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God Is Dead

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Posted on Jan 11, 2012
Mr. Fish

By Mr. Fish

It said DOG on his food bowl, and because he showed no signs that he’d ever learn how to read or write, she decided that he must be dyslexic. So she called him GOD. 

God, like his considerably more famous namesake, was something of a mutt. He was composed of parts and features so numerous that not only did his eye color not match, but his coat was as motley as sandstone and his appetite ran the gamut from bacon to raisins, from breath mints to bedroom slippers, from the company of the most despicable people to the most affable. Consequently, it was always a question as to whether his excessively generous affections reflected a vast intelligence or the sort of crippling stupidity that made discrimination even between extremes impossible. His love affair with life was either an expression of the robust and confident compatibility he had with existence itself, or it was just another demonstration of dimwitted glee, something that a moron feels when ogling the mundane and drooling over the banality of what his stupidity is able to make fabulous.

Her name was Sawyer Dey, and she told me that the other reason why she named him God was because he was a Christmas present from her mother, Fey, who had gotten him over winter break during Sawyer’s senior year in high school—the rationale being that without a dog to miss, her daughter would’ve only known joy and deep relief upon moving away to college in the fall. “You see,” she explained to me when God was 7, two years after she graduated from Bryn Mawr with a degree in obsolete verbal esoterics, right around the time when she and her dog and I started living together in a gentrified suburb of Philadelphia called Manayunk in 1990, “my mother is so deliberately ungracious when it comes to recognizing the tendency of the universe to sometimes resolve without first considering her feelings … no, wait a minute.” She gathered her curly black hair into a loose ponytail and unfastened her jeans in anticipation of getting into the bathtub. “My mother doesn’t have any feelings. It’s more that she has a problem with reality contradicting her lavishly narcissistic, Jesus-was-born-in-a-Pottery-Barn-and-I-keep-a-covenant-with-his-teachings-with-a-fucking-credit-card worldview.  Anyway, I couldn’t help thinking that it would be the perfect metaphor to have her, for the four years while I was away at school, snapping God onto a leash every day because she didn’t trust his loyalty to her absolute authority.”

“I would’ve never guessed that your mother was religious,” I said, only half paying attention because I was busy drawing a picture of Uncle Sam yanking a bloody wishbone from a freshly slaughtered dove.

“Oh, no,” she said, suddenly topless, “she’s not religious, except as a precaution. She believes in a Caucasian Jesus who is a heterosexual Kennedy Democrat, sure, all of her friends do, but as far as acquiescing to his so-called moral teachings or anything like that, she thinks that by simply subscribing to all the Condé Nast publications that reflect all the facets of his persnickety and oh so minty personality she’s pretty much guaranteed a place in heaven.” Her panties slid noiselessly to the floor and she stepped out of them.  “For her, Jesus died for our love of sequels, that’s about it.”

“Right,” I said, watching her walk away bare-ass naked down the hallway while the significance of her insight dissipated like the scentless verbosity of a meticulous recipe that is driven away by the visceral succulence of a fabulous plate of food capable of drawing out a hunger that one, almost in a panic, suddenly realizes is there. 

I woke up nude on the living room floor with God licking my face and pestering me with the most annoying, feathery little whines. I was super-heated beneath the comforter that Sawyer and I usually kept on our bed and my pants were balled up under my head like a pillow. It was still dark outside and my morning boner, balanced atop a bladder near to bursting, was pressed into the small of my girlfriend’s back, as if I’d been attempting to rob her in my sleep. “God, no!” I whispered, pushing the dog’s snout away and trying to crunch myself closer to Sawyer. “Go lay down!” I said, all at once preferring the relief that I knew more sleep would bring over the hard-won relief I’d get from throwing off the warm covers and groggily climbing the stairs to stand on freezing tiles in front of a cold toilet and attempting to piss through a Flak 36 anti-aircraft urine cannon trained on the sky.  Again, God whimpered and then groaned, pawing at my shoulder before shoving his nose into the back of my head and snorting into my hair, his own bladder as heavy as a saddlebag full of coins, no doubt.


