ToadSpawn, Be Gone! the Exorcizm of GeorgeBush From America's Soul, a blogovel 

 

” … a mad dickensian masterpiece of serial venom..”

 

(You can check pogblog's Glossary on the Main Page on left under Topics, as necessary)

 

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />3:37:34a.pdt.us 06.13.05 12 The Road. Eb. Rattlesnake Tooth tzolkin 12 sunmon

 

Chapter 4 .. the Arsenic of ReligioPatriotism

 

    “Arsenic,” Myrth mused. “On Earth, about 120 years before the end of linear time in late 2011, women in England wanted a prized translucent-skin look, bluish, supernally, hauntingly perhaps necroishly nacreous, like fine porcelain. This eerie lucence was achieved by taking tiny doses of arsenic.”

   “You better remind our dear reader about the end of linear time before you finish up the arsenic story,” said Bleu. “Don’t be too alarmed, dear reader – or rather, do be alarmed, but be alarmed about the right thing. By the way, dear reader, how are you, you your very self this very hour? Treat yourself to something mildly wicked this 1400 minutes. You have 864,000 seconds in this daynight and they should preen and jolly you. Check out The Squirrels in ToadSpawn Appendixes if you need a tonic.”

     Myrth laughed, “The end of linear time. That’s a leitmotif of ToadSpawn Be Gone! Exorcize Mr. Bush. The Brimstoners would have you believe that it’s the ‘end of time,’ the ‘end of the world.’ Piffle. That’s Brimstoner cheap melodrama to keep the sheeps in the pews. Nope. It’s a sursurreal rollercoaster ride on Carnivale Earth, but it’s the end of the dominance of linear time, thru the neck of the hourglass into the jollier reaches of holospheric time. Or you might think of linear time’s having been the bud and holospheric time will be the blossom.

    “It’s vexing that you’re reading this just a few years before the blogovel technology allows your own name to appear where we say dear reader, but it would help if you could imagine that your name is also there when you see dear reader [dear reader Jamie; dear reader Jane; dear reader You] because ToadSpawn is one of the Handy Manuals for the coming time-rapids the Earth Adventure is going to go thru in the next decade. It will be funish or hellish depending on your preparation. It’s our job together to keep the 12ft tall Lizards from getting us down. Remember that Your Comments are ToadSpawn’s Appendix C! If you think you’re too shy or too technologically confused to join in, if you think you’re more comfy as a techno-wallflower, email pogblog@yahoo.com and she can get you situated with a Reader Account. We’re all in this together for fun or hell. Except for gratuitous attacks on the infamous Fuller, we know that pogblog prefers the fun option.

     “We’ll tell you more about ClownSchool InterDimensional along the way, but it’s one of ClownSchool InterD’s jolly jobs to get you to send your Inner Perfectionist on vacation to Fiji to chill out so you can take some perhaps small but significant steps in trusting and nurturing your own creative life. Your Inner Perfectionist should only whisper encouraging sweet nothings into your shell-like (ear), or you should fire that Inner Perfectionist and get a funnier, friendlier one.

    “So,” Myrth continued, “the fine ladies of olden times would take a grain or two of arsenic and with their skins so white they were tinct with blue, the arsenic ladies glowed all but radioactively. But – but there was a grisly price to pay for the slightest miscalculation: death. Similarly Religiousism and Patriotism must be taken in the tiniest doses or you will lethally poison your own consciousness — and often lay waste upon your neighbors.

    “Personally, I just avoid those arsenics entirely, but like any addictions, religiopatriotism is not just a fell morass muddying up the Wellies, but a mental and emotional quicksand which can suck you inexorably down and down. When you succumb to the adrenalins of religiopatriotism, the ground under you is not sturdy. You can find yourself hating a neighbor who embraces a different book. It’s a book! You can find yourself whooped up to kill folks in a neighboring nation. You can get your heart distances all screwed up. Compared to star M Dwarf Gliese 876, 75 trillion miles away, China is in the next room. Compared to the cold silent dust between the stars, anyone who’s heart beats is a brother. Light is colliding with you at 186, 000 miles per second – yet its illuminating impact is a caress of such complete sweetness that we welcome dawn, or we would welcome dawn if we hadn’t seen it in a year, with tears. Could we not touch each other’s hearts thus? Why not? If we grokked each other’s tentative, secret unbearable vulnerability, the fawn looking into the eyes of the wolf, should I not cascade you with honor? How not?

    “I myself do not have the ability to contain an iota of religiopatriotism without sliding into abstraction or division. My country. Your country. Only Jesus. Only Fill-In-The-Blank. Hungry Gods willing –or demanding – to eat dead children.”

        Myrth reached into the back pocket of her pink polka-dot jeans. She saw Quetzal glance at her tight levis and raise his eyebrows. “My little joke,” she shrugged. “Velv sent me an psymail for Chapter 4,” she said, and handed a shimmering paper to Quetzal to read out loud. Both he knew and she knew that she just liked to hear the sound of his voice when he wasn’t dueling. They spent most of their time dueling. Everything they did was fraught with assignation.

     “I fear 11/02 more than 9/11.” Quetzal read. “9/11 was a nasty day perpetrated by Insane Religious Zealots, IRZs. 11/02, the dismal day of the USofA Inc election is murkier, more hadal, perpetrated by IRZs blessed with armies, and marines, and air forces with dozens of death-wielding planes, helicopters, and tanks, instead of 3 commercial airliners, an unlimited number of molotov cocktail equivalents, rpgs, ieds, and IRZ suicidal youths willing to blow themselves to kingdom come, they hope, for 32 or 72 scantily-clad virgins, depending on which sect is making the offer. I’m not sure what our suicidal youth are willing to be blown up for (this is a third-rail topic), but as insane deals go, 72 virgins seems a more rational enticement to a 20-yr-old guy in heat than the old Big Lie, pro patria and a few strips of colored cloth mori. The hypnotic techniques are truly breathtaking. Boot camp, shave all the hair off (cf Samson), severe fraternity hazing, and the post-hypnotic suggestion is so powerful that people will kill for it and die for it. It’s satanic in sheep’s clothing.

    “Now, our side is noble — because we are better equipped to kill? What’s the equation here? What lethal mathematics apply? Once you’ve slipped inside the ‘It’s Not Murder, It’s War’ Bubble, you can ennoble hideous acts and excuse Gitgulag, and Abu and Bagram perversions. Our side, their side are both flayingly sad and vile.”

    Myrth shook her head and sighed, and they all four reached for the half-empty bottle of the USofA Inc export Sangre de Niños at the same time. “After you.” “No, after you.”

 

====

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

6-20-05 2:06:30a.pdt.us  ….6 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird  tzol 19 sunmon

ff 1137

We welcome your Comments on pogblog.

 Don't know how to Comment? Other questions? Contact pogblog@yahoo.com

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />