The Great Return

Years have passed since I last wrote of my feces. I have found it unnecessary, but at this moment I ask myself “why not?” Shit has taken a back seat to my other thoughts. I have grown distanced from this wondrous substance. 3 days prior I wrote this to a friend, but only at his suggestion:

Shit is often referred to as a waste product. but what other products exit the body directly, through means of some sphincter? Lo, it is my fervent belief that shit is the product of the body, the only product of the body. Though it stinks, yes, though it is what our innards have rejected, yes, why should we reject it? Are we just our innards? Are we no more than a collection of hot, pussing skin-flaps? I saw a gorilla marveling at his shit one day at the zoo. How moved I was! He was leafing through it as a blind man leafs through the lost pages of some divine book. Then, he found one pearly nugget of undigested food inside and indulged himself, again. Waste product? perhaps. But one man's waste is another man's treasure. Similarly so, the waste of one intestine could very well be the glory of another’s soul.

I witnessed the result of this kind of thinking while visiting Pomona university. A man or woman had taken their shit, and perhaps the shit of others, and thrown it in a great wash all over a brick wall. The stench was powerful and earthy. I wanted to rub against that wall, but spared myself as shit is a waste product and nobody wants to roll in waste. People only want to roll in fortuity, in soft mosses and luscious breasts. But moss is simply the waste of the soil, breasts the waste of a flesh. Shit, the only product of a human. This is true beauty. A solid cylinder of shit, sometimes lumpy, sometimes smooth, veiled in such delicious garments of scent. I would love to bite into that dirty sushi, but many have told me it could be harmful. one person named Divine did such a thing, and she is a very successful actress. Shit, I love you.

Only a half hour after eating some peanuts, my flatulence is a surprising distillation of boiled sulfur and the perfect essence of those peanuts. Today’s second wipe is oily and a rich, glorious dark yellow. It is velvety and wet. The logs are diffuse and weightless. My new bowl is quite dark; my girlfriend had the foresight to install a small blue disk that hides both the sight and odor of the shit. I know she only wants to help, but Jesus, I thought that she knew me. One of the logs looks like a shrimp, the other resembles the hind of a frog. I am sorry my friends, you know what I must do…and they are gone. The odor in this bathroom is like a sweet, ripe cantaloupe! What glorious combinations are possible, and only moments ago so putrid and completely anathema to olfaction! I have seen the movie “Perfume” and find the behavior of the main character supremely odd. Why go to so much trouble to capture the scent of women, when one can easily make a shit and enjoy far more impossible symphonies, without the trouble of murdering people and acting like a royal prick.