Special Books and Exciting Machines
There are these well-dressed people who stand quietly next to a flimsy book stand. On the book stand are numerous copies of the same exact book. Judging by the aggressively beatific font and imagery, the book is the Bible. Or a book about christianity written by a guy who quotes the Bible and then explains his perspective. Either way, these well-dressed people stand there for hours, making themselves available to talk about Jesus. No one ever stops to talk. No one. The well-dressed people continue to stand at attention. No one cares about their Jesus. Their Jesus is old and even if somehow still alive, no longer needed. Their Jesus is as important as a telegraph: nice to imagine, and important for the course of history, but utterly replaceable. Meanwhile, at a nearby intersection, a group of teens are beating on plastic buckets, and a crowd of fifty has gathered.
I recently met a man who seemed to me the purest face of evil. It was at a car dealership. I was buying a new car and he was handling the financing. He wore clothing that looked like it was cut from some kind of miraculous impenetrable silk. His face was puffy and shiny, but not with light, with plaster. His hands operated a number machine which spit out forms for me to sign. I want to emphasize that I am not calling this scary fella evil because he was taking my money; I am saying his body spoke to my subconsciousness and it hissed. When this guy smiled, one hundred people somewhere in the world received stomach worms. I used to be a christian and I used to sit and fantasize about the biblical end of days, what it might be like, if it actually happened. In my brain, this finance guy was the antichrist. Again, this wasn’t about money. It was about one creature communicating to another creature. His being whispered murder to mine. I shook his mudshovel hand and got the fuck out of there.
I love my new car! It’s a black Honda Civic. Super comfortable and clean and quiet and it has a nice stereo. I enjoy driving it a lot!