Thank Gods It's Sunday
The Reverend Frank Freeknik
You can take Monday through Saturday and stuff them in the disposal. Sunday is when god gives up the goo extra chewy. It is also when everybody is on the street. You see people you forget they even make anymore. A tall man in a four color suit, shoes formerly reptilian, his smile says, "I know where to get you a sweet Lincoln Continental on the cheap."
Go outside on Sunday and see doors open that have been sealed since the last race riot. Out of rusty side hutches pop low slung creatures scuttling and confused. Gaze at them in awe. Who are you? How long has your caretaker kept you locked inside? How does it feel to finally feel a languid Sunday afternoon upon your swollen hump?
You listen as they whisper: Sunday is an old man trying to feel up your girlfriend between parking meters. It is two Mexican buenas buying a 12 pack while trolling for beunos on a cellphone. It is a swarm of small children hanging off monkey bars looking for adventure or whatever comes their way. On Sunday you come home at twilight covered in a slippery grime from the sweat of small crimes, including larceny and lunacy. To the beach, zoo, park, restaurant, steel mill, video store, theater, street, bar, alley, park, beach, lake, home and bed. Always bathe before you go to bed on Sunday.
It is a good day to visit with dead loved ones. Adorn them with flowers and reminisce about old times. Dead loved ones can be quite mischievous. Do not be surprised if, after visiting your dead friend, a waitress spills a malted on your lap. Or some guy who just got whacked in the head wanders into the diner, bleeding, asking for a phone. Dead loved ones want to remind us to be careful where you step on Sunday. More blood is found on Sunday streets and sidewalks than any other day.
Sunday is for lovers, loners and loiterers of all types. This is the day you sit in the intersection while the Uzbekistani grandmother learns the difference between the gas and brake pedals. I would like to make a special plea: Sundays should be a 'loiterer right of way' day. Trust me, I know what it feels like to be stuck behind a complete moron who needs to be dragged from their vehicle and forced to eat used chewing gum out of a dirty ashtray. But on Sunday we should all try to not give a damn. Just turn up the radio, imagine various pedestrians naked and consider where to get a snack soon.
Why are Sundays so memorable? It is because they cast poignant apparitions of how delicious this world is if we accept the terror too. To get in unfamiliar clothes, drive to new places, meet strange people, participate in spontaneous rituals, hear utterances unbelievable and touch monstrous beauty – Sunday sometimes offers this. Even if you are only going to Arby's.
Today is a day to Windex the computer screen or watch a weird movie on UHF or call your crazy friend in Baltimore or snack in somebody's backyard or scribble disturbing thoughts in a three ring binder or wander aimlessly. Try and discover lovers arguing over a pizza slice, loners searching in the stacks and loiterers spacing out in big plate windows.
Get out there and find out what god meant when s/he said, "Six days slog, one day snog."
##^^##
You can take Monday through Saturday and stuff them in the disposal. Sunday is when god gives up the goo extra chewy. It is also when everybody is on the street. You see people you forget they even make anymore. A tall man in a four color suit, shoes formerly reptilian, his smile says, "I know where to get you a sweet Lincoln Continental on the cheap."
Go outside on Sunday and see doors open that have been sealed since the last race riot. Out of rusty side hutches pop low slung creatures scuttling and confused. Gaze at them in awe. Who are you? How long has your caretaker kept you locked inside? How does it feel to finally feel a languid Sunday afternoon upon your swollen hump?
You listen as they whisper: Sunday is an old man trying to feel up your girlfriend between parking meters. It is two Mexican buenas buying a 12 pack while trolling for beunos on a cellphone. It is a swarm of small children hanging off monkey bars looking for adventure or whatever comes their way. On Sunday you come home at twilight covered in a slippery grime from the sweat of small crimes, including larceny and lunacy. To the beach, zoo, park, restaurant, steel mill, video store, theater, street, bar, alley, park, beach, lake, home and bed. Always bathe before you go to bed on Sunday.
It is a good day to visit with dead loved ones. Adorn them with flowers and reminisce about old times. Dead loved ones can be quite mischievous. Do not be surprised if, after visiting your dead friend, a waitress spills a malted on your lap. Or some guy who just got whacked in the head wanders into the diner, bleeding, asking for a phone. Dead loved ones want to remind us to be careful where you step on Sunday. More blood is found on Sunday streets and sidewalks than any other day.
Sunday is for lovers, loners and loiterers of all types. This is the day you sit in the intersection while the Uzbekistani grandmother learns the difference between the gas and brake pedals. I would like to make a special plea: Sundays should be a 'loiterer right of way' day. Trust me, I know what it feels like to be stuck behind a complete moron who needs to be dragged from their vehicle and forced to eat used chewing gum out of a dirty ashtray. But on Sunday we should all try to not give a damn. Just turn up the radio, imagine various pedestrians naked and consider where to get a snack soon.
Why are Sundays so memorable? It is because they cast poignant apparitions of how delicious this world is if we accept the terror too. To get in unfamiliar clothes, drive to new places, meet strange people, participate in spontaneous rituals, hear utterances unbelievable and touch monstrous beauty – Sunday sometimes offers this. Even if you are only going to Arby's.
Today is a day to Windex the computer screen or watch a weird movie on UHF or call your crazy friend in Baltimore or snack in somebody's backyard or scribble disturbing thoughts in a three ring binder or wander aimlessly. Try and discover lovers arguing over a pizza slice, loners searching in the stacks and loiterers spacing out in big plate windows.
Get out there and find out what god meant when s/he said, "Six days slog, one day snog."
##^^##
posted by RSS Spirit Combine | 2:21 PM
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