A moment of perfection

I was visiting a friend the other day, and listening to her music. I smiled, ate her food (best on the planet, actually), drank her red wine, smoked her dope, and added powerful elements to her various black market enterprises. And throughout that entire afternoon, evening, and dark of night well past midnight, there was only one untruth that I kept hidden in my heart. Only one falsehood, one dagger, one claymore hidden behind the water cooler. Why am I burdened with a scowling conscience, where all else is like warm sunshine, a kitchen groaning with fresh baked bread, and kettle full of tea? It is not a great trouble, yet it is the olive pit in the pasta.

In times of spiritual crisis, like you, I turn to a spiritual leader, an example from ages past, someone known for inspiring the better qualities in mankind. Early in my education in the Ontario Public School system, I was introduced to the occult. It was the open minded, accepting, diversity thing to do back then. Anyone who questioned the wisdom of this socialist social policy was slandered by the socialist press as bad person, a big meanie. So, now, I am here, well read, an inquisitive mind, patron of the scientific method, a taste for experimentation, assisted by a tight knit band of fellow minded minions, facing crisis. And you think to yourself, thinking that I cannot read your thoughts, that you do not know what the actual crisis is about. But I will tell you, and it is embarrassing, and I have burst into tears as I type this.

My friend, a gentle soul and a great cook, has awful tastes in music. I do not know enough bad images to make unholy metaphor in comparison. And she has so much of it. She has eight weeks of unrepeated selections. I will not indulge in character assassination of the artists who create, nor the capitalists who market, such stuff, so much stuff, so many endless hours, of music that I do not, unless at gunpoint, listen to. But I put on my liars face and endured it for some many hours within the last week. I am troubled. How can the occult, introduced to me as a policy of the Ontario government, soothe my troubled soul? I want to get right with my friend, but I do not want to upset her by telling her the truth.

Somewhere in relative morality, is a solution. I am going to continue to bear false witness to my friend. It is not a very Christian thing to do, but being Christ like is a hate crime in Canada, and we certainly would not want that now would we. No, let the un-Christian and the diabolical come down upon your heads. You have been asking for it, voting for it, now you get some. I will just put up with The Embalmers Opera and The Dirge in D flat for Timpani and Piccolo when I visit my friend. It will be my secret: your music is awful, and I am only pretending to like it.

This is a very comforting spiritual message, is it not? I will hate in private. I will take my anger and outrage and write it down on paper. Names, instructions, requests, scenarios, suggestions, and the secret names of reptiles, I shall write down on a blue piece of paper and burn it with a burnt offering. My anger will float away, a request, an invoice, a purchase order directed to a corporation that those bigots of the Christian church always disapproved of. They are wrong in other things, so it must be right in this case. That is what I shall do.

My friend just emailed me: her Ipod has taken sick, and she is without that which she calls music! Ha ha ha

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.

Leave a Reply

Protected by WP Anti Spam