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Night-Gaunt's avatar

By Night-Gaunt, January 17, 2012 at 2:31 pm Link to this comment

Lucy I find nothing “complicated” about Mr. Fish‘s writing. It flowed nicely and I could picture it all happening. A mark of someone who knows how to right above the 4th grade level. Have you thought of improving your reading comprehension? Like every thing your intellect must be exercised too as mine is. I am still learning. One can never stop learning or learn too much.

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By Lucy, January 16, 2012 at 10:10 pm Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

Ugh. Stick to cartoons. Your writing is too
complicated. You can be clever and astute without being
so pretentiously wordy.

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James M. Martin's avatar

By James M. Martin, January 14, 2012 at 5:25 pm Link to this comment

Mr. Fish, my God, man, what a revelation about God being dog spelled backward.  Did you know that Aleister Crowley’s “Book of the Law” asks if God is to live in a dog.  Moreover, and this is critical, Robert Anton Wilson points out that all of the modern (King James on) versions of the Bible are frauds: the original was in Koine Greek.  In Koine, there were no punctuation marks, such that the sentence “God is now here” could just as easily be “God is Nowhere.”

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By heterochromatic, January 14, 2012 at 9:58 am Link to this comment

EZ—- wherever you find yourself you’ll still be one fit to serve in heaven

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EmileZ's avatar

By EmileZ, January 14, 2012 at 4:04 am Link to this comment

Ahhh… brings back memories of Indian Queen Lane and bicycling along the West River Drive path to Center City in the morning.

The cherry blossoms in the spring… the geese… the leaves blowing about in autumn…

Sorry, but I didn’t make it much past page one. It became unsexy and though I love animals, I am a cat person.

Pondering dogs freaks me out and I am already freaked out enough.

Yikes!!! I just briefly scrolled up on page three and scanned a glimpse of horror.

Safer down here in comment hell.

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By heterochromatic, January 13, 2012 at 4:24 pm Link to this comment

how could anyone not love a story built around a
heterochromatic God dog?

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Night-Gaunt's avatar

By Night-Gaunt, January 13, 2012 at 3:00 pm Link to this comment

Better work on that short attention span. You will need to be able to read more than a paragraph.I found it well written even if it all wasn’t to my taste. But you can see I can dislike the subject matter and still see its merits.

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By ferrellms, January 13, 2012 at 6:58 am Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

Boy, this is just terrible stuff, and so
long, too. I did get thru a paragraph or
two, though.

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By acmerecords, January 12, 2012 at 4:59 pm Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

~
“His love affair with life was either an expression of the robust and confident compatibility he had with existence itself, or it was just another demonstration of dimwitted glee”

it only humans who can’t decide if ‘their’ dogs and cats are as ‘smart’ as they are.  In fact, I warned my cat just yesterday to be careful & give wide berth to my ‘dimwitted glee’

“i know a guy who had a dog, he was that guy who started that war, fucking dumbass” g.singlaub

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By joseph bodden, January 12, 2012 at 11:56 am Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

It’s a lesson too late for the learning,
Made of sand, made of sand;
In the wink of an eye my soul is turning,
In your hand, in your hand.

Are you goin’ away with no word of farewell?
Will there be not a trace left behind?
I could have loved you better, I didn’t mean to be
unkind,
You know that thought was the never in my mind.

The line between life and death is the wink of an
eye. Sometimes we only know the measure of our love
by the pain we feel when it is gone.
For REBOOT BODDEN, bff, “He was a good boy, no
greater praise was ever needed, although much more
was deserved. (Walker Hound)

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By Sulphalon, January 12, 2012 at 11:23 am Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

I want the last ten minutes of my life back.

