I love Stuart Davis. Love his music, love his writing and especially love the passion with which he explores the human condition through careful introspection. All of that mystical wonderment and contemplation works great when you are young, single, and have a job that allows you to expres it. But I was curious to see how getting married and having a kid would affect the Punk Monk. Well folks, domestication hasn*t dimmed the bulb of enlightenment any. Its just taken the search to new locales and topics. What has Stu discovered lately? That it shits in the box.
i*m going to cut to the chase. suddenly -very suddenly- i had to go to the bathroom, and it was, as a German pre-school teacher might say, “Numer Zwei”. this was the variety of onset that does not allow for getting in a car, or walking to a convenience store, and certainly not for knocking on your neighbors door. i would never, ever do that. at this point in the story, i*m going to leave my body and employ 3rd person. now i*m just looking at “It”, what It did, what happened to It. that*s not me down there. i*m just replaying what happened to It, It is a biological machine. It has to evacuate waste, but It can*t use Its own toilet because the construction worker has covered up that toilet and is spraying texture base on all the walls what are Its options? not many. perhaps only one. one resolution to Its conundrum, and no one*s going to swoop down and solve this colonic riddle for It. it*s up to It, and only It. It goes out to the garage. It is desperate. It feels ashamed, embarassed- feelings that usually carry a vague sexual charge. but not this time. this sensation is arousal*s antonym. It has to hurry. It is experiencing a great pressure. It grabs a mid-sized cardboard box. it grabs toilet paper. It squats in a sad, shadowy nook which will hereafter be known as The Corner of Vile Secrets. Eyes askance, lips curled inward, making sounds that prove It is still more animal than angel
