"There is a god and his name is Aristophanes." -- Heinrich Heine
Heine's line recurs to me on this raincloudy gray November day, and for my 500th post here at Mindful Pleasures, with a mind to the horrors that are being unleashed around the world in the names of gods, I want to expand upon Heine and state my own little comic credo, my modest ejaculation on the side of life, and let it stand as a Lenny Brucean "unfuck you" to everyone and everything on the side of death in this sometimes terrible sometimes wonderful world. Pardon my parataxis:
There is no god but Aristophanes and Petronius and Boccaccio and Chaucer and Rabelais and Cervantes and Shakespeare and Congreve and Moliere and Swift and Pope and Fielding and Sterne and Diderot and Voltaire and Carroll and Wilde and Joyce and Kafka and Bulgakov and Beckett and Nabokov and West and Heller and Grass and Vonnegut and Irving and Pynchon and Barthelme and Rushdie and Roth and Vidal and Jong and Wallace and Amis the father and Amis the son and that holy goat Anthony Burgess--and Henry Miller is His profane prophet.