What Does It Mean To Thanksgiving?

The Logico-Hermetic Debate

They say that a bunch of Englishmen came to this continent and starved a a bunch and that some natives or savages or whatever proved their un-savagery by helping them out through the winter.  Then things got ugly a while later, and uglier still when some land changed hands after some transactions of beads occurred, and then there was something about disease and displacement and a long history of violent campaigns involving all sorts of different people.  None of this is important to what I’m about to ask you.

Is it alms-giving?  This would imply some charity; a selflessness on the part of the natives, some form of contribution wholly on the part of noble savages saving our less survival-inclined Europeans.  The truth might blow your mind.

Turns out, there are a lot of people into this practice known as ‘drinking your own piss,’ a meme popularized by Bear Grylls, forty-something year old survivalist that shits off of cliffs and fellow cameraman-torturer aficionado. Although he’s popular in secular piss-drinking circles, he’s generally vilified as the square’s wack-job accompaniment to the true substance of urine enjoyment; something like a spokesperson for the Yellow Tail of homegrown liquid waste.

But that isn’t what this is about, is it? Of course not; don’t pretend it is.

The truth is, Siberian tribesmen have been doing this for ages. They practiced this method of engaging in hallucinogenic substances by drinking the urine of men who had ingested specific mushrooms. I can’t be bothered to indulge in the details right now; just trust me on this one. The truth is that I don’t particularly care. These Koryaks are like the indigenous wild-men of Appalachia compared to the mouth-breathing hipsters of the piss drinking community; frayed of mind and probably smelling vaguely ammoniatic, not altogether harmless. I haven’t met one yet, but I think the trans-ethnic man that runs my local 7-Eleven converted to their way of life not too long ago.

New York City

I happened to be in New York City two days ago. The stench of piss and cigarettes, the taste of pretty damn good pizza, and something about trying to wrap my lips around the end of a truck’s exhaust pipe while the rolling thunder of the traffic cascaded across the artificial canyons of the giant’s steel & concrete sleeping beds, have left their distinct impression upon my brain: the denizens of that puzzling place, vacant and distant, too numb to feel afraid; their presence provokes an unnerving sense that the world in which we now live has transformed from something vaguely horrific into something so bland and stupid, so passé and post-ironic, that sincerity, decadence, indulgence, and masturbation are only motions we can go through to imitate the liveliness and congeniality so sought after in the works of entertainment that bombard us on an hourly basis. I forgot where I was going with this. Sorry, I just had to check the updates on my phone.

Anyway, I have the distinct impression that there is a Piss Drinker’s Anonymous, something like AA except for the poor sad hoodlums hooked on urine drinking; people so depraved that they’ve stooped to catching their fixes from public toilets and the dirtiest clubs and bars; people poorly conned into the experience as a homeopathic remedy that would cure their ailments—the flu, anemia, obesity, transphobia, schizophrenia, Quadrophenia, you name it—only to find that the disgust and revulsion, the tendency to choke and purge, the self-loathing all led toward poorly-thought out abyss of greater depravity. Coprophagia, emetophagia, the uncontrollable fixation on purchasing useless Pier-1 trinkets—the ride never ends. It just gets worse and worse. I’d imagine that these meetings, attended regularly by members of the highest echelons of our society, sitting ashamed side-by-side with the homeless and the Bieber fans and soccer moms and ex-designer drug addicts, last for a few hours as they divulge their chronic psychological problems—or ones they think they have, at least, many of them likely being chronic hypocrites and hypochondriacs. They’d scream at each other and many of them would have relapses in between bashing the Bear Grylls-cliques of piss drinkers and lamenting the loss of high pagan cultures that glorified the practice that for them has become habit, addiction, disgrace.

Cutting Edge and the Moral Question

Did you read that book about… oh what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. (This is going to be the next major movement in art and literature; prototypes of this nature can be traced back to the 90s grunge scene, proto-Apathy showcasing slightly less irony and self-indulgence so pervasive in the meta-post-iconographic segmentation of the postmodern… I think I hurt my back sitting in this position.)

Drink piss.  Eat shit.  It’s A Free Country Dude.

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