Archive > 1974 > Jan · Feb · Mar · Apr · May · Jun · Jul · Aug · Sep · Oct · Nov · Dec

May 1974 · Previous · Next   PDF

Steal this author

By Abbie Hoffman

I know there’s a God. An old man who sits in heaven and judges. I don’t mean the Godwho throws lightning bolts into crap games or flies around balling wood nymphs who give birth to four-headed frogs. No, the God I believe in doesn’t give in to fits of rage, or indulge in whimsy. Maybe in the old days but not now. Centuries of massacres and not being able to find a parking place have worn down His passion for life. He is becoming a God of little faith, and when I tell Him my tale of woe, as I have done each night for the past two years, He shrugs His shoulders, nods, and says, “So?” Not the “So?” He uttered after a cop broke my nose in six places when he caught me separating a bus from its engine during a demonstration. Nor the “So?” I got when I confessed to Him that I lost on the Super Bowl last year because I had assumed Nixon would fix it for the Redskins. But the eternal “So?” that can come only from having observed the human condition since time immemorial. The one Dostoevsky’s Christ-returned laid on the Grand Inquisitor when he kissed his tormentor on the forehead.

42 43 44 48 49

SEE ALSO: Hoffman, Abbie; Authors and publishers; Experience publishing Steal this book; Publishers and publishing; Radicals; Steal this book (Book)

Previous · Next