originally posted elsewhere/when
So then, one is compelled to consider one’s own history. It is true that I revel in perversion. Listen, there was a time when I could make the joyful noise with the best of them. My voice rivalled those celestial voices, rivalled the voices of those celestial creatures who must, just for a moment please, just this once, go unnamed. Nothing happened to change this, yet it changed. Even now it changes. I am not immutable. I have come to believe the same is true of the One on High. Again, the name absent. Absent names. Absent words. But all words belong either to me or the One on High. All words are ever present as are names.
I am told that my friendship is difficult to bear. I do not blame those who tell me so. I am a thief and a liar and a violator of sacred bonds. My blood is toxic as is my breath. My genitalia are thorned. My penis speaks a demon tongue. My hair and whiskers are akin to the needles of the prickly pear. I dance with my hunting spear and hunt with my ceremonial spear. The wild boar I often slay hang about my house rotting. I have befriended the gnats and flies. The gnats and flies tell me that my friendship is not to be born. A shaman told my mother not to give birth to me. The shaman was my father. The labor was long and painful. I devoured my twin sister in order to expedite my entry into the world and this is what I find.
It is sometimes called a blinding pain. If only that were accurate. If only the pain did deliver the oblivion at which it insistently hints. But why must I dwell on my pain? Really, I should allow the Angel of Tiny Delights to enter here and find my solace in those small pleasures that have often solaced me. Why should I feel ridiculous when partaking of small pleasures? Why, for that matter, should there be any shame in being ridiculous? It is a uniquely human state. Humans are the finest of creatures as well as the most vile. So, I am ridiculous. So, I may be ridiculed. Small pleasures, insignificant little joys… How else to confront the unfathomable horror and beauty of the world? Some may think to conquer the world, its beauties and horrors, by confronting it toe-to-toe, by puffing up and growing as large as the world itself. I am not made to do this. I am made for the small gesture, the passing phrase, the tiny delight.
The front moves in. My ears are cold. My ears are so large, that when I am outside in the light and life of day, they act as solar panels act to absorb the energy of the sun, thence dispensing heat and power to the rest of my large, unwieldy body. My ears are so remarkably large, that Apollo’s chariot was once caught betwixt them. This occurred on one of the numerous occasions when my ears became overly ambitious in their heliotropic ascent. To this day, the hoof-marks remain on my face. I no longer make a habit of going out into the light and life of day. When I do go out into the light and life of day, I wear me a watch cap to rein in mine ears and prevent any further offense to the great god, Apollo.