Before I begin, let me make a confession about yesterday’s entry — I want to admit this outright, before anyone accuses me of having made a mistake (I do NOT make mistakes; everything I write is pre-planned meticulously and always turns out exactly as I want):
I began my last post, which I called a sermon, with two quotations from the book of Ezekiel: they’re the places where he describes the type of animals that pull God’s mobile throne. Each divine beast of burden has four faces: I said that they’re listed in chapter one as “man; lion; ox; eagle;” — this is correct — but also I said that these same faces are listed in chapter ten as “man; lion; ox; cherub;” and I used this discrepancy in the last of those otherwise matching names to prove that eagles are the same beings as cherubs.
This last claim was a lie; that’s why I subtitled my sermon “On dissimulation”. (Can one teach an innocent victim the art of cutpursing without rendering that very victim purseless?) It’s true that the two lists differ slightly, but the problematic verse, Ezekiel 10:14, does not swap the the face of the eagle for a cherub: instead it swaps it for an ox. But I took it upon myself to doctor the scripture, so as to make it agree with the stuff that I said at the end of my entry, about Tennyson’s poem.
Therefore cherubs are not eagles: cherubs are oxen. And this is why the first priest of the LORD God, Moses’ brother Aaron, fashions a golden ox for his congregation to worship:
Aaron said unto them, Break off the golden earrings that your Egyptian masters placed upon you to mark you as their slaves. Bring these golden earrings to me, and let me rework something bad into something good.
And all the people brake off the earrings of slavery which were in their ears, and brought them unto Aaron. And he received them at their hand, and tossed them into a melting pot, and then he removed the molten mass, and behold: it chanced to resemble a golden ox. So Aaron the priest of the LORD designated this sacred image as an aid for devotion; & he lifted up the icon and proclaimed, “This is our God, which freed us from slavery in the land of Egypt. Note its similarity to the Wall Street Bull, the brazen sculpture that stands on Broadway, just north of Bowling Green in the Financial District of Manhattan, New York City.” (Exodus 32:2-4)
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Dear diary,
Some people like school because they like to follow rules. Other people hate school because they hate to follow rules. I don’t know which type of person I myself am, but my guess is that YOU are a non-rulefollower; that’s why you’re here, reading this private journal that you stole from under my pillow.
What is going on in the world today? Everything’s calm. We had some rough times in the U.S. a few years back — everyone hated the president. But then we solved the problem. Instead of electing just one human individual, We the People simply turned over the office of Chief Executive to the C.I.A. itself. So now instead of a president, we have a whole government bureau running our country. Now everything’s great. The Central Intelligence Agency does a perfect job: they make sure that everyone has healthcare, and they solved the problems of homelessness, hunger, drug abuse, and poverty in general. They made these things vanish. Crime is barely a memory. And all the countries that the U.S. was formerly at war with, they all got wise and turned over their natural resources to our new group-president, and everything runs smoothly: those countries offer their oil and precious metals (etc.) willingly, and we, in turn, care for them like our children. It turns out the whole “democracy” thing was not necessary — nobody votes anymore, cuz if the system ain’t broke then why fix it? Our collective president, whose term is permanent, has found a way to cover the whole earth in justice, righteousness, and compassion. This is globalism done right. (People used to say, about the old president whom everyone despised, “Why is his slogan ‘Keep the U.S.A. Great Again?’ — for the U.S.A. was never great: it was built upon slavery; just think about it: what type of Constitution needs to be amended before it prohibits the overt sale & ownership of living human beings? But now that we have this neo-president, which consists of a bright regime of upstanding counselors — a team of true heroes — the U.S.A. is great, for the first time in history. Blessed are the peacemakers.”
*
Also I admire people who have affairs with their colleagues at work. Those who do quickies in the janitor’s closet. Or strangers who meet eyes while standing in line at a fast food franchise, and wink at each other; then have the courage to meet in the unisex washroom for a carnal encounter.
