Day 108

5.01: Isn’t life complicated? The early-morning writing stints are a bit drib-and-drab-like at the moment but, by the middle of next week, we may be back in earnest.

Easily in time for 20 September, which is going to be “Everyone Pray for Hitchens Day.” Meanwhile the great ponderous sausage of caustic rationalism is sticking his fingers in his ears and going tingle-ingle-oo. Don’t trouble deaf heaven with bootless prayers, he says.

Here’s a video accompanied by some jaunty Cat Stevens jangling, that spells out the situation in orange then purple sans-serif type.

Let’s not dwell on this bit, but look below the video for proof, if ever there was it, that U-tube’s comment sections are the are repositories of morons so moronic they couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag that had been built by morons who’d put holes at the top, bottom and two of the sides.

Anyway, the impressionable child in me wants to tell Hitchens to shut up and be prayed for. Most of the folk that are at it seem to be vaguely well meaning, and it’s probably less uncomfortable than having your oesophagus biopsied.

The impressionable child in me harks back to some religious leader of my youth telling declaiming, at church or school or something, that “the most powerful thing you can do for someone is to pray for them.”

The impressionable child in me thought that was rather nice.

At that time, the impressionable child in me hadn’t then met the grizzled, sweating alcoholic misanthrope in me.

Skip on 15 years. I’m 23 and sick myself. Not quite as sick as Hitchens, but sick enough to make your average doctor grimace when he looked at a chart. Sick enough to make the vicar visit.

This is when I learned that praying for someone is not “the most powerful thing you can do for them,” it seems to me to be the most phatic, self-aggrandising, vainglorious, mealy-mouthed, shorthand, unthinking thing you can do.

I know there’s the argument that says, “what people do behind closed doors and all that…” But, going round telling people you’re praying for them seems like telling Icarus you’ve been thinking jolly hard about synthesizing a special brand of sun-proof wing grease, and find the idea rather pleasing.

Not that that’s what the vicar actually said. His phatic, vainglorious, etc etc words to me were, “You’re On The List.”

Grizzled Dribbling Alcoholic Me’s with Hitchens on this one. He might as well have saved his notebook paper and his Biro ink.

6.52: Clearly, this once-a-week thing suits Stuart to a tee. Just you wait ’til the middle of next week, buddy. You’ll be ridden so hard you’ll think you’re a seaside donkey. (I don’t know if any of you have ever tried picking out a novel on a seaside donkey, but I don’t recommend it).

~ by David Thorley on September 8, 2010.

One Response to “Day 108”

  1. […] me: I haven’t checked. I was tempted to draw their attention to the fact that I wrote this a few months ago… All of which brings me to thing number […]

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