Friends, my calling is clear! I have been sought after by the members of scene to narrate my tale. You few may scoff at this endeavor, at the hypocrisy of me serving those I once belittled as “supposed fashionistas” (see Yale Herald, 3/29). It was I who was the suppose-ed; having now discovered the light, grace, and mercy of possible transcendence, I have self-actualized!
It is true! I have found God in New Haven! Here is how it came about: Last spring on Congress Avenue, I was mauled by a small opossum. Collecting myself from the ground, I noticed a small parchment that the petite fellow had left behind. I bent down curiously and retrieved the document. Oh, happy day when I unrolled that parchment!
The text was titled “The Doctrines of Dilutetarianism,” and spoke of a religion as glorious as the Sun! This religion declares that the Universe is a laboratory, and that one day God and the Devil were assigned as lab partners. In their lab project, the two fought unceasingly over a variety of solutions, and in the process accidentally created the entirety of existence!
Contemplating these enlightening ideas, I proceeded down Congress Avenue. Suddenly, an old geezer rounded the corner, angrily shaking a tequila bottle at me. “You dare challenge me to fisticuffs?” I cried. “Taste the might of my Dilutetarianism!” I swung a right hook at his jaw, but he dodged around me and broke his bottle upon my head. As I fell down upon the cement, the cold tequila soaked through my body. And slowly, a newfound power crept over my body, invigorating my limbs, giving strength to my soul. My baptism in tequila! I must have genuflected at least 50 times on the spot, I was so excited. No longer was I a mere altar boy; from the kindness of this old drunk, I became a full-fledged sage-in-training.
When I returned to Yale campus, my calling was clear. I crept into a laboratory on Science Hill and began my experiments. I sought desperately to uncover the composition of the Original Mixture, and tried every fluid available to me: hyperchloric acid, peroxide, Dran-O, Mr. Pibb. Upon mixing three drops peroxide with one drop Mr. Pibb, a column of smoke suddenly shot forth from the flask. I reached into the flask and discovered a squirrel. This was no ordinary squirrel — this was a hyper-bionic squirrel. Now I’m sure I know less about what that means than you, but I swear it was a hyper-bionic squirrel. I’m positive. It just looked soooo hyper-bionic.
Anyway, I sent the squirrel out into the brush to convert all the other animals of New Haven into followers of my faith. “Go forth,” I proclaimed, “and Dilute! Dilute!” And he did. Within a week, the entire squirrel population was converted, within two he had the crows and muskrats, and by the end of a month the entire animal community (with the exception of opossums of course, who are already Dilutetarian sages). With his aid, the animals began carrying their own holy parchments. So the next time a squirrel pelts you with acorns, do not respond with rage, my friends. Reach down and retrieve the acorns, for they contain the magical parchments!
Such was the mission of my first disciple, the hyper-bionic squirrel. And he did this mission and it was good. And at its completion, I called together the entire animal community with a new mandate. “Go forth,” I proclaimed. “Find fluids! And bring these back to me for my mixtures!” And so they sought, and carried back a manifold of fluids. Oh, how my experiments blossomed!
A truly breathtaking discovery — a drop from the red berries of East Rock and three drops of grease from the Doodle mixed and produced a magical book. Every time I opened the book I would find within it a new play with the preface, “Go forth and perform, for the words of the theatre shall Dilute the crowd.” And so I went forth. My first attempts were poorly received, though I have a very special place in my heart for “Sons and Lovers: The Musical” and “The Far From the Madding Crowd Rock Opera.” Finally, from the book sprang forth “Dilutetarium: A Narration on the Life of the King of Sands,” about the pain and importance of being drowned in a sea of sand. Should you have seen this play, you are already far on the luminiferous path to conversion.
And now my article must end (argh, you’ve cursed me again, scene!), but I process forward, magical book in hand, squirrel on my shoulder, to convert you all. Dilute! Dilute, I say! And if you don’t, I will nevertheless tie informational capsules to all opossums of the world and bury the rest, so 400 years from now men and women may write on the age of Dilutetarianism from 2002 A.D. to 2003 A.D. Await the future, my friends: 400 years from now, a world religion of antiquity will be born!
Beyond fanatical religious practices, Tyler Coburn enjoys archery, jai alai, the novels of Virginia Woolf and khalap ghani soup.