The Logbook of Time, or Why My Scrotum Aches

 

                                       The Logbook of Time, or Why My Scrotum Aches

Wouldn’t it be great if Time itself were kept in some enormous logbook, under the supervision, say, of the angel Gabriel? You want to know exactly what you were doing and thinking on May 12, 1967, or, in an earlier incarnation, on May 12, 1597, all you have to do is borrow Gabriel’s logbook, turn back the pages and look . . . No. There are too many shameful, deceitful acts and thoughts back in anyone’s past. Best not to look.

What if you discovered that in an earlier incarnation you were a horse thief from Deadwood, Nevada, a totally corrupt human being named Eddington Slort, who ended his life strung up by the balls in the small desert town of Mesquite?

So now at least I know why my scrotum sometimes aches.

Don’t google your own name. Once I googled my name and discovered a man in Maine, who had my exact name and who was a serial killer. Don’t google your own name.

[excerpted from the book by U.R. Bowie, Here We Be. Where Be We?]