God is in the ward, apparently
I went to visit my father in hospital tonight. He’s not dying. Well, he was. Actually, he did technically die for 15 minutes, and then came back. It’s all weird. I should be more upset than I am, but I don’t know him that well having only met him quite late in my life. It turns out he’ll live which I suppose is a good thing, although he is minus a leg now.
He had visitors from his church. They keep saying stuff like ‘God is going to heal you from the root cause’ and shit like that. Also, ‘we’ll pray for you’ and such. What happens when he dies? Did the prayers not work? Will He have skipped that particular bed? Each to his own, but I don’t subscribe.
The visit ended off with a surreal pharmacy trip to pick up some heavy-duty painkillers for the day-2 part of my migraine. While in the queue, I watched this massive old Jewish man gorge himself with grapes from an old supermarket packet while waiting in line. He was like an Emperor dangling the whole bunch into his mouth, and was so fat, he looked like he was going to explode at any moment from one more grape. Like Mr. Creosote from 'The Meaning of Life'. When he got to the counter he didn't have a script and didn't know what medication he was on. The dialogue between him and the 'walking advertisement for plastic surgery' pharmacist was grinding.
The drive home was to Dead Can Dance and Fever Ray (they came up on shuffle). They work so well in the dark deserted Monday night streets. I wrote this whole piece in my head while driving. It’s not as funny or clever now. Nor is this idea for a blog, but here is the idea: Rather than spend time on the loo looking at porn or pinup girls, I’ll use that time to write and post it all here. Anonymously. Why anon? Someone once said that the toilet is the only place we don’t have to justify ourselves. With the evacuation of the pipes can come the same with thoughts and ideas. No one looks at their own shit (although I do have a story about that) and no one looks at each other’s shit. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
I’ll write what comes to mind no matter how honest in the knowledge that no one is actually going to read it. It’s daily practice. Forces me to write more and come up with ideas for more writing.