At a low period in my life I was seeking enlightenment. Lounging around in my empty bathtub, fully clothed, I pondered the sorry state of this world. Wondering if this was really this and that was actually that, and whether tit really did anything for tat. Realizing that at this point I had stopped philosophizing, and was merely invoking Suess I decided that it was time to move outdoors, to breathe in fresh smog and bask in the milky autumn sun; in other words, to seek my enlightenment in the world.
On the sidewalk in front of my building I spotted an Oh Henry candybar. Looking around, I saw nobody who seemed ready to lay a claim on it - the bar seemed to be up for grabs. I crouched down and examined it closely, without touching it, of course. I wasn't about to become insnared by some intrepid alien or wily big game hunter. I didn't, however, detect any strings, and the sidewalk around the candy seemed unmolested. The bar was mine. Snatching it up, I moved to a bench to consume it in comfort at my own leisure. It was chocolatey, it was caramely, it was nugety, it was sweet and it was gooey. It did not, however, enlighten me.
Sitting on the bench, I sighed. Where next should I seek my enlightenment? As I mulled this query over I took notice of a small book on the bench next to me. Curious, I picked it up, and read the cover: it was the Collected Short Stories of O. Henry.
This was a stunning coincidence. This, undoubtedly, meant something. As I opened the book to peruse the contents I was struck by something that made the book altogether more strange - all the pages were torn out, save those between seventy and sevety-seven, a story entitled The Green Door. I felt this story must be of cosmic significance, and so devoured it on the spot. Here would finally be the answers to all the questions I wanted answered. I read the story in a few minutes, and chuckled once or twice, was saddened at least once, and sighed at the end. The story was touching and amusing, but it did not, however, answer my questions.
I felt perplexed. I felt confused. I felt discombobulated. I did not, however, feel enlightened.
Still searching, I walked.
I walked five blocks, came upon the Deuce, and was then struck down to the pavement with another stunning coincidence. The Victory Theater was screening Behind The Green Door. This was a stunning synchronicity. This, undoubtedly, meant something. I paid my admission, bought another Oh Henry bar at the candy counter, and made my way up to the balcony. The movie had already started as I made my way through the sickeningly clammy sound of about a hundred and fifty people beating their meat in the audience. I shuffled into the back row and tried to find a seat which hadn't been issued upon. As I sat down -just for a laugh- I began to smack the palm of my hand against the back of my neck furiously, and moan overly loud. The monkey spanking subsided for just about seventeen seconds. I chuckled to myself, and began to unwrap my candy bar.
As I took the first bite I realized the movie had stopped in place on the screen. Marilyn Chambers's legs were spread-eagled, and all her glory was up close and center stage, so to speak. So many euphemisms which are inappropriate rattled through my brian . . . tacos and beavers should not be compared to the same part of the body described as The Mound Of Venus. As this thought fluttered through my mind I also noticed the utter silence in the theatre. There were no longer any sounds of auto-eroticism whatsoever, in fact my fellow patrons seemed to be petrified in the more literal sense. I became alarmed by this, but was even more alarmed when Marilyn Chambers's bush on-screen burst into flames, and began to speak to me.
DR HOOPLA, a smooth female voice called from the burning bush. YOU MADE LEVITY IN A PLACE OF SOLEMN WORSHIP.
I gulped, since there seemed little else to do under the circumstances.
HOW DO YOU STAND AGAINST THESE CHARGES? the female voice asked. Guilty, I hiccuped. I had mocked the meat-beaters. My candy bar was melting in my hand. I could feel it.
GOOD. said the voice. YOU'RE ONE OF MINE.
Who, who are you? I asked.
I YAM WHO I YAM, came the reply.
Popeye?! I exclaimed. It didn't sound like Popeye.
NAY, I AM CALLED ERIS NANCY DISCORDIA. GODDESS OF CHAOS CONFUSION STRIFE CREATIVITY AND BUREAUCRACY. I AM THE HODGE OF THE RISING PODGE AND THE PODGE OF THE SINKING HODGE.
Why me? I asked, not cowering as blatantly as a few moments prior, but still cowering nonetheless.
FOR YOU ARE A GOOD APPLE. YOU ARE AWAKE ENOUGH TO QUESTION, SKEPTICAL ENOUGH TO QUESTION THE APPARENT ANSWERS, GULLIBLE ENOUGH TO FOLLOW MYSTERY, HUMOROUS ENOUGH TO MOCK THE SERIOUS AND SERIOUS ENOUGH TO AWAKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU EMBODY THE IDEALS OF THE SACRED CHAO, AND LO, I DEEM YOU A KEEPER OF IT.
Why have you come? I asked.
BECAUSE THE AVERAGE CANADIAN HAS ONLY ONE TESTICLE. the voice said.
Say what? I asked.
BECAUSE NOBODY CAN PRODUCE AN AVERAGE CAT. the voice continued.
Wha? I queried.
BECAUSE EVEN VOMIT CAN BE ART! FARE THEE WELL-
Wait! One last question! Why Nancy??
WHAT?
Why Eris Nancy Discordia? I asked. Why Nancy?
NANCY'S A NICE NAME. FARE THEE WELL KEEPER OF MY SACRED CHAO! SPREAD MY WORD - ALL MEN SHALL BE SAILORS THEN UNTIL THE SEA SHALL FREE THEM!
Wait! I called, You stole that from Leonard Cohen!
NAY - HE STOLE THAT FROM ME.
Thus, I was enlightened.
The bush ceased to burn. The film ran forward. The manhandling kicked back in, but sounded more serene this time, like a gentle rainfall on a tin roof. I walked outside, and promptly slipped on a banana peel, while thinking 'Indeed, do many strange things come to pass.'
No comments:
Post a Comment