Kitchen's Clean.

I told myself that if I kicked my ass and cleaned the kitchen I could sit down and blog. Incidentally I just cleaned most of my kitchen with carpet & upholstery odor eliminator. It worked alarmingly well which is why I didn't realize it for quite a while, I mean so well I decided to really scrub down the wooden counter surface. It's like 5 shades lighter, dentally speaking. Although I splashed some of the bleachified dirt on my ID Lubricants shirt, which I got for running the Bk Pride 5K. Bummer. It's like my "Don't fornicate" shirt, I like the overt sexual content in clothing.

Here is the real blog. Or whatever.

It was a morning like any other, a Sunday in my shitty neighborhood, only -
there was a weird quiet, gentle feeling around
there was no bass vibrating the sidewalk, buildings, etc.
there was no yelling
even in the park, a few kids were playing but quietly, teaching each other some little dance
but mostly it was all these routes to the same place like people were drawn by some force, mostly silent, walking slowly together in small groups
like a magnet, the church in the center, pulling people toward it along every walkable surrounding circuit the sidewalk the street the walk through the park
like a shared journey, short pilgrimage on a lovely morning
like the Mystics (you know, the anti-Skeksies) when they all start singing sort of like elephants and they all know they're supposed to go to the special place to gather
and on the hour the bells rang, kindly, and as soon as they stopped the singing started - unclear but hearty, hearted, heartful.
Together.
The older ones in dresses and ties, the younger in jeans (whoa!), supporting the oldest and youngest by linking arms and pushing wheelchairs and strollers
[disclaimer] I don't even know what kind of church it is, except Christian
and to be late is okay; there's no harried hurried steps, averted eyes and sympathetic smiles in reaction to your embarrassed look of apology (because god knows that's what I remember of church)
Late is as late does, and they all end up singing the same song
Yeah, of course it helps that I don't speak the language, but the whole thing seemed kind, forgiving, gentle-even a little bit magical

and if you know me then you know how uncomfortable the whole scenario makes me, and all the more to see it as magical. I don't even like City Year anymore because they stand in Union Square every morning doing chants and it's a scary groupthink moment

But remember, Maybe Girl, in that church there must've been some major guilt headed in from the horizon - remember, Jesus the cock-blocker? Inevitably?

I think if people ask me about religion from here on out I'm going to say not atheist, not agnostic. I'm going to say, "I'm an ascetic." Just to be good and confusing.