Street Krishnas

Instead of Christians at the corner, today we had Krishnas. And I prefer the Krishnas. At least they don't preach, don't use amplifiers, and when they smile it looks sorta like genuine happiness instead of an order from God (You Will Smile At The Non-Believers).

Of course, they're believers in nonsense, but it's a nonsense unknown to me, so it's less obnoxious than Christianity.

At least the Krishnas seem to be having a good time, with their singing and dancing and drums and tambourines, and wearing the Krishna-kook robes. I even kinda like their music — it's soothing, in a new age silly sort of way. Is it available on cassette?

Definitely, the Krishnas' street style is preferable to the Christian street preachers, who usually wear suits, babble into microphones, sing or play much worse music, and stay all day, preaching and singing and hassling passers-by.

That's what proselytizing is — sticking their Jesus in your face forever, until you drop to your knees and join them. And if you never drop to your knees, if you tell them no thanks, it doesn't matter because the Christians never stop preaching.

The Krishnas, by comparison, did no preaching at all, and stayed only half an hour. They sang and smiled, but didn't try to talk anyone into their Krishna consciousness, and then they danced down the street and around the corner, to do whatever the heck Krishnas do when they're not dancing and chanting.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

It feels like there should be something more to say about today. After all, it was a day, twenty-four hours and all. I was awake and healthy and alive, three things it's marvelous to be, and all day long I saw and heard things and thought about things.

I went to work on the Avenue, talked to people, sold some fish, ate a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and sold some more fish and talked to some more people. And then I came home, ate a couple of more sandwiches for dinner, played with Lugosi the giant dog, and read a few zines. And then I ate yet another sandwich, and typed about the Krishna kooks. 

Nothing else seems worth mentioning, though. Does anyone want to read that I stopped halfway home to remove a pebble from inside my shoe, or that my ass itched a lot because I hadn't wiped it so tidy as I'd intended?

No, nobody wants to read that, and I don't particularly want to write it, so the entirety of today's entry will be only Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare.

From Pathetic Life #20
Sunday, January 28, 1996 

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
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