Today is 12.19.17.5.10 9 Ok 3 Wo

970 shopping days until 13.0.0.0.0 4 Ahau 3 K’ank’in.

Today is also Boobquake. Flash ta for science.

Little Sister is watching.

A message from the Boobquake Experiment’s creator, Jennifer McCreight:

Help fight supernatural thinking and the oppression of women, just by showing your cleavage!

“Many women who do not dress modestly … lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes,” Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi was quoted as saying by Iranian media. Sedighi is Tehran’s acting Friday prayer leader.

I have a modest proposal.

Sedighi claims that not dressing modestly causes earthquakes. If so, we should be able to test this claim scientifically. You all remember the homeopathy overdose?

Time for a Boobqauke.

On Monday, April 26th, I will wear the most cleavage-showing shirt I own. Yes, the one usually reserved for a night on the town. I encourage other female skeptics to join me and embrace the supposed supernatural power of their breasts. Or short shorts, if that’s your preferred form of immodesty. With the power of our scandalous bodies combined, we should surely produce an earthquake. If not, I’m sure Sedighi can come up with a rational explanation for why the ground didn’t rumble. And if we really get through to him, maybe it’ll be one involving plate tectonics.

So, who’s with me? I may be a D cup, but that will probably only produce a slight tremor on its own. If you’ll be joining me on twitter, use the tag #boobquake!

McCreight blogs at Blag Hag. You can follow her Boobquake updates there, or follow her on Facebook, Twitter, or just google boobquake. ABC, CNN, BBC, and myriads of other online media circling this one like crazed moths around a hot, bare, incandescent, um,  bulb.

For those pilgrims and seekers who happen to be in the D.C. area today, there will be a Boobquake rally at Dupont Circle this afternoon. BBC Persia and who knows what other industrial infotainment media reps will be dancing attendance, bristling with microphones and cameras. Dr. Omed like a nice dance, even tho’ he is shy, and may be wallflowering this event in person.

I will close with the finest poem I know on the subject of ta in the English, by Charles Simic:

BREASTS

I love breasts, hard
Full breasts, guarded
By a button.

They come in the night.
The bestiaries of the ancients
Which include the unicorn
Have kept them out.

Pearly, like the east
An hour before sunrise,
Two ovens of the only
Philosopher’s stone
Worth bothering about.

They bring on their nipples
Beads of inaudible sighs,
Vowels of delicious clarity
For the little red schoolhouse of our mouths.

Elsewhere, solitude
Makes another gloomy entry
In its ledger, misery
Borrows another cup of rice.

They draw nearer: Animal
Presence. In the barn
The milk shivers in the pail.

I like to come up to them
From underneath, like a kid
Who climbs on a chair
To reach the forbidden jam.

Gently, with my lips,
Loosen the button.
Have them slip into my hands
Like two freshly poured beer-mugs.

I spit on fools who fail to include
Breasts in their metaphysics
Star-gazers who have not enumerated them
Among the moons of the earth …

They give each finger
Its true shape, its joy:
Virgin soap, foam
On which our hands are cleansed.

And how the tongue honors
These two sour buns,
For the tongue is a feather
Dipped in egg-yolk.

I insist that a girl
Stripped to the waist
Is the first and last miracle,

That the old janitor on his deathbed
Who demands to see the breasts of his wife
For the one last time
Is the greatest poet who ever lived.

O my sweet, my wistful bagpipes.
Look, everyone is asleep on the earth.
Now, in the absolute immobility
Of time, drawing the waist
Of the one I love to mine,

I will tip each breast
Like a dark heavy grape
Into the hive
Of my drowsy mouth.

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6 responses to “Today is 12.19.17.5.10 9 Ok 3 Wo

  1. Oh man, I’d fogotten about that poem. Every stanza tops the one before, building like a porn flick to that final awesome metaphor.

  2. I think “Breasts” was published in “Dismantling the Silence” and that was thirty odd years ago, Dave.

    As a former movie projectionist, I can tell you that the vast majority of porn flicks do not rise to the occasion, so to speak, anywhere near so well as Simic’s poem, particularly after repeated “viewing.”

  3. You’re right. I have that book. Now I’m thinking it’s time to read it again…

  4. And I had never read that before now. Thank you!

  5. You’re welcome!

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