Here’s the next page from my book of 666 Drawing Prompts. (The prev. page was posted yesterday.) This one's titled “Hummingbird”.
Dear diary,
I don’t really wanna write here now, but I have nothing else to do. Remember that mantra that I used to repeat: Only boring people get bored. I was born as a charismatic cult-monger; but, over the years, I seem to have dwindled and become a boring person, because I’m always bored now, at all hours. Every day, I wake up way too early and write in this journal. Where’s the reward? No money no fame… not even a fringe following. Same as my stab at rap: a failed pursuit.
So I’ll keep writing, for now, the way an escaped mill mule will trot in circles around the first statue he encounters. (I steal this notion from the story that Gabriel tells in “The Dead” by James Joyce.)
Everything has gone wrong recently. Just little things: annoyances. But little things piss me off, almost more than big things. Hacks advise "Don't sweat the small stuff"; but I always sweat the small stuff. When big things go wrong, I feel heroic enduring them, and that almost assuages my vexation; but, on the other hand, little problems, especially a pile of one after another tiny incidents going wrong, makes me wanna flip a table.
Jesus burst thru the doors of the church and started overthrowing everything… (Mark 11:15)
And it came to pass, as soon as he came nigh unto the camp, that he saw the calf, and the dancing: and Moses’ anger waxed hot, and he cast the tables out of his hands, and brake them beneath the mount. (Exodus 32:19)
Except I myself love calves, especially golden calves, and dancing, especially if dancing means sex orgies; although I always decline to participate, whenever you invite me, because I’m too prude. But I love the vision of orgies, and I embrace the idolatry, so to stumble upon such merrymaking, after returning from a candlelight dinner on the mountain with God, would never make me smash my tablets of law, let alone abuse my own people by contaminating their water, as Moses does in the very next verse:
And he took the calf which they had made, and burnt it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the water, and made the children of Israel drink of it. (Exodus 32:20)
As I was saying, I love dancing and calves, but the little things that went awry this week made me madder than Moses. Here, I’ll list them, so that my future self can read them and remember how enraged I once became (twas a high-lava mark), and how only a day or two later I had forgotten about this whole entire mess, because everything got resolved and ended just fine, since St. Paul’s Christ flew down out of the heavens and overturned the market and the banking industry plus the high places of those who make doves cry.
Jesus cast out them that sold and bought, and all the moneychangers, as well as the perches of the war-hawks who thwart the blessing of the peacemakers. (Mark 11:15)
First, the dimmer switch that we purchased to replace our basement entryway’s ugly black light switch (it’s not a switch for a black light, but rather a light switch whose plastic frame is black; and it is ugly because the previous owners of this house dribbled speckles of white paint over the part that toggles), I say, the dimmer switch I tried to install in place of this ugly old switch is too big for the handy box. And the dimmer doesn’t really dim very well: I mean, I prefer lights to be as dark as possible: not white or yellow or orange but like a radioactive plum. And when you turn this dimmer down to its lowest level, first of all the light remains rather bright, plus it sort of “wobbles” in its intensity, like it’s surprised that you asked it to do something other than shine; as if you awakened it from a half-drunken stupor and it’s now trying to stand at attention, but it can’t keep its balance. Lastly, when I previously had the light hooked up to the old ugly switch, it worked fine and was as quiet as church-sex; but now that the dimmer has control, the light emits a whiny buzz, which piques my ire: it makes me want to unvanish my superego out into spacetime and perpetrate a Final Judgment.
The other small thing that went wrong, which leaves me irritated and unable to enjoy God’s creation, is that the section of fence that the tree killers had to dismantle (remember last week we hired some tree killers to invade our backyard and slay most of the trees that were planted there by the hand of the LORD himself – the only one we told them to save was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, because it was pleasant to look at, and its fruit was charged with the power to make one wise), I say, the section of fence that the tree killers removed in order to gain entrance for their chariots is proving difficult to reattach. We can hook one end of the fence to the gate post, but then the opposite end of the fence doesn’t reach the corner post; alternately, if we hook the fence to the corner post, its end that is nearest the house doesn’t reach the gate post. It’s like a dress that, while covering your bosom, exposes your buttocks, yet, when pulled down to cover your buttocks, exposes your breasts. So we’ll likely be renting, sometime soon, a fence-pulling tool, along with a standard boat winch.
A boat winch is a mechanism designed to adjust the tension of a cable during operations such as anchoring, mooring, unloading or hoisting of sea beasts. Despite its name, however, this type of winch is never used on boats – it is only employed to outstretch segments of fencing.
& let me tell you one more complaint about this dimmer switch that we purchased. This new dimmer, which cost us umpteen rupees, came with an instruction manual; and the very first thing that this manual said to us is “WARNING: this device will only work properly with the following models of light fixture…” and there was printed a number of specific companies’ models which of course did not contain the name of OUR lights. So my beef is this:
If your switch only cooperates with a limited number of poorly made fire-hazards, you should list the acceptable counterparts on the OUTSIDE of your package, not the inside; for, once the customer has accessed the package’s interior, it’s too late to return the item as a worthless expletive.
I repeat: Don’t print your product’s shortcomings on a pamphlet and then hide it within the packaging, like an oracle baked into the loins of a fortune cookie, because, by the time a customer encounters your message, she’ll have already blasted thru the thing’s exoskeleton: this prevents exchanging the sham for a superior alternative (that is, for an item that actually works); therefore you, the shoddy product’s confidence trickster, get to keep your customer’s payment; and, after enough of these types of sales, which is to say deceptions, you might become wealthy. Now, why would you want to do that? Nobody wants wealth. If people desired to be wealthy, you’d find a lot more billionaires lying around at the park. But every time I walk to the park with my owner, alls I see are other lowlifes. If only 1% of my fellow lemmings jump off a bridge, I will not proceed likewise. BUT most people believe in Christianity, that’s why I converted: I find it’s really good for business.
And now that I’m so far into this stupid entry, I’ve forgotten all the other little things that happened over these last couple days which made me so irate. So I’ll move on to one last thot that pissed me off royally, and then I’ll exit in reverse while repeatedly bowing.
Actually, I’ll save that last thot for tomorrow’s confession.
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