Anamoly Excerpt 1: Chapter 1
Sometimes I think about angels, and I’m not talking about those man-made, Plaster of Paris knockoffs either. You know those kind, surely: chubby little bastards blowing kisses from dainty palms, their equally chubby little wings spread wide as a hooker’s legs, a vapid smile curving their mouths. Nope. I don’t think about those kind too much. Too many of them around my parents’ house, you see; so many that I tell people they’re what drove me to the evils of the big city four years ago.
What I do think about are the real ones: the seraphim, the guardian angels, the archangels. Those who fell from Heaven when they followed that most beautiful creature of all as well as those who remained behind, stuck in paradise because they couldn’t manage out-of-the box thinking. Those ones who, all, have smooth expanses of desert where there should be moist oases of genitals. Those beings created for servitude to the glory of God. Ah, no use for genitalia to do what they do; no, indeedy not. And as you know, genitalia is a very big part of life. It rules us by its very nature of flesh and folds.
Still, do angels think about what their existence would be like with genitals: with a clitoris to raise shudders on nerve endings from sole to soul or a sensitive tip to plunge into secret areas and buckle a sac deep into its surrounding body? Or are angels, like only children free from sibling rivalry, simply unable to imagine what they’ve never experienced?
It makes me wonder if God in one of his exploratory moods granted Lucifer one of these accoutrements—or both, even—as an experiment, and ended up giving the creature an understanding of joining that the rest could never imagine.
Is that why they threw theology’s greatest hissy fit?
It might reassure you to know that I do think of other things. I’m just like you; like most folks. I think about the economy and world peace. There’s also the fact that a half-breed is the newest American President, happier to identify with his African side than his Caucasian for now because it ushers in ‘a new era.’ Not that I’m against all that. I think it’s long overdue that a man of African descent could be President. An African American woman? Getting there. Better yet, what about a bi-racial, bisexual, cross dresser for president. We’d be making real strides as humanity there, now wouldn’t we?
It matters to me, you see, that you understand just how like you I am. That I’m really a regular everyday kind of Joe. Or Josephine. Like you I worry about money, about work, about family. See? All very normal for a middle class heterosexual person.
Well, there is the tiny, very tiny, issue of what gender I am, but that’s no big deal. Not really. Not when you remember how much crap is out there in the world to deal with.
What I do think about are the real ones: the seraphim, the guardian angels, the archangels. Those who fell from Heaven when they followed that most beautiful creature of all as well as those who remained behind, stuck in paradise because they couldn’t manage out-of-the box thinking. Those ones who, all, have smooth expanses of desert where there should be moist oases of genitals. Those beings created for servitude to the glory of God. Ah, no use for genitalia to do what they do; no, indeedy not. And as you know, genitalia is a very big part of life. It rules us by its very nature of flesh and folds.
Still, do angels think about what their existence would be like with genitals: with a clitoris to raise shudders on nerve endings from sole to soul or a sensitive tip to plunge into secret areas and buckle a sac deep into its surrounding body? Or are angels, like only children free from sibling rivalry, simply unable to imagine what they’ve never experienced?
It makes me wonder if God in one of his exploratory moods granted Lucifer one of these accoutrements—or both, even—as an experiment, and ended up giving the creature an understanding of joining that the rest could never imagine.
Is that why they threw theology’s greatest hissy fit?
It might reassure you to know that I do think of other things. I’m just like you; like most folks. I think about the economy and world peace. There’s also the fact that a half-breed is the newest American President, happier to identify with his African side than his Caucasian for now because it ushers in ‘a new era.’ Not that I’m against all that. I think it’s long overdue that a man of African descent could be President. An African American woman? Getting there. Better yet, what about a bi-racial, bisexual, cross dresser for president. We’d be making real strides as humanity there, now wouldn’t we?
It matters to me, you see, that you understand just how like you I am. That I’m really a regular everyday kind of Joe. Or Josephine. Like you I worry about money, about work, about family. See? All very normal for a middle class heterosexual person.
Well, there is the tiny, very tiny, issue of what gender I am, but that’s no big deal. Not really. Not when you remember how much crap is out there in the world to deal with.
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