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I've read the script and the costume fits, so I played my part.
 This photograph, taken by William Eggleston in 1960, is my sidekick Jay holding a shotgun shell. It was taken in Greenwood, Mississippi, which is where Robert Johnson, the musician famous for having sold his soul to the Devil, died.  I have this one committed to memory, it's a poem from the student days of Wodehouse.  I just learned of an interesting book, the Archko Volume. Wikipedia tells us "The Archko Volume is regarded as fraudulent by all religious scholars." However, the book is very interesting, I've just started in on it today. The account of Jesus in chapter five, which purports to be related by someone who spoke with Mary and Joseph, bears a strong resemblance to myself. Lazy, they said. Careless, they said. Won't amount to anything. This really hit me -
My mother claims I learned to read at two by watching Sesame Street. I don't tell people this because it sounds like ridiculous boasting. She says I came to her once when I was eight, and said "I have to talk to you about something, and it's very serious."
"What is it, Ry?" "Darren can't read." "It's OK Ry, he's only four." My mom is intelligent, she was a computer programmer for Hallmark Cards back in the 1960s, when very few women did that kind of thing. But she is not intellectually ambitious. She had no reason to invent such a story, and she is an honest person. I'll return with more comments after I get through the book. This may surprise you, but God is not vain or narcissistic, worship does nothing for him. If you really want to worship, go clean cages at an animal shelter, do something nice for someone. If you have money, give time. As Ukridge would say, "Give until it hurts, old horse." Of course it is right to give thanks and praise, and people need community, and worship does other things for man, but it really does nothing for God. I certainly don't want worship, a little gratitude in the heart would be nice, since I paid some dues to get here. In Daniel it says I will destroy the holy people, this means that when the world comes to know God, the religious profession will become unnecessary, except for performing rites like weddings and burials. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, I only have vague ideas about how things will play out. (If you were wondering, yes I'm having a lot of fun with this.)
Similarly, in AA I was told, "You might as well pray for God's will, because that's what you're going to get." Another, more serious mode of prayer, if you feel you are not in a state of grace, was told me in AA. First thing in the morning, before you pee, hit your knees by the bed and thank God, and ask him for help throughout the day, and remind yourself of the areas where you need work. Then, before you go to sleep, review your day and see where you fell short, and think of the people who helped you during the day (even in small ways), and thank God for them. Best time to visit is in November, early December, when the water is still warm but it's not as hot outside, and the storm season is over. It's one of the safest places in Mexico, and there's a considerable middle class. And it's still cheap, but the rents are going up, we have been getting on the map more. Every Don Quixote needs a Sancho, every Batman his Robin. In January 2016, I was living at the aforementioned Carondelet Manor group home in south St. Louis. I'll be honest, I was getting tired of those places, it was pretty bleak. The previous one, Allways Kare in the Central West End neighborhood, had been like living in the lap of luxury, I had my own room and even an office, all to myself, but eventually they gave me the old heave-ho.  This house is two doors down from Carondelet Manor. It was built just before the Civil War, by a man who subsequently became a general on the Confederate side, General Bowen, and died in the war. I didn't know any of that at the time, I just hung out on the back porch smoking dope and drinking beer. One day this guy turns up at the group home, kind of a frail and timid little guy about twenty years older than me. We start drinking beer together on General Bowen's porch, and he tells me he's an artist. I've heard that one before, I thought, but then he gave me a USB stick with his art on it.  Well I'll be damned, I thought, he's the real thing. That's his Houses for the Atomic Age. All of his work depicts the late 1950s/early 1960s era. I asked him "How did your style develop?" and he shot back "It was always that way." It was great having someone who could talk about art and literature, and we became fast friends.  That's his Astro Chimp, based on the chimpanzees who were sent into space before humans, Gordo I think one of them was called. My taste was a little more conservative, but I could see the guy has a genius for spatial organization. Then he told me about the Eggleston photos.  That's Jay in 1960, photographed by William Eggleston, who later became famous for his color photography. Jay grew up in the Mississippi delta, his family had been planters, which is kind of a euphemism for plantation owners. So like me, Jay had grown up rich but had become poor. He had worked in wholesale clothing, then gotten a master's in psychology and worked for the state, in the department of corrections. I refused to believe it until his sister confirmed it, he really did work at prisons. Jay's dad knows so much about the Civil War, he knew about General Bowen's house.  It soon became apparent that Jay hadn't aged a day since these photographs were taken. I've never seen anyone so incapable of malice or any serious wrong. Where Saint Paul talks about, If I must needs boast, I will boast of mine infirmities, this is the guy. The kingdom of heaven being for children, all that stuff people grouse about.  I wasn't sure about bringing him down to La Paz, since he never learned any Spanish (I had two years in high school). But it's worked out great, much better than I hoped, even.   Most of the files are too big to upload, and I don't want to mess with them right now, but you get the idea. That's his Jackie.
I'm not sure about the authenticity of this text, I'd never even heard of it, but it sounds legit so far, I'm about halfway through. I have a confession to make, guys. In 1994, one time when I had taken LSD, the disembodied soul of the late lamented rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Messiah, became attached to the soul of me, a gentile dog. Not that I have anything against dogs, in fact, to me my dog is a success, whereas I know a lot of people who are not really up to snuff. Nevertheless, the only reason I was able to pull off all these stunts is because Schneerson was at the helm. It was really Schneerson who got arrested all those times on LSD. That guy is a riot when he's off camera, Shapiro is the same way.  Eliot was from St. Louis, my hometown. They said he was "more British than the British," but I turned out much rougher around the edges. |
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