The Twisted Gas

The Twisted Gas

This may be an odd way to start a blog, but I thought we could start with explaining the title. A couple of women I know went to a yoga class for the first time, and found out how difficult this discipline can be. They struggled to attain all the positions suggested by the teacher of the class. It was during a particularly ligament stretching move that the title for this blog was unintentionally emitted. A loud fart burst into the peaceful atmosphere, startling both of the women. Imagine someone popping a paper bag behind your head.

Nothing but the reverberating Brrrapp indicated that anything had happened, and one of the ladies reported that this impressed her as a bit surreal. To paraphrase: " This important event had happened, and no one was reacting. No acknowledgment whatsoever. You would think someone would at least giggle or something." You'd think. My friend wondered that, if anyone did react, would they be chased from the room and scorned forever? It seemed plausible in this strange world. She never found out, because she only attended a few more classes before dropping out, finding a bit too solemn for her tastes. The other woman continued to go, despite agreeing with this opinion, and claimed that gaseous eruptions were not uncommon, although most of the participants efforts reached her nose rather than her ears. She was unclear which she preferred.

I idly wondered if there were positions in yoga meant to illicit particularly loud farts, and I suggested the name of one, the "Twisted Bird." They laughed, as this wasn't far off of the general gist of the names. The class is remembered to me only because of the title has a rightness to it. I imagined a bird with a body twisted like a towel to wring out the precious gas, and a cartoon balloon drawn near it's bottom. Then I felt pity for the poor little warbler, and helpless to unwind it's frail little body in my imagination.

Let's move on.




This bird wants nothing to do with my images, cartoon balloons, or yoga. In fact, I have very little or no idea what this bird wants. I'm serious.




I wanted to trace out some ideas I have, and maybe some impressions, because I believe I have some theories that I have not heard before. Maybe someone has blasted them into some room somewhere, but no one has seen fit to comment on them, so the idea farts remain unmentioned, glossed over by the bad deodorants and powders of our everyday efforts to hide ourselves.

I was thinking of stating some of these things more certainly than I know, but the recent financial crisis, war predictions, and the population boom of pundits and has really driven only one fact home:

The experts know nothing.

It's not that they don't have any ideas, it's just that I have read and heard so much certainty that amounts to nothing more than verbal diarrhea. The news shows attempt to squeeze as many heads on the screen as possible, the way arenas and ball fields attempt to squeeze as many stalls in the limited space between the concession stands. All of these people seem so certain, even though hindsight has shown them to be less accurate than monkeys or random numbers. The squeezing together of these folk only seems to twist the bird even more, and the air rushes out from each square with no regard for the other.


This was originally posted on a blog commenting on 50 Repoters Giving Their "O Face." My guess there is something else issuing forth! That's the last time they serve burritos in the network cafeteria!



To start off a blog with a metaphorical theme of lower body functions leaves me with little direction to go but up. Here's a guess that I've guessed would be proved wrong even as I was typing it.

I make one disclaimer, and I credit this to an overused cliche a wise and dear old friend used to tell us: "I know that I don't know." I want to add to this: "but I feel like I know, sometimes, ya know?" The feeling is an optimistic and inspired one, still.

Tennessee Williams often wrote his great works in a series of forms. It was said that he started with a short story, and if it was still in him, he worked it out in a novella, if it was still in him then, he would work it out in a play. I don't pretend to have an ounce of that talent, but I can say that mode of creativity is one to which I can relate. So I may return to ideas now and again.

The composer Alex de Grassi once introduced his piece "Turning, Turning Back" at a concert by saying:
"This is a piece I wrote. First, it needed a guitar. Then it needed drums. Then it needed a bass and piano."
"We need to play it for you tonight."

My writing and my cooking style are like that. I start it with a hunger, a need to be filled, and I look around for things it could use. I grab a little of this, a little of that, then I start to cook the ingredients. Hopefully, by the time you sample it, it's got everything it needs.

Or it tastes like indiscriminate gruel.






No animals were harmed in the writing of this post.