“First of all, Papa Smurf didn’t create Smurfette. Gargamel did. She was sent in as Gargamel’s evil spy with the intention of destroying the Smurf village. But the overwhelming goodness of the Smurf way of life transformed her. And as for the whole gang-bang scenario, it just couldn’t happen. Smurfs are asexual. They don’t even have… reproductive organs under those little, white pants. It’s just so illogical, you know, about being a Smurf. You know, what’s the point of living… if you don’t have a dick?”
Today is one of those “resonant” days.
For starters, October 2nd was the day in the 2001 movie Donnie Darko upon which all that business with “Frank” started.
Frank, of course, was the Pooka-type human-sized bunny that the titular (huhhuh…titular) character began interacting with. Later in the movie (spoilers) we find out that Frank is actually a dead person inside a “bunny suit.”
Which prompted, of course, the famous exchange:
We then immediately after get this:
Fans of the movie Donnie Darko consider October 2 to be the date when a “tangent universe” was created. They do not actually believe a “tangent universe” was created in our reality. Though, to be fair, there are some people out there who do believe we are living in a universe that “branched out” of the common one; and perhaps, some Donnie Darko fans are indeed among them.
My mom used to say that people who cook up such outlandish bullshit theories probably have too much time on their hands.
Today is also the birthdays of both Richard III and Groucho Marx. I’d like to believe that if the two of these historical personages ever met in some Bill And Ted like slaphappy time-traveling romp, they would exchange some jokes and pleasantries. Or perhaps Groucho would just mercilessly make fun of a clueless Richard. Either one would be entertaining to me, and “bring history to life”–which of course is what we want.
It is also the birthday of rocket scientist and occultist Jack Parsons…the “unofficial” history of whom I have written here.
Now, I have a very funny story about Jack Parsons I’d love to share with you. But in order to provide the requisite amount of context, I direct you first to author Robert Anton Wilson’s musings about the idea of reincarnation.
So in The Cosmic Trigger I, Wilson describes various forms of mind-expansion he indulged in during the Sixties and Seventies. Among them were various meditations and consulting of psychics which yielded information about a number of his supposed past lives; among them, an Irish bard and ancient Asian philosopher.
Wilson noted that while such esoteric speculations were momentarily intriguing–they also were, like his sporadic “contacts” with aliens on Sirius, not really provable and likely to be just “mind exercises.” That is why he said he would rather promote the idea of a human-sized bunny like the Pooka–or, if you will, Frank–so nobody would take any of this mental masturbation seriously.
Anyway, at one point after 2012 or so, I began to get the following info in my meditations: that I was the reincarnation of Jack Parsons.
Now obviously, I don’t really believe that. But as one of Wilson’s “mind exercises”–perhaps my left brain talking to my right–it’s pretty goddamn funny. Certainly, there’s a lot metaphorically I could read into that; and as a writer, especially of comic books and science-fiction, I traffic a lot in these exaggerated metaphors.
So here was the basic idea: Jack Parsons, in life, fucked up. He fucked up not because he was an “evil” guy…but simply because he was an irresponsible asshole. And because he fucked up–per the law of Karma–he would have to spend his subsequent lives addressing all the bullshit he committed because he was an irresponsible asshole.
And part of the reason he fucked up–per the self-indulgent LARP I no doubt mistook as a genuine meditation–was that he massively profaned the Creator with all that sexual magick.
Again: he didn’t do it because he was an “evil guy,” but rather just an irresponsible asshole.
So per Karma, the Creator thought it would be really funny if Parsons reincarnated as a woman. And then he’d be born into the “Information Age” so he could spend his time exhaustively researching exactly how and why he fucked up and what the (continuing) consequences are.
You know: a “time out” for him to reflect on what he did, as you’d do with any misbehaving child.
Now: this is all a very adorable story, but, as I noted before, I do not actually take it as literal fact. I have created hundreds of stories, fictional stories for books and comics and etc., many of which I’ve by now forgotten but are listed on a spreadsheet in one of my files.
So if we move away from the LARP bullshit and just get to the “meat” of why Parsons “fucked up”–outside of the drug-fueled black magick orgies–I would have to say it’s because he might have just opened up a bunch of portals willy-nilly and a horde of “aliens” flew through them.
But I don’t even believe that. I don’t even believe there’s frickin’ aliens.
I don’t believe nuthin’!
Again: these are all metaphors we use to make sense of—and perhaps add a little extra meaning to—our lives and the Universe.
But what we do know–what is indisputable–is that on this day, Richard III, Groucho Marx, and Jack Parsons were all born.
And now, here’s Weezer: