I’m in the early stages of a total makeover - reinventing myself into a new age man, like Geddy Lee. It’s all according to a newly penned dogma hitherto referred to as Mogfistianism. I will now be acutely sensitive to my immediate surroundings and my environment. I will also be sensitive to my own personal odour when hanging around cramped spaces - all starting today or maybe tomorrow, as it is kind of late and there’s a Stephen Hawking documentary starting on The Discovery Channel. Okay, so tomorrow I will wake up to become the kind of guy that will constantly be looking for the good in things. I used to get hung up while looking for the bad in things, but hot damn, today that’s like shooting fish in a barrel full of oil from the Gulf, which is fun at first but after a few hundred shots fired just gets a little ho-hum.
In addition to this psychic makeover I’m also developing a new religion. For anyone out there who knows me or has even casually checked out this column, you will be familiar with my daily quest not just for the meaning of life, but for the meaning of the mundane. Some people know what the meaning of life is, but refuse to tell me unless I either beg or pay or subscribe to Maclean’s Magazine– three things I refuse to do.
Philosophically and theologically speaking I remain non-committal – still trying to piece together something manageable – something that works for me. So, I have focused my new ‘glass half full’ philosophy to Frankenstein a new quasi-religious – fully customizable faith to meet all my needs. But what kind of guy am I? What are my needs?
I’m a musician with musician needs: I was raised on shock rock and horror movies – from Gene Simmons spitting blood and breathing fire to an emaciated and heavily intoxicated Alice Cooper all of which lends neatly to the religious rituals of serpent handling in rural Pentecostal churches in the southern United States. Practitioners quote the Book of Mark and the Book of Luke, trance out and pass around snakes while accompanied by the jangle of an electric guitar and a tight sweaty rhythm section. Sometimes, when things get really crazy the pastor will drink strychnine and speak in tongues. Snakes, strychnine and seventies rock and roll really does it for me.
“Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you”. (Luke 10:19)
But there must be more. Taking up snakes will only be one component of my new comprehensive personal religion. There’s some pretty jazzy stuff that I can pinch from the Church of Scientology – like hypnosis and cool e-meter gadgets. I like gadgets. I still have my first Sony Walkman that played cassettes and a watch-calculator combo that also converted imperial to metric. Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard was a writer – mostly sci-fi pulp fiction. My Mog Fist Manifesto – or Mogfistianism - will be nothing but quasi-religious pulp fiction. Hubbard turned his pulp into a tax-exempt church that today rakes in millions upon millions of dollars from its members – mostly in sales of DVDs, auditing and courses. I think it all culminates when the follower leave the planet on some celestial conveyor belt. But as crazy and wacky as all this sounds, Scientologists don’t believe in using pharmaceuticals to treat mental or physical problems. The Church of Mog Fist will tweak this a little.
From what I have come to understand is that I need something I can believe in, like that Poison song. Hopefully it will have to do with a higher form of intelligence; nothing magical, although I admit I am a sucker for some of the showier aspects of Christianity. Celebrity Christian spokesman Jesus of Nazareth seemed like a cross between a magician and a door-to-door salesman – both hard gigs to commit to. Mogfistianism would need a spokesman like Jesus. My guy won’t call everyone sinners, but will certainly agree to some type of donation. The human embodiment of the Church of Mog Fist will be probably some guy named TED – The Polite Lord of the Serpents. He will be a prophet as all great religious leaders were (are) prophets, like Larry King and famed Canadian country singer Ronnie Prophet.
Mogfistianism will not have a list of commands. Nothing pushy. Mere suggestions on how to get on with things.
1. Try not to be a dick (a gender-neutral term within this context)
2. If you see someone who is being a dick to someone else, think about saying something if you want.
3. If you feel you need to steal, don’t hurt anyone in the process, and in keeping with #1 – try not to be a dick in the process. If anything, pull off some type of insurance scam – don’t knife the guy working at the gas bar for a few bucks. That is just weak.
4. If someone thinks they’re right and you know they’re wrong – who gives a shit?
I think that about covers it for principles.
Okay, now from Judaism I think I’m going to steal their Golem (no, not LOTR bullshit). In my vast theological travels I have come to see that every religion needs their own Golem. In Jewish folklore stories are told of wise men bringing clay effigies to life through magic charms or sacred words. Yes, again with the magic. If Jesus could walk on water, my religion can have Golems. They would begin as perfect servants, whose only fault lay in fulfilling their master's commands too literally or mechanically. My Golem would protect all who bought my Mog Fist Manifesto, in which the exact recipe and easy-to-follow directions would be included as a perforated tear sheet so everyone could make their own Golem. Just be careful what you wish for.
Okay, so we got music and theatrics with a smidge of bad science fiction. We have snakes and magic tricks and a Golem and a short list of suggestions and the answer to every question ever asked. The Church of Mog Fist needs something else. It needs money. Piles of money. Gobs of money. Enough money to choke ten horses and sixty rhinos. Salvation does not come cheaply brothers and sisters. You get what you pay for. No one rides for free. You know who said this originally? Moses! Yes. I like that. Moses was too bossy though – all rattled after the burning bush on Mount Sinai. Mog Fist will have a parable not about a burning bush but maybe a belching baker. He will be the first one to have discovered the terrible powers of creating a Golem.
As a practicing Mogfistians, you will be pro-choice in that you have the choice to make your own decisions. They could be terrible decisions with terrible ramifications like public floggings or incarceration, but the choice will remain with the individual. Take away an individual’s choice and what do we have? Well, the foundations for a pretty archaic religion, and if anything Mogfistianism will be progressive and hip and will have its own Facebook page and a celebrity spokesperson – someone trendy but believable to help spread the good word. What Kirstie Alley did for Jenny Craig, we need someone like that. Someone who is fit and with either great abdominal muscles or long hair that always looks like it’s just been shampooed. It could be a woman as well – as long as her hair is long and looks like it’s just been shampooed.
As for rituals, there will be a couple, just to make this whole thing legitimate. Human sacrifices will be purely on a volunteer basis. Should there be no volunteers for the Mog Fist Fall Harvest a lottery will take place to be overseen by some type of Shaman. Or maybe the Golem. It’s not totally planned out yet, but I’m leaning towards someone being placed in a catapult and launched high up and over the Ottawa River well into Quebec, where the lucky sacrifice will then spread the good word like the Jesuits to the Native Americans. Amen.
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