These are the things I would like to share with you today. First this:
Over in the US it has apparently become so difficult to get hold of pseudoephedrine (Sudafed), that a pair of eloquently named researchers have published a paper explaining how to manufacture it out of crystal meth.
I watched an extremely dodgy Sherlock movie yesterday which revolved around Moriarty becoming the first ever drug dealer (before the drugs he was interested in selling were actually illegal) and included Watson’s repeated, emphatic opinion that tobacco would shortly be outlawed as a danger to one’s health but all the opiate derivatives had ‘proven medicinal value’. Personally I think the movie was most notable for the number of times Sherlock had sex. This is, I think, the first time I’ve ever seen that on film. Also graphic dissection of people’s brains, if that kind of thing works for you. But I think the message buried somewhere in there was ‘all drugs, all bad, also don’t let a criminal mastermind near you with a needle’.
While we’re on the subject of governmental regulation of our lives, if you’re in Australia you should run over here and have an opinion. The House of Representatives wants to know how we feel about same sex marriage. (Tip: You feel ecstatic about it, and wonder how on earth it’s possible that it’s not already legal.)
And to get you in the mood, a poem!
What Lot’s Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn’t A Pillar of Salt)
By Karen Finneyfrock
Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?
When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?
What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.
Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?
Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.
Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.
I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you