When Your BUTT Turns Into an ASS
We often reckon time in terms of before and/or after some remarkable event. Notable examples include B.C. and A.D., the civil rights act of 1964, the dismantling of the Berlin Wall in 1989; and 9/11 of course.
For me, my Being Until Transformative Trauma, or “BUTT”, includes everything from Thanksgiving Day 1980 (birth day) to around May 23rd, 2009.
Twas on or about that day that a lesion in my brainstem began to leak blood like so much pee-pee from a baby’s untrained bladder.
Life with the Awareness Subsequent a Stroke, or “ASS”, began, as I reckon it, on September 3rd, 2009. I’ve started calling September 3rd my “rebirthday”. This is not to say I strode from the hospital after surgery like so much John Travolta a la Saturday Night Fever. Surgery on the brain bestows no alleviation of symptoms, rather it visits more trauma upon the already sensitive cogitation apparatus. The significance of this event was not the surgery itself, but rather the decision to have surgery.
Now that I think on it, ASS could also be Awareness Subsequent Surgery. Either way, my BUTT had no idea of the impending ASSery.
Reciprocally, any account I…uh…recount, about my BUTT is anecdotal. That is, my ASS tends to glorify my BUTT because I’ve had my ASS for a long time. Therefore, the time of my BUTT has been elevated to the level of golden age, when it may not have been so great. That’s the thing, I try to get my ASS in gear, but my BUTT always gets in the way. In a manner of speaking, my BUTT is a pain in my ASS.
I tell you what though, I’ve been psyching myself up with inspirational literature (Leslie Brown and a few others). They have led me to the conclusion that my ASS is all mixed up; largely because my BUTT believed that I’d continue on much like I had been. Think about that, Internet; my ASS, your ASS, his ASS, her ASS doesn’t have to be the same or worse than the BUTT. This may seem obvious to you, but this has been a revelation to my ASS.
By comparison, I was a lazy BUTT, but my crazy ASS never rests. I think my BUTT would’ve been fine cruising through life as a spectator, but I’ve a joy joy feeling of significance taking shape in my ASS (relax, I’m not about to take a dump).
I speak, again, of a singularity — my term for when seemingly unrelated objects and/or events come together in such a way that providence seems not only possible, but probable.
The beauty of a singularity is that it both transcends and affirms one’s faith. Christians may give all credit to God, Muslims to Allah, Jedi to the Force, Donald Trump to money and nonsense (or I guess that would be Money and Nonsense (Monsense?) when they’re deified); but the way I see it, a singularity is simply a sign that there are powerful forces all around us.
For example, the (initial) topic of this post is before and after or b & a. These two letters, over the course of the yarn I’ve here spun, have taken on new meaning. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about BUTT and ASS. Does this mean the powerful forces have conspired for me to tell you all about my BUTT and ASS? That question is irrelevant. I believe it to be true and as WI Thomas said, “If men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences”. At this moment that means that I believe powerful forces are aligning behind me, so from my point of view, it’s true. If it’s true, it must also be true that you, dear reader, were meant to read and comment and get off your BUTT, get your ASS in gear (I realize that some of you don’t have an ASS or a BUTT as I use them here, but you know what I mean), and experience the turning of the gears of life.
OK, I’ve put my ASS into this entry. Better quit while I’m ahead.
FIN