I was raised as a prude. My mother developed a fear of sex in college, when, after dabbling in the lustful arts, fate presented her with the gift of a pregnancy. This gift was unwanted: it gave my mom such a fright that she became a basket case. But then a salesperson emerged from the shadows and taught her all about Protestant Christianity. This appealed greatly to my mother: the idea that the Lord Jesus could forgive anyone for anything — it meant that mom no longer would need to feel guilty for her sin of enjoying life, which resulted in bringing forth more life (horror upon horror), just as long as she never dares to enjoy life again. Thus mom became the proud owner of an idée fixe: henceforward, she was determined to adhere strictly to the ways of the church, and to raise her children to do the same.
So that’s how I became indoctrinated by Protestant Christian ideals. (It’s as fun as it sounds.)
Yes, I’ll always feel admiration for all the erotic adventurers of this world. I myself could never reciprocate the sensual advances of, say, a co-worker: it would feel too frightful; I’d have to perform mental gymnastics to wrench my conscience around to a permissiveness sufficient to tolerate the affronts of pleasure; and that would take years, therefore a quickie is out of the question. Here’s a Bible story that I relate to:
Joseph was born in Wisconsin, but his parents moved to Minnesota when he was still an infant; then, in his early twenties, he got transferred to Egypt. Here’s how it happened:
A fellow named Potiphar was an agent of the Egyptian C.I.A. — head of the bureau, in fact; and a dual citizen born originally in Paris, Texas. He purchased young Joseph from out of the hands of Joe’s brother Paul, an apostle who had come to Egypt to try his luck at human trafficking (for slavery was all legal and aboveboard back in those days). Thus Paul sold little Joe to Potiphar.
Now you would think that Joseph, being sold as a slave like this, would have experienced a terrible life thereafter, and live in squalor and poverty. But the opposite was the case. Slavery is not always awful for the property who is enslaved. In this case, his master Potiphar gave Joseph a lot of leeway to do what he wanted around the mansion and in the gated gardens outside. Thus Joseph became a prosperous man; and he fixed up all the bedrooms in his master’s mansion. He installed fresh baseboards, and redid the flooring so that it looked nice. And this pleased master Potiphar, so he gave little Joe even more freedoms. Joseph grew to be treated like a well-loved secretary by Potiphar — if you can imagine such a thing, Joe was like a housepet that is also somehow a business partner of its owner.
So master P. left all that he owned in Joseph’s control — he gave him power of attorney over his entire estate — and he (Potiphar) stopped keeping track of anything: he didn’t even balance his checkbook anymore, or monitor his stocks, because he trusted Joseph to do these things for him; and Joseph performed all tasks excellently, and he was honest and loyal. The only affair around the mansion that Potiphar maintained a close control over was the culinary sector: anything & everything to do with cuisine; for master Potiphar was a gourmand, thus his interest was always piqued and he was very hands-on about food, always working closely with the head chef to plan and prepare the multi-course meals. However, Potiphar wasn’t a jerk about this: it’s not like he didn’t trust Joseph to govern this part of the household; he just sincerely enjoyed personally overseeing the kitchen-work.
So Joseph, albeit a slave, was a goodly person; and he was extremely well favoured.
Yet it came to pass that master Potiphar’s wife, the Virgin Mary (a Galilean damsel originally from Nazareth), cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she saw that he was good, also pleasant in appearance, and a man to be desired; therefore she cried out: “Lie with me, please.”
But Joseph drew back, and said unto Mary:
“Behold, our master wotteth not what is with me in the house, and he hath committed all that he hath unto my hand; There is none greater in this house than I; neither hath he kept back any thing from me but the food prep duties, as he prefers to perform those labors himself: how then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?”
And Mary answered and said, “But how can love be a sin?” And she marveled greatly at this teaching.
Then a number of days passed without any further drama, for Mary had retired to her closet, where she prayed and meditated on this conundrum.
