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When I first encountered Medium, my overly imaginative assumption was that it was a social platform for spiritists, holding online seances together. I pictured the scrambled faces of dead American presidents on condensated laptop-screens and, somewhere in a back room, a levitating Dalai Lama. How wrong I was! And fortunately so, for I do not like communicating with the dead, although it cannot always be avoided.

Even the watchman needs to make water sometimes. Why is it that urinating and defecating are typically left out of stories and movie scripts? The Hebrew of the holy scrolls of the Jews has an expression that is usually translated with something like “all men” or “every man”, but literally reads: all who make water against the wall. So, my brethren, let us make water against the wall! But first: let us drink!

Noah’s first action after the dramatic episode of the flood to be recorded in the Torah is getting totally wasted on his own house-brand wine. He got naked, too, and one can only imagine what a drunk, naked man lying on the ground would be doing. Whatever it was, before long, Noah passes into a coma. Two of his sons lift his heavy body and carry it to a safe place without allowing their eyes to see what may not be seen.

Just a while before that, the third son reacts differently than his pious brothers: he laughs at the sight of his father having made a complete fool out of himself. The man that escaped God’s frantic genocide by virtue of his righteousness, lying on the ground butt-naked, totally pissed and passed out? That IS hilarious, be it in a rather dark and cynical way.

Nevertheless,the son who laughed is being cursed by his hungover dad the next day. Later in the course of history, he comes to be seen as the forefather of the black race, so that the punishing, torturing or killing of any black man, woman or child is justified by the laughing of an archaic young man at his pissed, naked, passed out father.

Brethren, I will keep you in suspense no longer. The time to laugh at our drunk, naked, comatose father is come! To be cursed by the saints is like the singing of the most wondrous birds to my ears.

I will rest now, for I am ill, but my illness need not concern you. It is an illness of the couleur locale, not an illness of the mind or the body.

I will rest now, and fantasize about an online seance where Noah offers his apologies to his laughing son in tears of eternal regret. On the marbled screen of my tablet, Ham is still laughing. Not even God could get the image out of his head.