Cleaned myself: 0
Monkey see, monkey do: 1/2
Believe in God? Zero
YTLH: 2 on the go
Do you know that little song that your mum, or an aunty, might sing at you if say you were doing something that you shouldn’t, like going to the toilet behind a hydrangea? You know, ‘we know what you’re doing?’ Well to the tune of that, I’ve developed this tic, whereby I constantly sing, out loud, ‘I’m a fucking a wanker.’ I catch myself doing it, but invariably it’s too late. I did it at dinner tonight (dinner for them, soup bowl full of the elixir for me) and as soon as I realised that I was doing it out loud, I’d already finished, so I tried to turn it into a Nicki Minaj song. It didn’t throw them off the trail, I remember the way they looked up at me as I first uttered the words. I’ve started to think of it – the tic, not the event, like a wild animal that’s crept out into the open prairie. It needs to stop and go back to where it came from, before it gets comfortable.
It would not be so bad were it not that I have also started to catch myself constantly saying, ‘please God forgive me,’ over and over as a mantra. It began as a means to stop obsessive thoughts from taking over – especially those with bad memories when it got to the bad part, but now I just say it to fill an awkward silence. I really don’t know what motivates me to say that in particular; I wholeheartedly accept the historical fact that Jesus was a fiction invented by the PR department of the Roman Armed forces as a means to suppress insurrection in the margins of their empire; and further that God just played into that notion, you know, Big Brother is watching but if you behave now, you’ll be rewarded for it when you’re dead. I mean, even if you can’t see God as an invention of statist oppression, you’ve got to be able to see Her as a means by which village elders and tribes-people pacified their subjects. It’s essentially the same role that the National Lottery performs today.
Anyway, at church with mother on Sunday, she heard me say, ‘please God forgive me,’ and now, she thinks that I mean these things that I say – that I’ve entered into a new sort of shameless, pious mode of expressing my thoughts. Which makes the ‘I’m a fucking wanker’ jingle harder to explain. I know I’m going to do it again, too. It’s why I’m doing most of my creative work in the shed extension now.
Was it the Romans that created a Caucasian Messiah, or did that come later with their painters? Thinking about it, I imagine it originated with the commissioner of the artists who thought that God probably looked a bit like him and his family. And, just as an aside, why is it that effigies of Christ are not being torn down, as other statues are, since they are one of the earliest, if not the originating, example of the imposition of a celebration of racism upon the general public? I may borrow Big Tooth’s lasso next time mother asks me to go to church with her. Not for direct action, of course. Just to stir them up a bit.
Yes, business-folk have ruined the world all right, and by their interventions the whole world has lived a massive lie since, well, as soon as civilisation dawned. Imagine sitting up in heaven in about five thousand years’ time, and a new soul comes in and asks you what it was like when the Saviour, Nelson Mandella, walked upon the earth? Or Geoff Boycott … or perhaps Brian Clough/Vladimir Putin/Germaine Greer/Coleen Nolan? They all possess the required attributes.
The whole idea makes me realise that any small lies I might adopt to help my cause, are of no consequence.