God forgets his keys

You have heard the wise of the Buddhists and Hindus explain incarnation by saying that we as humans have forgotten our one true nature as God.

But I say unto you that it is the reverse. We as God have forgotten how much it hurts to be human.

The problem is that the soul has no body to write tattoo messages on during the transition between lives. We need to figure out how to write “it fricken hurts” on our souls so we’ll think twice before leaping into the next human form.

Thor knows.

To a man with a hammer, everything’s a chiseled body. “You lift?” I’ve been saying to well-sculpted women for forty years, like they’re just about to float up the gravity well. Incarnation’s a dictionary: a lot of words and a bit of definition doesn’t hurt. Life sentence and such.

Now that I’m wrinkling I got even more definition than when I was a streetfighter. You should see me when firstsun comes slanting in on me sideways as the homestar pops up. I have so much definition I don’t even need words. I’m so cut I don’t just have definition I have grain. I’m so old I have rings. That’s not a spare tire around my middle, that’s 1988.

Humans, am I right? I’ve enumerated some of their deficiencies in my Substack Notes. I’ve noticed that some of you are behind in your reading. You can re-evaluate that strategy at quiz time.

Taken as an oeuvre, the Thor stack is an attempt to warn off spirits coming in hot, to get them to consider their options during reentry. Instead of being negative, I should be redirecting to positive options, like American eagles, so you can say “the eagle has landed.” They look like bodybuilders but that’s just because their heads are small, so the American moniker is apt.

If you’re looking to embody as octopi let me just say that yes that’s in the Local Group of galaxies but it’s two over so don’t be fooled by all this water.

Personally, I favor dung beetles. Have you seen these guys rolling their huge spheres? Clearly having more fun than most humans, and none of them have mental illness, as evidenced by the fact that none of them have posted ball jokes or “my vibe on Substack” meme pics. What those dung beetle vids never reveal is the shuffle dance parties that take place after hours when the cameras are turned off. I have a shuffle-dance human lady in my feed trough with a tattoo on her very upper thigh like an incarnation scar and she’s clearly a spirit who came in hot. I honor her as the dung beetle she truly is. I never do porn and I strive for near-Mormon levels of dry-bar comedy comportment but I sometimes have to research these articles.

Where was I? If you’re thinkin what I’m thinkin you’re thinkin that that lady doing shuffle dance with that dung beetle is something to try and not think about. The fact is that “where was I?” is not, as the great sages aver, the human striving to remember her Godliness, but God trying to remember if one more jump into the planet is worth it.

—DDT writes from Niagara on Earth