Hell Is A Place Just Under Your Feet

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Jesus Was A Convicted Felon

Note: I was going to post this weeks ago, but, I got swept away by a parade of nonsense. The struggle is real.

This week is Easter, which excites me. I love Easter (or, as we Jews call it “The one who got away day"). Not because I am an atheist, but because I love Biblical violence. For a lover of such a thing, it doesn’t get much better than the global celebration through chocolate and bunnies of the execution, death, and alleged resurrection of the convicted felon known as Jesus Christ.

The story of Easter is one of my favourites, so, in honour of this, I have dredged up a Easter phone sex tale for this most holy of weeks.

This was a number of years ago now, and I was manning the phone sex lines on Easter Sunday. I wasn’t sure what kind of day it would be, considering it was a holiday…

“I’ve been up all night, doing crystal meth,” said a voice, very proudly, from the other end of the phone. 

Obviously, it was gonna be a good day. 

This was a morning call. The man calling, Gabe, informed me that he was naked in his kitchen, as he had some special plans. 

“I’m making an enema!” 

“”Are you, now?” I asked, as though he was a child, planning on making a holiday craft of some sort.

“I’m making it with milk, and peanut butter and chocolate syrup….and gyrhfhfhrh…”

“Wait, what was that last thing you were sticking in your ass?”

“Peanut butter..”

“Yeah, you said that already. What was the last thing?”

“I’m making an enema!”

The mystery ingredient will never be known. Anyways, he was really feeling it with the creativity that morning, and was using anything he could get his hands on to make his ass smoothies. 

Why he felt the need to make an enema, I’m not so sure. Meth can really bung you up, in terms of constipation….or maybe it was a glorious celebration of the Lord. 

When I was 17, I dated a guy who cooked crystal meth. That shit gets made in bathtubs from ingredients garnered at the hardware store by boys who wish that they were Sean Penn. 

I also once dated a guy who made shitty LSD. This is the reason why I don’t find movie stars interesting. Why would I be delighted by people who preen and pretend for a living when there are real deviants to adore?

One time I had to use an enema. I was on day 8 of a bowel stalemate, and I finally broke down and went and bought an enema. At the time, I was living in a rowdy party house, and, on the night I chose to use the enema, there was a party happening. This meant I had to try to shoot saline up my ass while trying to fend off a never ending stream of drunken people who wanted to piss like racehorses and puke in the sink while I tended to my southerly woes. Talk about a clench.

Speaking of which, Gabe was no big talker in the enema department…in no time at all, I was hearing him rocket fuel his ass smoothies all over his kitchen floor. I could hear the contents hitting and splattering on the linoleum. For some reason, I pictured my grandma’s kitchen, and remembered the buttercup yellow designs I saw so frequently while growing up.

Gabe didn’t laugh when he expelled onto the floor. He instead let out war whoops, as though he were a young Native brave charging into valiant battle.

And then his dog came into the kitchen.

Anyone who has known a dog can likely guess what happened next. Dogs are known to enjoy poo…their own, and others, so, before long, I was treated to the sounds of canine tongue lapping linoleum.

I asked Gabe what kind of dog he had, what its name was, being an animal lover and all. 

Her name was Katie and she was a golden retriever.

How the fuck did a depraved meth user end up with a golden retriever named Katie? Did he steal her from the last old lady whose corpse he raped? 

I bet Katie smelled like Vidal Sassoon shampoo and had eyes that when you looked into them, you felt Jesus’s love for all of mankind expanding in your heart. 

These actives continued for some time, when, all of a sudden….Gabe went quiet. Then, he said in a most solemn of voices….

“This is really fucking gross.”

And than he hung up.

This is what they refer to in Narcotics Anonymous as “a moment of clarity.”

My most favourite part of the Easter story is Gethsemane. After the last supper, Jesus asked his disciples to pray with him. They fell asleep. It was the night before his crucifixion, and he was all alone in the garden. He asked his father to take away the cup of poison, of wrath that he was about to drink. God didn’t, instead, he sent Jesus an angel to comfort him. Jesus accepted what was going to happen. He surrendered to the higher power because he had no choice. His pain is what made him, what helped him to transcend beyond being a man, into something beyond himself. His agony has been called exquisite, and it can make grown men weep. 

Once, when I was really high, I had a very vivid hallucination that I was an asteroid, falling from space, burning up in the Earths atmosphere. As I broke apart , I became a part of everything on the planet, I was connected to everything. I was destruction, and I was the beginning. Alpha and Omega, linked together.

 Afterwards, I remembered what my mom said to me when I was little, and I asked her what “God” was….she said it was everything, all the molecules that held the universe together, that you didn’t have to pray to it or signal it in any way, you were already a part of it. 

I wonder is Gabe if recounting the enema story in a rehab centre somewhere. I hope Katie ran away and found a good home..that bitch deserved better. 

I stopped taking drugs because I realized that the illusions that they gave me came at way too steep a price.  They blunted the edge of everything, which feels nice, like being a baby in a house with parents who proofed everything way too much. You can fall and fumble and not catch the rough edge of anything. But, you need to feel those edges, if only so you don’t push into them too hard. 

Sometimes though, when I’m chanting or meditating, or just feeling lost, I can close my eyes and become the asteroid again, breaking apart, falling to Earth…returning home.

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