ache you're experiencing in your chest is nothing at all. The dizziness, the nausea - those things aren't happening. You're good.

And, obviously, I didn't stab you. Maybe that's what you remember, but it wouldn't make sense that I would do such a thing. Therefore, logically, it never happened.

Right? Right!

There. I'm glad that's sorted out.

Now, keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll stab you again.

Kidding! Kidding! Mommy didn't stab you darling. You're fine. Stop crying, you little shit. There. Good. All better.

Christ is a Masochist

Two young women, maybe in their early 20s, knocked on my door today. I didn't hear what they said, because they were holding pamphlets clearly marked "Jesus Christ".

"We're not interested," I said politely, and they left.

Thing is, I am interested. Reading old psychoanalytic texts on masochism, the idea of Christ as a masochist was bopping around in my head. But it probably would have been wrong to invite these young ladies into my home to ask if they'd ever considered the masochistic elements of Christianity.

"Did Jesus have a boner on the cross?" is an offensive question, to them. To me, it's fair game. It's like asking if Spiderman ever used his web power to tie up his girlfriend for sex play.

(Answer: of course he did. And that's the answer to BOTH questions.)

Lately, I wonder if the masochism inherent in Christianity has fucked up a lot of people. Jesus died on the cross. He was tortured and died. It seems pointless. But Christianity teaches us this was an awesome sacrifice that changed the world.

And the moral of the story appears to be, "Suffering is good, even if it only results in death. Doesn't matter if it's suffering endured while working to complete a task, or just suffering for no reason."

Again, this line of thought is probably not something two young missionaries will be able to explore. They probably never really thought about it. Plus, if they listened to me go on about it, I'd be forced to listen to whatever bullshit they wanted to spew at me.

"God is love."

"God is love, in leather, with riding crop."

the most interesting man in the world

He lives vicariously through himself.

Grow A Soul

You have to be authentic, they said.

And they sort of refuse to explain what that means. I guess that's because you can't really teach that.

Find your voice, is another one they said.

Write what you know, is another one.

And people think they know what all that means. Write what you know.

"I grew up in suburbia. Should I write about that? I guess I know it."

All these words read like just words. That's the frustrating part about language. How can I use the alphabet to get inside your head and plant something in there?

Be authentic. Find your voice. Write what you know. Ignore that all of this appears to be about writing. Pretend it's just advice about life. What they're all really saying is, grow a soul.

The soul -- a very old fashioned concept. Not one we modern people talk about. It's all so primitive and embarrassing. But think about it... Have you ever met a person and realized, there is no one in there. No one has his hands on the wheel. It's a tumbleweed shaped like a human being.

That's soullessness.

Be authentic, find your voice, write what you know -- all of this means, grow a soul. Find a self. Be what you are.

Don't compromise? Maybe. I'm not sure about that one, because even language feels like a compromise some days. Grunts and groans and farts would sometimes be a more authentic expression of feeling. Screaming into a microphone, maybe. Singing, maybe. Slapping spoons against your knees in a frantic rhythm.

I'm trying to find some truths, and the ones I pick up lately, that really make me go "Wow!" sound way too much like self-help seminar crap.

"Own your life!"

Can't you hear that in a seminar? Some retreat your horrible boss sends you on? But it's true. Sometimes those seminars are true, in spite of the fact that your employer sent you there. In a sense, they teach you to quit your job and strive for something more.

"Your are responsible for your own happiness."

"You can only change yourself."

"You are responsible for you."

These words almost fail because of the way they are used.

"Be who you are..." because it will help you sell more toaster ovens?

"Be authentic..." because it will allow you to sell yourself and get a better job?

If we cut the corporate part out, and take these words, and make them into a kind of spirituality -- does that help? Does that take us anywhere?

Ayn Rand take it to the wrong extreme. "Be selfish! Greed is good!"

Yeah, be selfish in the sense that, if you don't look after yourself, no one will.

And even the socialists can go too far.

"If it doesn't help the collective, it's evil!"

What, I'm not allowed to be happy, because there's a drug addict downtown jonesing for a fix? Fuck him, if he can't get his shit together. Sure, I don't want him to suffer. Sure, I want social programs for him. If he wants to kick, let's help him kick. But if he's set on getting behind the wheel of a car and driving a thousand miles an hour into a brick wall, there's not a lot I can do about it.

So, if there are opportunities for people to save themselves, and they don't want to take them, fuck them.

I've gotten off track. I was going somewhere else and I got distracted.

Grow a soul. Look inside yourself, find the fertile ground. Plant a seed. Grow.

It's frustrating. There has to be a better way to say it.

You won't know who you are until you stop and ask yourself, "Who am I?"

If you never stop and ask, you'll never know. And most of us never stop and ask. Because it's frightening. It's easier to say, "I am my job, I am my wife, my husband. I am my kids. I am my dog. I am my car, my motorcycle, my bus pass. I am my voice, my writing, my song."

That last one is a little closer to the truth.

Anyway, I don't know how to say it. I feel it. Inside. It's hard to get out. Maybe language is failing me. Maybe I'm failing me. I don't know.

Do you get it?