Purity
I am solid of stature, yet built to be swift, qualities I regularly display. I have a well-formed skull underneath which hangs a face that is like a wide, friendly wall, ready to converse, or explore, for example, you, with my long, prehensile tongue. I am a man of mottos. Mottos are thoughts reduced to their purest form, short sentences. I like to say that I believe that if you can’t sell it, then you should bury it in the ground and see if anything grows from it, or dig it up later and see if it rotted itself into soil, or changed into alcohol. This is a motto which can be applied to most things. Comparisons with inanimate objects are often favorably applied to people. I’m like a bilge pump, because I have the know-how and intelligence to get myself out of sticky situations, and in uncomfortable moments during which I am at a loss for how to extricate myself, I can switch on the reserve resourcefulness and evacuate the unwanted ocean water weighing down my craft. I have reasons enough to continue, in whatever sense you can think of, and they are none of your business, or they will be if I choose to tell you. I am a free, but grounded, spirit; because my essence has one foot buried in the concrete of life’s ass-kicking lessons, the ones that destroy your psyche and then leave you alone to rebuild it yourself. The concrete of the foundation of the school brutality. My spirit is free not like the spirits of hippies or others but free like an invisible bird, eating mice undetected by the about-to-be-eaten mice or other animals. It’s pure, as in undiluted, free of extraneousness. I am, almost above all, positive. Like an unstable element shedding electrons, positive thinking is liberated from my mind at any and all times because I can’t contain it within my skull. I could sell paper to a forest. I wouldn’t actually care if you wanted to buy my paper or not, which paper being a metaphor for my endless love; I’d just want the opportunity to demonstrate the product for you, and then you could fuck off if you liked. You could go back to your boring chore-life and I’d go back to my chalet of excellent soaring accomplishment. Nothing would give me greater satisfaction at any moment. I often feel tingly. I am an obelisk of enigmatic attraction. I present a pleasing array of challenges and rewards to my superiors, not the other way around. I believe that you can have efficiency, you can have a lack of suckiness, or you can have abundance, but you can never have all three at the same time. If I love you, this means that you are part of me, which means I own you, like I own my liver or fingernails. Even if we never actually speak, or see each other except via webcam or something, as if one of us were an animal who was only dimly aware of feelings of the other, loving one. I believe in the act of passionate love whenever possible between two or more consenting adults of whichever sex, or species, of your choosing. I believe that sex with animals is noble, as long as you are not hurting them, and mutual pleasure is of course that much more ennobling. I believe there is purity in love between species. If you’ve ever gazed into the eyes of a member of another species, maybe especially a mammal, but not necessarily, and felt a surge of recognition, seen something there besides blank functionality, then you’ll know what I’m talking about. I believe that dreams are important or unique metaphoric windows into our lives, or our thoughts, which are in fact our lives, through which we can discern our secret inner processes and feelings, which might be secrets from ourselves as well as other people. I was the gas-meter reader, but there was no gas to turn the dials, so therefore I was consistently disappointed. I was driving an old Volkswagen microbus over a very long bridge, sort of like the Dumbarton Bridge in San Jose, except over land instead of water, and it didn’t charge a toll, though the bridge I was driving over looked a lot like the Dumbarton Bridge as it appears in the movie Harold and Maude, before it was replaced with its new six-lane version. Below us (the van and I, the van was my love in disguise) we could see an evil Sasquatch-type creature throwing severed heads at us, some of which connected with the sides of the van, making dents in it, because they were thrown with such force, which means that my love was getting injured, or at least was in danger of getting dented. I believe that human-animal hybrids, such as the Sasquatch, are a noble scientific goal to aim for, because the Sasquatch, as a mythical being, is pure, like wax, which exists in many versions in the natural world but is best exemplified by honeybee-secreted wax, which is sweet-smelling and useful. I am what I would refer to as the entire ball of wax. That could be taken in a positive light and also seen as a criticism, depending on your view of wax. I mean it positively. I mean to say that I am complete, lacking nothing. Interspecies love with most kinds of whales might be difficult, because of differences in scale between whales and humans, but you could strike up a relationship with a dolphin, as has been done: a British woman recently married a dolphin named Cindy. Cindy’s penis is long, pink and tapered, slightly s-shaped, ending in a pointy tip. It would be almost impossible for Sharon and Cindy to actually share reproductive-style intimacy, because of the aforementioned scale differences. I believe that an individual is or should be free to marry whoever or whatever he or she wants to marry, including all members of the animal kingdom, and also inanimate objects. You could wed a subterranean fungus, or a colony of bacteria. You could marry a rock, all the while knowing, as most people would not know, that there are actually thousands of bacteria living inside the rock, and in fact you are married to those, or both things. This would be an example of the purest form of romantic relationship, due to the fact that it would also be the simplest. I believe that innovative thoughts such as these are created in my brain, which contains its own ecosystem of bacteria, like the flora in our intestines, living in a symbiotic relationship with human tissue, and it’s also true that cooperation between these microorganisms and your brain launches thoughts and ideas. Mottos are created in this way too, since they are also ideas. Perhaps I’m lucky, but I ended up with some really good bacteria. Like a glass of ocean water, I am complex and densely populated, undiluted, yet transparent. You might wonder about how people come by these networks of bacteria in the first place, like, where do babies get theirs? The answer is that bacteria transfer happens in the womb, which means that all of your starter-colonies come from your mother, and none from your father. Later on in life, these infant colonies can become corrupted by foreign, hostile microbes, but in the beginning they are pure, and some among us, for example myself, have learned to preserve purity indefinitely, or at least until death.