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Leefeller's avatar

By Leefeller, January 12, 2012 at 8:51 am Link to this comment

Gathered from this long short story, is Mr. Fish is somewhat of a hornydog and probably should not be allowed around animals,..... possibly then God would not be dead and we would all be happier, including God!

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By rumblingspire, January 12, 2012 at 8:15 am Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

“by giving meaning to the moment and knowing that the biggest increment of time that either one of us is able to occupy at any given time is a moment, was I not merely bringing enlightenment to the smallest increment of infinity and therefore bringing enlightenment to the whole universe by proxy?”

goodness.  i often imagine such in bed with the cat pushing her face into my beard while i touch and name her body parts.
yet it is the last moment that often occupies my thoughts.  the moment i expire.  will i be able to stage it and thus gain a measure of control and Finally give meaning.

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DonSchneider's avatar

By DonSchneider, January 12, 2012 at 5:33 am Link to this comment

christian96…your moniker fits ! sorry for your lack of comprehension. Point is,
there is no point to be made !

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DonSchneider's avatar

By DonSchneider, January 12, 2012 at 5:31 am Link to this comment

to christian96 yep ! your moniker fits !  Nicely written piece. Not every piece of
literature need be a herculean effort full of life changing revelation !  get a life !

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By christian96, January 12, 2012 at 4:43 am Link to this comment

As I read this piece of nothingness I thought how
it represented people in academia and Washington.
Someone trying to show off their vocabulary without
anything of substenance to say.  What a waste of
time!

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By heterochromatic, January 11, 2012 at 8:22 pm Link to this comment

Okasis,  sometimes I despair for humanity.  your comment is one of those times.
maybe if you re-read the thing ......

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By Okasis, January 11, 2012 at 7:39 pm Link to this comment

NightGaunt, What brought about Karry Rose’s statement is her belief that God, as all dogs do, deserves more from the self proclaimed Masters of the Universe than they ever get.

Mr Fish spent his time worrying about his piss hard-on, his cold hands, and his head ache, when he should have been paying attention to the really important things in his life - Like wonderful animals who give love and loyalty always, and often get shit in return.

And then, like a real MAN, he lies to his girl rather than except his responsibility.

Both she and God deserved better.

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Night-Gaunt's avatar

By Night-Gaunt, January 11, 2012 at 6:25 pm Link to this comment

Poor dog, shit happens an sometimes you die. What crawled up your ass Kerryrose? A strange and vile sentiment from you.

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By heterochromatic, January 11, 2012 at 5:58 pm Link to this comment

—-”  IT may still be around, but just can’t
communicate any longer with his
sheep.”——

bah, humbug.

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By balkas, January 11, 2012 at 4:48 pm Link to this comment

don’t forget [ok, maybe you never knew?] that god only spoke hebrew; jesus spoke
only aramaic. but since hebrews and arameans vanished, so did their languages.
and god, not using these languages, simply forgotten them.
so, s/he or IT may still be around, but just can’t communicate any longer with his
sheep.

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By balkas, January 11, 2012 at 4:33 pm Link to this comment

even as a very poor goddologist i testify that god is dead. thanks

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By heterochromatic, January 11, 2012 at 3:52 pm Link to this comment

again he proves that he writes a hell of a lot better than that other thing he futzes
around with.

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By gerard, January 11, 2012 at 1:27 pm Link to this comment

Something we all need:

  “...phenomenal peripheral vision and instinctual distrust of monkeys wearing clothes and corrective lenses ...”

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By Aaron Ortiz, January 11, 2012 at 11:34 am Link to this comment

I’ve noticed Mr. Fish often constructs straw man
arguments and displays his considerable talents of
mockery against them…but what’s the point of doing
that? Proving he is smart? He achieves that, but why
bother? We all admire his talent already, without the
disdain toward God.

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kerryrose's avatar

By kerryrose, January 11, 2012 at 10:38 am Link to this comment

Poor God.  Fuck you.

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