The ad hoc lagoon that has been formed where Aptos Creek used to meander unfettered from the Santa Cruz Mountains down into Monterey Bay was so filled with loose and gushy goose shit, as well as common everyday duck shit, emanating from the many assholes in the fly-by, migratory crowd, that the petty coots and loons simply could not resist their infantile urges to produce some slapstick schtick in public. Soon there were off-hue bird turds flying back and forth across a not so great and imaginary divide.
It was pretty funny from a distance because I have always been a big fan of shitty jokes. I was not the only innocent bystander snapping warm and fuzzy photographs. Who could resist? Coots crossed the line and offended loons with no restraint. Loons got their backs all up into coot grills and cut loose like entitled paparazzi. The usual solution to every manner of twitch, flinch, spasm, and kink, which is to loosen up, in this case turned into an environmental disaster. The results looked almost human. When it came down to the industry of serious fecal matters, coots and loons proved once again to be all boobs, all of the time.
Most of the shit landed, as far flung shit will, in or out of any context, off target. It was hard to predict where it was coming from and going to, next. Somehow, miraculously, or close enough for me, all of it seemed to miss my head. I was not only free of guilt, but free of falling shit. It was an edifying experience. I became hopeful it meant something meaningful in a big picture sort of way, somewhere far out in at least the next closest galaxy that would elevate my consciousness to the next higher level, and allow me to see what is and is not with a clearer vision, although the tawny owl said to me, decisively, “No way.”
There are birds lower on the food chain that the tawny owl respects if not exactly admires, red-tailed hawks, pelicans, woodpeckers, hummingbirds, herons, and terns. And there are other birds who earn his near total disdain, scavengers and thieves most of all, vultures, crows, and gulls. But he reserves a singular contempt for either a coot or a loon, the useless douche bags among birds who are drawn to swim and dive in their own shit like hogs in slop. “A lot like your human politicians,” he adds, “although no beautiful bird would ever be dumb enough to follow the lead of a coot or loon, not even a simple seed pecker. “
I said, “I always try to circumvent politicians. Especially where incontinence is an issue.”
A friend of my friend the unpaid-internet-content-provider, who is a gasterentologist, but is not happy about it, advises against exposure to lurking pathogens wherever they roam. The Pacific Ocean is full of them, he maintains, also chronically. His friend, a portly statistician, provides new statistics to prove it on an ongoing basis at a reasonable fee. I have evidence of diarrhea from the tween twins to prove it so I never had to pay more to find out.
Later, as I was pondering how to come to singular terms with a pair of motley sweet potatoes shamelessly reproducing in my kitchen, the apparent abundance of superfluous shit in my mind caused me to pause and reflect about what more can I do to control the means of my own production. As far as I was aware, or wanted to be, I was ahead of the game right at the start. What more could a singular entity accomplish? I already don’t shit in public like a politician might. Nor do I shit in common troughs like an extremely collectivist politician. It was never a habit of mine right from the get-go, as with a typical politician, so that part was, and is, easy. And I wash my hands often, and consciously never touch a politician anymore. Politicians secrete sticky stuff that doesn’t come off easily. It sticks to all surfaces from what I’ve observed, and reeks. And I know that both sides in politics are consistently correct when they declare the other side sucks so bad, so there is no reason to approach either end that smells like a sump. It is also, parenthetically, a moderately well known fact that the penises of politicians require regulated manipulation to operate inside the legislated vaginas of politicians. That’s why there are so many loose assholes spouting so erratically. From that, I learned a great deal about what can happen, and does, in the wrong setting. Politicians deal with their shit by simply dumping it along the way, but not me. I’m way off the other end deep now, if anywhere.
But, does that mean I should take the easy way out? Do I maintain a safe distance, and dissolve my antiseptic solutions in private? Well, yeah, like…duh, I thought. It’s way better than voting for a shitting politician. And safer.
My criminal lawyer has advised me, however, that I may need to do more to keep my head above the rim. Dark forces are circling clockwise underneath.
“From what I hear down at the Courthouse, there are shitting politicians who want you gone from the big picture.”
“We don’t want to get into a shitting contest where it becomes all about he said, she said. We have a date in court coming up. It’s impossible to win that way.”
“What shitting contest?”
“There are supposed to be pictures they claim to have.”
“My advice to you is cut the crap.”
“Oh, the crap big picture. Yeah, I know that one.”
“Play it closer to the vest. Go along to get along. You know.”
“I’ve been trying to cut it close but it’s hard when it won’t stay down after it’s flushed.”
“I knew you’d see it my way.”
If that race to the bottom is not the proverbial rub, I don’t know what is. Even with eyes widely shut, the same tough questions swirl in a maelstrom. Not even high walls can stop it. No politics, no religion, no institutions. According to the tawny owl that’s because humans attempt to deny the highest consciousness that can be achieved on earth, which is animal. Animals are able to dig it while it’s happening.
“Animal,” he avows, “is composed of magnetic dust from throughout the multiverse. Along with its many opposites, naturally. No beginning, no end. No start, no stop. That’s it, relatively. And that’s enough. That’s only natural.”
Naturally, I responded, “Whoa, fucking whoa.” If relativity is going to be used against me, what chance do I have? Or any other purveyor of excessive waste. That must be why denial is so popular on all the best seller lists.
“Now that you think I can see it according to your way, what more do you expect me to do?”
“A small contribution to the pot can’t hurt, can it?”
Knowing enough to be defeated, I said, “Which side gets it this time, coots or loons?”