Matt W Cook

writer.former fundamentalist.christianly fellow

Month: March, 2016

David the Romantic

King Saul found out that his daughter was crushing hard on David. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. The current #1 song was about the plucky shepherd boy, and everyone was singing it. You’d think, since Saul wanted David dead, he would have tried to discourage his daughter. But like any good James Bond villain, Saul smelled opportunity.

Saul offered to marry his daughter to David. This was the second time he’d made such an offer, and David gave the same dodgy answer that he didn’t feel worthy to be the king’s son-in-law. Then Saul mentioned the dowry he’d want, should David change his mind: One hundred freshly-harvested Philistine foreskins. Suddenly, David very much like the idea of being the king’s son-in-law.

David grabbed a sword, a few friends and an empty backpack. He struck out to the nearest Philistine town, where Saul hoped he’d be killed by locals who would be understandably hesitant to part with their foreskins. Saul wasn’t counting on exactly how badass David could be.

Always willing to go the extra mile, David and his buddies collected not one, but two hundred sweaty foreskins. When he brought them back and some poor servant counted them out for the king, Saul had no choice but to hand over his starry-eyed daughter.

And you thought you had a cool engagement story.

Purposeful

You want purpose? You wouldn’t know what to do with it. But, fine, I’ll show you what purpose you may grasp.

You are the mind, consciousness emerged from an intricate mass of cells because said mass survives longer and procreates better with a mind caring for it. You are a shepherd for the flock you ignobly call “body.”

Probably you’re already fulfilling your purpose, then. Or maybe not. But if you are, there’s a delightful side-quest to work on until the flock returns to dust. Someone called it “Procreation in a  beautiful medium.”

Get to it.

Anything is ever enough

When did breathing in and out become not enough?

After you’d breathed for a while and it bored you. Then you became hungry.

And when did eating and drinking become not enough?

After you’d had your fill and food bored you. Then you grew cold.

And when did a roof over my head and blankets on my bed become not enough?

After you’d lived in your house a while, and from a warm room watched the snow fall until it bored you. Then you were restless.

And then nothing was ever enough.

Until you decide to be done with boredom.

Then anything will be enough.

Pounding at Robarts

Sitting in the crowded but nearly silent Silent Study Room at Robarts. Nothing on the air but light, scents of coffee, and the sounds of scholasticism: papers rustling, pens scratching, keyboards going tippy-type.

Then there’s this guy. He’s a pounder. I fear for his keyboard as he thuds against the silence. His Spacebars sound double-fisted and when he smashes Enter I see concentric circles in my coffee, as if the T-Rex lumbers toward me on halting feet. The message of it all, if I decipher the anxious pounding correctly, is something like “IM WORKING IM WORKING IM WORKING.” All caps, of course, and free of punctuation.