By Emilio Martinez
I WONDER WHAT THE WEATHER FORECAST IS TODAY. Lifestyle... Sports... Front page...
Oh my god! 25,000 people dead. That's horrible. Unimaginable. That's a whole town. I don't even know that many people. That earthquake just rose up from the trembling ground and killed 25,000 innocent bystanders.
But what's the big deal, really? People die every day in natural disasters. Lots of people I don't know. Kids swept away in floods. Trailer parks twisting off in tornadoes. Wildfires that strike even the richest of the rich at the mansions that I will never set foot in. I can't cry for everybody. I can't take responsibility for this. I barely have time to pay attention to my own fragile mortality.
25,000 people, though. In one blow. That's hard-core. I wish there was something I could do to stop it. It's not like we can arrest someone though. "Hey, you, fault-line, step out of the earth with your hands up." No perpetrator to rehabilitate. No defendant to sue. All these crimes are legal "acts of God." Right now if a volcano spewed all over me, I don't think I could muster enough energy to run...
You see, I know now. There is nowhere to run.
God is a terrorist.
I could live my whole life singing and dancing in minefields. Hopping and skipping over the dead bodies and booby traps on my way to pick flowers. I could make it through completely unscathed, a bouquet of beautiful blossoms in hand, and then one day, for no apparent reason, I will just suddenly fall limp and die. Now does that sound fair?! The odds all stack against us--each and every one of us. And what sick, twisted intelligence in the universe is to blame? Allah Hitler? Jehovah the Hun? All-is-Brahman bin-Laden?
Maybe I should just stop reading the papers. And watching 24-hour cable coverage. And stop logging on to the bloggers of doom. And...just stop thinking about it. Let go, let Gawww-----
Hell no! God's out to get me! And you, too, friend. And those 25,000 men, women, and children. And no one's even counting the dogs and cats and mice and bugs and...
But why does God hate us so? What did we do? What did a newborn baby ever do to incur the wrath of the great eternal mystery!? Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming the victim, it's just that if there's something we could do to appease...like praying...or being good...or throwing an infant's heart in a fiery...
Oh, c'mon. None of that has worked so far. You can't negotiate with a terrorist.
And God doesn't play by the rules. God can get in your head and work you from the inside. And you can't corner God. You won't be finding the Almighty in a spider hole with lice on the Godhead. No, God just makes the rules, and the rules of the Kosmos are thus: in case of apocalyptic destruction of your world, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass good-bye.
I'm not going outside today.
Y'know these terrorists have it wrong. They think that somehow God is going to reward them for doing all the dirty work. God really has pulled a con job on those idiots. And our leaders think God will bless us because we bomb a village to root out crazed fundamentalists. Boy, oh boy, don't they have that backwards. God's just playing the players against each other.
But I'll give this to them. At least they've got guts. I mean, stepping on a plane, knowing that this is your last flight, or going off like a "cowboy" in the world of international diplomacy. Taking a stand, even if it means the end of everything. Both sides may be dumb, but they both got guts.
I got guts, too. I can do this. You hear me, GOD?!! We're not gonna take it! I'm not gonna take it. Got it?!
First off, I don't believe in You anymore. You are history, oh Mystery. You are extinct, oh Eternal. God—that would be You—is dead.
And I'm gonna let everyone know what you were up to, even though you don't exist anymore. And they will believe me, not You, because I've got the proof. Just look at the weathers-of-mass-destruction, the mass graves in cemeteries, and the hostages You captivate with fear in every religion on the planet.
I'm not afraid of You anymore. I'm not staying home. I'm walking out the front door. Hear that God? I don't care what it's like outside-- bring it on!...
Flowers?
Wow, I didn't know that a flower could bloom in winter. My eyes drink that yellow...beautiful. My nostrils breathe that sweet fragrance...deep. My fingers caress that soft...whoops!
I didn't mean to pull it out. I'm sorry, flower. I'm not a monster.
Okay, God. I'll believe in You. Go ahead and kill me. You see, I now know.
What can I lose by living fearlessly?
You haven't lived until you've witnessed the cultural force that is Denver-based performance artist Emilio Martinez. He sings, he dances, he tells irreverent jokes about religion and Manifest editor Paul Salamone's current employer. He'll even sing a song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in your kitchen if you ask him to (or even if you don't). The one thing he will NOT do is shut up. Stay tuned for more Emilio....
