Poetry & Blindfolds

I often try to artificially commute my commute; that is, make the time I spend going to work pass as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

Oftentimes, I choose a book to accompany me.  Sometimes, I pick by interest (”I should read this”), sometimes by title (today’s book was Mark Leyner’s “My Coustin, My Gastroenderologist”) and sometimes by size (a small book fits in the pocket better). 

Sometimes, I play a game on my phone, but I can never beat my own top score, so I generally get discouraged.  No Tetris for me.

Once on the first of two trains, and having established where I am standing, I gradually permit my mood to grow sour and my face to grow impassive and blank, as there’s nothing so freakishly perverse as a happy commuter (with no offense meant to my myspace acquaintance, The Happy Commuter).  I have seen such happy commuters, kindly yielding space to others, until finally they are backed into and crushed against a wall with a look in their eyes that say, “why did this happen?”

As part of my daily journey, I have to switch trains, which means I have a choice of taking the escalators up from Train 1 to Train 2, or take the elevator.  I have recently been opting for the elevator, basking in that particular urban aroma that one could only describe as ‘homeless man urine.’  As the stench locks itself into the back of my nose, I routinely have the same internal argument about riding the elevator.  Part of me soothes me: you have taken escalators for years, it coos, you deserve to take an elevator.  Another part of me snarls: you are obviously getting old now, so you need to take an elevator; why else would you choose a mode of transportation that smells like piss?

I avoid touching people on the trains – indeed, most people avoid all contact unless absolutely necessary, like when the empty seat next to you is taken by someone whose right cheek is the size of your head – although, ultimately, I am unsure what the stigma is about touching.  But then it comes back to me.  I recall being in my teens and early 20s, when any kind of contact would normally result in an erection so fierce, I would grow faint due to lack of blood in the rest of my body.  As I got older, though, I just learned to avoid touch altogether.

Once arriving in the building at which I work, I permit my mood to lift a bit, at least on my face – you never know who you might run into.  There is always the friendly-yet-uninterested gauntlet of ‘how are you’s (to which the response is not ‘fine’, but another ‘how are you’) to get through at the elevator banks.

My commuting routine ends when I arrive at work and grab a cup of coffee and swill it down as fast as I can.  It is worth pointing out that I do not drink coffee in the morning at work so I can “hit the ground running”, as is implied, but rather to distort my perception and drug myself up just enough to think my work has any kind of merit.

I am living the true American dream.

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Thus, despite or because of this slackerly delay in getting their religious house in order, the Christians should create a new version of the book. An Old and New And Improved Testament, if you will.

I will scrawl out a few particularly ugly passages, which atheists often utilize, and suggest substitutions, to displace these arguments altogether.

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Ugly Passage 1. “And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire.” (Leviticus 21:9)

Correction 1: “And if the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, shall be called a very naughty girl and instructed not to do it again.”

Correction 2: “For the man needs the woman and the woman needs the man. One can be a little bit country; the other can be a little bit rock and roll. But, come on, kids, we can get along.”

Correction 3: “Everyone should shut up when someone else is talking.”

Ugly Passage 4: “And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters, which the LORD they God hath given thee, in the siege, and in the straightness, wherewith thine enemies shall distress thee:” (Deuteronomy 28:53)

Correction 4: “Don’t eat your kids.”

Ugly Passage 5: “This said the LORD, Behold, I will raise up evil against thee out of thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine eyes, and give them unto thy neighbour, and he shall lie with thy wives in the sight of this sun.” (II Samuel 12:11)

Correction 5: “If you’re going to schtupp another guy’s wife, wear sunscreen.”

Correction 6: “Don’t kill people, dude.”

Ugly Passage 7: “But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” (Matthew 5:39)

Correction 7: This isn’t particularly an ugly passage, but I don’t know any christians who believe in it. If you think I’m wrong, go to a church next Sunday and punch someone in the face. See what happens.

Ugly Passage 8: Moses says, “Behold, these caused the children of Israel, through the counsel of Balaam, to commit trespass against the LORD in the matter of Peor, and there was a plague among the congregation of the LORD. Now therefore kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman that hath known man by lying with him. But all the women children, that have not known a man by lying with him, keep alive for yourselves.” (Numbers 31:16-18)

Correction 8: “Moses says, put your hands on your head. Moses says, put your hands on your hips. Put your hands on your nose. Aha! Moses didn’t say ‘Moses Says’!”

Ugly Passage 9: “The righteous shall rejoice when he sees the vengeance. He shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.” (Psalms 58:10)

Correction 9: “Oops I did it again. I played with your heart. Got lost in the game.”

Ugly Passage 10: “If ye will not hear, and if ye will not lay it to heart, to give glory unto my name, saith the LORD of hosts, I will even send a curse upon you, and I will curse your blessings: yea, I have cursed them already, because ye do not lay it to heart. Behold, I will corrupt your seed, and spread dung upon your faces, even the dung of your solemn feasts; and one shall take you away with it.” (Malachi 2:2-3)

Correction 10: “Oh shit.”

I have taken to riding the bus home from work each day, as the Chicago Transit Authority is in the middle of their famed Operation Fuckeveryoneupforyears project, which, from now until 2010, has doubled the commute for three major train lines, one of which I live near.

Bus riders seem to be different than train riders.  They look more weary, more beat-up, more accustomed to the amusement-park-worthy bumps that accompany a standard commute.  In the morning, the bumps are like a boxing coach, readying a champion for a fight by smacking him around and charging his adrenaline.  In the evening, the bumps are more like an abusive, alocholic spouse, punishing all of us for crimes unknown.

I try to limit what I take to and from work to a small book bag I can put on the sticky bus floor, as bus commuters also tend to be, shall I say, wider in scope than train riders and they are drawn to sit next to me.  Once trapped with glass on one side and burbling flesh on another, I catch up on reading books with small pages.

I watch all of the buildings on Michigan Avenue as the 148 leaps, jerks and halts like an undisciplined horse.  There was a time when I thought, gosh, there’s all those buildings and people and things out there and I may never know them all.  Now, with the horror of turning 40 already a distant memory, I look out and think, damn, there’s all those buildings and people and things out there and they may never know me.  At these moments, I really want to write.

(Of course, by the time I get home, I log onto Myspace, am distressed by the predominantly useless crap out here, lose my ambition and find that opening a beer is far more satisfying.)

The masters of buildings - the architects, the builders, those who live and work there - don’t stand a lick of a chance in outliving the buildings themselves - unless, of course, you live in New Orleans during a Republican presidency.  It’s a sobering thought to muse that, no matter what you might think of during your whole lifetime, chances are the little water tower on the corner of Michigan and Chicago will trump them, simply by living on.

Today, with the Girlfriend’s recent flu hanging around my place like a ghost, I am ill.  I am inspired to challenge the buildings for a bit and going off to write up some more of those silly cartoons that I channel from somewhere.  Maybe today I will write that one one-frame doodle that will successfully win out and outlast the buildings.

Then, of course, the one-frame doodle will outlive me.

There’s always something.