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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Jesus, Jugs, and Tuna-Fish Salad
Every once in a while I read or overhear or am handed (usually unsolicited) a piece of advice that so fucks with my head that I have to spent far too much time extracting its wormy influence from my thought-processes or actions. Today's happened while I was flipping through old issues of Ceramics Monthly and came from a potter who makes jugs. That's right. Jugs. And he says something like "You have to be serious about one thing otherwise you'll just jump from one thing to another and never get anything right." Now, what the fuck? That kind of thing makes me crazy. Jugs, dammit! I mean, how are you even supposed to find out that you're good at jugs if you never get around to jugs, you just keep trying to perfect your crappy cereal bowls? How are you supposed to stay loose and creative if all you do is make the same fucking thing over and over tinkering with the lip, tinkering with the handle, tinkering with the foot, then back to lip, then back to handle, then back to foot, lip, handle, foot, lip, handle, foot--Then you have the perfect fucking jug and then what? You get to die? You get into heaven because Jesus sure liked him a purty jug? No. I totally beg to differ. Jesus hated jugs (unless they were attached to Mary Magdalen, of course). Jesus likes the little doo-dads that I make out of clay because they make him laugh. They remind him of the day that the apostle Paul was walking and he slipped on a banana peel and his robe went up over his head and he accidently showed everyone his pee-pee and he also sadly twisted his ankle, but Jesus fixed it right away on account of he felt so bad because he had laughed so hard that milk came out his nose. Jugs, people. Jugs. I'm sitting at home right now when I should be at work. I'm avoiding all kinds of things these days, though I have been swimming. More on this later. I'm right on the edge of having a cold and I have been for days, just camped here with my throat a bit raw and my nose all stuffed up, waiting for the fever and the exhausted feeling to catch up. I've also been eating a great deal of tuna salad lately because it turns out that, although Max is a vegetarian, he is a genius maker of tuna salad. I'm serious. It's so weird, like when you find out that a porn mag is edited by a woman. We've been trying also to economize, which has nothing to do with tuna salad because a can of tuna at the health food store where we get our groceries is $1.19--American dollars. I know! Sometimes they go on sale for 99 cents and then I get a whole bunch. But these, I paid $1.19 for, and they're the cheap ones. Some are actually almost $3.00. I mean, for a dollar fifty more, you can have a steak. Yes, a tiny little steak, but it's still a steak and you should not look a cheap steak in the mouth--especially since you might find some evidence of hoof-and-mouth disease there and then you'd either have to not eat the steak, or eat the steak while silently asking Jesus to keep you safe from hoof-and-mouth disease even though you mock him in your online diary.
More lies:
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