Today is Pungenday, the 10th day of Discord in the Year of our Lady of Discord 3186
People occasionally ask me about my religious beliefs, and in the list that I trot out is Discordianism. I've often said that if someone put a gun to my head and said "pick a religion", it'd be Judaism, because everything's laid out right there in writing for all to see. But in the background, in my hidden heart, I'd be Discordian. It's partly my anarchistic tendencies, partly for the culture jamming that goes along with Operation Mindfuck, possibly just my bloody-minded contrarianism. So I'm a Discordian socialist anarcho-syndicalist, Taoist-Buddist Jew (in other words, a Buddhist Taoist anarchistic socialistic Jewboy).
One of the sillier things I have on my computer is a little command line toy called
ddate, which gives me the Date. Being the silly geek that I am, it's also displayed prominently on my desktop (which for added Geek Points, is of course Linux) via Conky. It makes me happy for a wide variety of reasons.
The fact that I've the Discordian date visible on my computer rather than the Jewish one tells me which is uppermost. It's a reminder to me that I tend to take myself too seriously. It's the reason I've come back to E2, as well. This place is still for me a surreal Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy, an odd mix of opinions, journals, poetry and fact that is how I imagine the world's blog would look like.
Then there's the odd way that time works for me now. Years flee behind me like rats down a drainpipe, but each day is long and rich and turgid with possibility, and having an odd calendar also calls that to mind. Time is telescoping as I grow older, but when I was a child, time crawled by; summers were years long. I suspect that this is the Universe, toying with me. Possibly Eris herself, Goddess of Discord, plays this game with us mere humans.
I recall a poem I read as a child that encompassed the passing of time with time, in an anthology of children's verse.
When as a child I laughed and wept,
When as a youth I waxed more bold,
When I became a full grown man,
When older still I daily grew,
Soon I shall find, in passing on,
O Christ! wilt Thou have saved me then?
Somewhere in storage I still have that book; one day I will despair of not having it in hand, and dig it out. But today is not that day. Today is for the golden apple that is the sun, and throwing myself headlong into country life.
Damnit, turgid is such a great word.
Post scriptum I should add a detail to clarify chaosdiscord's comment in the first writeup here: Saint Tibs' Day is an intercalary day added in the standard leap year; in other words, it's the 29th of February.