And it came to pass, the next time that Mary and Joseph ran into each other (for it was a pretty big mansion, and there were many servants and occupants staying there — almost like a modern hotel, except without all the hustle and bustle; and it was a comfortable place to work: this present account about sexual harassment is an anomaly; I’m only relaying it because it is good for ratings — scandals always make the best news stories), I say, after a long stretch of time where they did not cross paths, it turned out that on Sunday morning, when Potiphar was off at church, Mary happened to be walking out of the west wing of the mansion toward the foyer, at just the moment when Joseph happened to be walking out of the foyer in the direction of the west wing — thus they both were rounding the corner of the hall that connected those parts of the building, at the exact same instant; and they collided: and Joseph’s paperwork flew out of his hands, and loose leafs of papyrus fell all over the floor of the hall:
And Mary gasped and said, “Oh, I’m sorry — Joseph, is that you? I didn’t know that you worked on Sunday! I presumed that you would accompany master to church; don’t you sing in the choir?”
And Joseph answered, “Not anymore. I prefer to sing with my fellow working-class friends at the saloon; and master permitted me to stop attending church, as it doesn’t agree with me. He said that I’m doing such a fine job governing the household affairs, it’s not necessary that I continue my spiritual education. The fact of my dutiful performance at work is proof that I’m sound in spirit — that’s what he said. So now I work nonstop, because I enjoy it. I hasten around this corner from the foyer into the west wing every weekday, at precisely this time; and also I do the same on weekends now. So if you ever need to get ahold of me for any reason, just come right here and you will find me.”
And Mary smiles and nods and winks and sez: “Thanks!”
Now after the above encounter, Mary happened to bump into Joseph daily: and every single time, she would feign surprise, as if their meeting were an accident, and she would laugh at the coincidence, and then she would reach forward and place her hand on Joseph’s arm, and whisper in a very urgent way: “I beg you to lie with me.”
But Joseph would never hearken unto her plea — he would always find some polite excuse, which he would stammer while uttering. And his words were half-believable; so Mary never felt insulted, and she never grew angry; but, day by day, she remained persistent in her attempts; yet Joseph remained persistent in his rebuffs.
Ultimately it came to pass, on another Sunday morning, at that usual hour, that Joseph went into the hall with his great stack of paperwork; and as he rounded the corner, bracing himself for impact (as this was the place where the “accidental” collisions would regularly occur), lo: Mary did not dash forth: the coast appeared clear! — there was not a soul to be seen in the hallway; and when he lifted up his eyes and looked into the west wing, which was a vast library with rows & rows of shelves, it was the same: apparently empty. Not even any of the fellow librarians were at their stations — the place was vacant.
“Could it be there’s a holiday that I was unaware of, and everyone has the morning off?” Joseph said to himself.
Just then, we hear the sound of high heels clicking on the floor. Joseph spins round in fright, dropping his stack of papers as he does so...
Out from the shadows behind the bookshelf labeled “Christian Salespersons”, Mary emerges. She paces forward unhurriedly, clutches Joseph by his suit coat, leans close to his ear and says: “I’ve taken care of all the witnesses. Now you must lie with me.”
But Joseph slinks right out of his suit coat and abandons it in her grip, and flees, and gets him out of that place.
So that is why, to this day, the father of Mary’s son Jesus is listed as “NOT Joseph” on the birth certificate. For God is always watching, and he does not remain unmoved by the plight of humanity.
(Genesis 39:6-12)
Darn, I meant to make this entry a lot more varied. I imagined that it would turn out to be a collection of miscellanies, which is why I started out by leaping from topic to topic; but instead I got bogged down with the idea of prudery, and against my will I indulged in rewriting another biblical tale — I’ve done that in the last few entries now, and I don’t want it to become a habit. But now I’m out of time, so I’ll let this text stand as it is: a disappointment to its creator.
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