God's Response to Job

God's Response to Job:
Job, Chapters 38-42

Letters cut from The Oedipus Cycle by Sophocles
2011
(work in progress)

(detail) ----->

I've come to the conclusion that perfection is overrated. Way overrated. Like, not even worth shooting for. Perfection is actually pretty dull. I mean, think about it – what's more interesting, the summit or the ascent? All you get from the top is a killer view, and like everything else, it gets old. How long can you look at other mountain tops before you get bored? Maybe perfection is fun for a while, but the novelty wears off fast, and then it becomes banal. Fortunately, life is always dishing out bliss-busters, so it's never long before we're knocked off the peak.

I'm just finishing up this text piece (see above). It's highly imperfect. In truth, it's bugging me. It's called "God's Response to Job" (so far, anyway..haven't come up with a better name yet), and it's...well, it's God's response to Job. Specifically, it's the last four chapters of Job, in the Old Testament of the Bible, where Jehovah informs Job who's Who and what's What. It's completely beautiful and I highly recommend reading it. I cut the letters from "The Oedipus Cycle". Two tragic figures, the stories probably based on real men of enormous faith and integrity who fell from their personal summits, due to the inevitable ego entanglements that accompany fabulous success. This is all speculation, of course; not mine, but theologians and thinkers who have nothing better to do than to speculate on the fates of mythological men. But no matter, because whether or not these good men were real or fictional, they're excellent examples of humanity. Their respective losses are something that very few of us will ever experience, and yet we get a glimpse of what it means to be fallen, disgraced, blinded by ego, cursed by those who will eventually fall themselves, and finally, lifted from despair by the grace of God. This is what it means to be human: to experience the relentless rise and fall of the ego.

I'll finish this text piece soon. I think it's fine that I'm not 100% happy with it. This is a good piece to have doubts about. It's an excellent piece from which to disentangle my ego. It's the perfect piece to be imperfect.

oooooooooooo

You can read more about this text piece here.

Satan, CEO of Verizon

Omg, Verizon so sucks. Verizon is the evil empire. Over a month ago my land line went out. It was due to a lot of rain I guess–what do I know–but I had no phone for a month. Verizon workers were on strike, so when I tried calling to report the problem, I was sent into the morass of Hell On Hold. I think Satan is on their Board of Public Relations, and gets to pick the music that we're forced to listen to while we wait. Not only is it astonishingly awful music (Cold Play meets the Tijuana Brass), but it's loud, and then to really fluff your hump, static is pumped into your eardrums. After ten minutes of this you seriously want to hurt someone. You start to hate Barry Manilow's guts. You want to crush a saxophone with your bare hands.

Needless to say, I never got through. They're on strike, for goshsake! Who's there to answer? A scab who doesn't know squat? The only option I was given by the nice computerized voice was to be transferred to Tech Service, who, I was promised, would happily report my problem. So I pressed 2 to make this happen, was transferred, and then, moments later, was cut off completely. Omg. Tell me I'm not hearing a dial tone. You can't be serious. Mind, this was after having been on hell-hold for a good 15-20 minutes. My ears started burning; hot saliva collected at the corners of my mouth. I wanted to hurt my phone. I dialed again, and went through the whole wretched process, only to be escorted by Herb Alpert into the hot jungles of Verizonville. My last resort was always Tech Support, who gleefully cut me off.

I did this maybe 6-7 times over the course of a month. Then Hurricane Arlene or Imogene or whatever blew through, and poof! I suddenly had phone service again. All was well. I called Verizon so that I could tell them my story, share a good laugh, and get a month refunded. They refused. Tough luck, Charlie. Why won't they refund me for a month of use? Because I shoulda called them immediately to tell them of my lack of service. Since there's no record of that call, they will not refund me a dime.

Now, I'm no Buddhist. I have no reputation to uphold. I could go postal on select Verizon employees, and no one would shake their head and say, "She used to be so spiritual", or "Just last week at Bible study, she led us in prayer." I'm a quiet and somewhat shy person, so the comments would be more along the lines of, "Jeez, who knew such a quiet gal could wreak such unspeakable horror! And with her bare hands and teeth!" There would be blood samples, dental records of the deceased, and community fundraisers for the survivors. I'd be locked away in some loony bin, where the guards fed me through slats in the door, afraid to get close to Monster Madge. It wouldn't be a good life for me. I had to ask myself if it was worth it; if I was willing to spend my life behind bars for this. I was.

It was Melissa, a Verizon customer care representative, who assisted me. It was she who informed me that my request had been denied. It was Melissa who remained stonily silent while I wept, and, later, when I was done, it was she who asked if she could help me with anything else today. It was Melissa who was at the top of my list. Later there was Chester*; I'll spare you the details of our mutual frustration. My list grew. It was turning into a massacre. I planned the date: October 31, a Halloween bloodbath. The more Verizon representatives I spoke with, the longer my list grew. Every so often someone would get bumped from the top, replaced by someone higher up in the ranks, and more callous.

That's what it's really all about: callousness. Callousness so sucks. Bite me, kick me, yell at me, call me Peggy Peanut, just don't be callous toward me. But it's not really Chester's fault. It's no one's fault. It's corporate America. No heart, no soul, just a machine whose gears turn with a single mission: to make money.

I decided to let Melissa and Chester live. They may have pets, and I hate to see them go to the pound. I let it go, I breathed into it, I did every spiritual thing I could think of. Nothing really helped, but at least I tried. I was going to drop my Verizon account, but it's such a hassle. I've chosen not to fight this battle, and instead will succumb to the Satanic black hole known as Corporate America. God bless the bastards.

* I know you think I'm making this up. I'm not. I have records to prove that Chester exists.