Friday, August 25, 2006

Fungus! How Relevant!

This is the most useful piece of Scripture! I wouldn’t be surprised if God put a serious fungus in a house in the land of my possession.

I’m not a great person; I’ve got all the usual addictions (empty women, full beers, tiny gadgets, big screens), and exacerbating the problem is my weird hankering for rebelling against God and justifying it with thin social commentary, i.e. late-night half-drunk e-porn as American right, liberal duty of reluctant twenty-something, and covert subversion of crumbliing patriarchy. After all, some women enjoy stripping, and who is this institutionalized deity to say I am doing anything but participating in their empowerment?

A fungus infection might be exactly what I deserve, and my living conditions are making it easy for Him to pull it off; this place could host a photo shoot for a Department of Health introductory pamphlet on environments favorable to mushrooms and other toxins, organic or not: hot, moist, and closed-up.

While my deodorant sweats on the bathroom shelf and the butter on the counter transforms into a oily, gelatinous puss, the air underneath the trailer can’t circulate because there aren’t enough vents on the fake plywood panels that surround it.

The air heats up and steams the carpet above it like a tortilla turning green in a plastic baggie, and the air inside the trailer can’t get anywhere because I refuse to open the windows. Why? Because opening the windows is not an option when several phyla of insects are beating their tissue-paper, vein-filled wings against every one of my screenless windowpanes.

I would rather sit here and suffer and every once in a while wash something with cleaning chemicals until about 4 pm. That’s when my trailer will turn into a bleach-scented sauna and beads of moisture will streak my walls like greenhouse rain, and the ninety-degree air outside will feel cool.


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