This leads me to my poops- I just took one, a really healthy one that almost clogged the toilet by its sheer mass and consistency. I mean, this was a large log that, if it were a tree to be chopped, would take Paul Bunion a week just to break up and send to freezing villages for firewood. Anyways, this thing was staining my bowl with sacred marks. After i got up i thought about taking a picture of it. So that one day, the images would be stored on digital and hard copy microfiche and studied by only the highest scholars. They would sit around confounded by their complex patterns and scoured for the boons of truth. The general public would have no interest in them except for maybe rich people interested in mounting high art over their fireplaces. Just a thought before i flushed the sucker and washed my hands of it forever, looking up to get lost in the infinity that is me.
Monday, February 1, 2010
For those that know me, I've heard this interest scoffed at as an unhealthy, childish obsession. My rebuttal for this is that my body is indeed a sacred temple. Everything that goes into it shapes and determines the state of my everlasting perfection, and, as a result, everything that comes out of it, divine lyric. I personally think that I should be endowed with a personal stenographer who, viscously takes notes of my uncensored thoughts. So they can one day be collected into a large book that people cramp themselves in a large, hot room with solid, uncomfortable benches and, after really listening and searching for a hopeful meaning, will drop money onto a plate, shake hands with strangers and splash themselves with tap water. My words are that important to me. So coming out the other end, my farts are incoherent messages that whisper to crazy people, give their lives meaning and cause them to stand out on street corners condemning everyone.