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There is something extremely sad in this particular case, though. I do not know about other my fellow- readers but I feel very depressed whenever I encounter a snarling woman- coprophag. That seems so unnatural, so mean, really. Women for me are the symbols of common sense and tolerance, the beacons of a civilized behavior. And when the otherwise intelligent lady of letters suddenly bares her fangs and snarls it is like losing the sense of humanity. Sad, what a waste, really. Case 3. Three heaps of shit for Mr. R. This case is of a personal nature because it was the only one when I tried a Tabasco sauce approach to cure a coprophag; alas, with no success. Mr. R. is a commenter on the opednews site; he does not write articles. My interaction with him revealed the three heaps of feces he sits comfortably in between:
Any rational veterinarian would understand from those three edges that here we are dealing with the self- developed coprophag, a person who built his own comfortable, small Universe, powered by the heat from those heaps and feels perfectly happy there. I should have known better before I implemented the Tabasco sauce drop pointing out to him that none of the postulates above have anything to do with the real world and/or truth for that matter. The unfortunate Mr. R. started snarling right away. At first he called me a 'Moslem cleric', which corresponds to the postulate #3; in his eyes apparently to be a Moslem cleric means to promote violence and intolerance. Then, when he realized his mistake he invented a definition of the 'lost soul, still sad from leaving the former USSR'. He denied me even my Jewishness because apparently it seemed that he 'loved the Jews' but could not stand that one particular Jew, that would be me. He also got really irritated at my statements about WWII and wrote that he was tired of the self- proclaimed expert of sorts. I let it drop after that. No need to bother. But for the sake of the readership there is one thing I need to mention here: I am an expert in the WWII affairs. Not by choice but by destiny. In the country like Russia which lost 27 million people in that carnage the children of those who themselves were children in that war are the true experts. Our generation, the one born about 10 years after the war, had both the means to absorb the information and enough interest to seek the truth from various sources including the German ones. We could listen to the witnesses, read the documents and make comparisons. We could visit places. We could hear voices. We had the luxury of the free time and reasonably full belly no one before us had and the still smoking materiel no one after us enjoyed. So, yes, take it or leave it, we are the true experts in the field and we can and will tell the truth whenever possible, no matter how bitter it sounds to the coprophags: Russia won that war. The US just jumped on a bandwagon. The nuclear bombardment of Japan was a crime against Humanity, nothing more. Having said all that I hereby leave my triangulated coprophag in his cage. 'They say that the seeds of what we will do are in all of us but it always seemed to me that in those who make jokes in life the seeds are covered with better soil and with a higher grade of manure' E. Hemingway. The Movable Feast The Interlude: How To Deal With The Human Coprophagia. I started writing this article in the seat of the MD airplane right close to the toilet and the stench contributed to my metaphorical mood. Eventually I realized that I was writing about a widely spread phenomena. I could list more and more cases. Hillary Clinton is a coprophag and so is Joe Lieberman. The one really shining coprophag was Jerry Falwell, RIP. Of course, O' Reilly is one and so is Ann Coulter. In fact, most of the Bushites are coprophags except for the Bush himself (he is mad) and Cheney ( he is a vampire). Nice company. There is one similar feature in all those cases, though and it relates to the coprophagia in the Nature. Coprophags are primarily puppies. In the human world that means shallow, low- level minds, undeveloped, short- circuited or 'drive- through' minds, incapable of real feelings, fearful of deep emotional processes, minds on Prozac, so to speak. Such minds are ideal gateways, entrances for the coprophagia. Once entered it thrives on one and only one feature- arrogance. And that's why it is in abundance in the US- even the most advanced people here are arrogant beyond belief. Once and for all they establish their dominance as the 'happy folks of the true democracy' and once and for all they claim the right to 'do something to those, other people', be those Iraqis, Iranians, Palestinians, Russians or French. So far I have encountered very few Americans who would state unequivocally that the best behavior for the human being is to mind his/her own business and that should work for the good old USA too. Arrogance is by no means a uniquely American thing. Yours truly was not immune to it and spent a lot of time in self- indulging misery. In the relative safety of the Empire I caressed my arrogance and stupidity until the day came when the proud citizen of the best country in the world found himself a refugee on the foreign soil. That's when I looked into the mirror and saw a turd hanging out of my mouth. . This is the only way to cure the coprophagia, my friends; you have to acknowledge that you are a coprophag first and foremost. And you have to do that on your own: no one can help you with it. After that it is rather easy: you must start taking pills of suspicion, guilt and disgust, acknowledge that all people are the same and seek for the roses. Ah, the roses! There are a plenty of those around. How about the short stories by O' Henry? Or Jack London's 'Martin Eden', or John Steinbeck's ' Traveling with Charlie'? How about 'Horrors of War' painting series by Francisco Goya? And if you want Dostoevsky, how about the ' Teenager', that book of love, compassion and understanding of the process when a boy becomes a man?
A writer is a rogue goose. All other gees fly in a flock formation; every goose knows his place and time for honking. The rogue goose is undisciplined. He leaves the formation indiscriminately to have a look at it from aside. He roams back and forth, takes a peep at the leader, honks a little bit from behind, distracts everyone and writes on what he sees. Time passes and as he wants to return back to his place he discovers someone else there. Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest or join another flock in emigration. Those other birds could be cranes, storks or even crows. If he makes it he will become a rogue again. Whenever he goes and whatever he writes he never reaches a destination or enjoys a landing. There's only Kipling's God of Fair Beginnings and skies above and beyond. And the only way for a writer to make peace with the Deity is through the language of Poetry.
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