She’s a warm fart at Christmas.

From Jethro Tull, circa 1974 – couldn’t express it better myself.


The deadline draws nigh for the Bible and Critical Theory Seminar’s call for papers. Still I cannot decide between:

‘Miracles Can Happen: Lenin and Revolution’,

‘The Music Album Musical Bum of the Bible’,

or, ‘The Matriarch’s Muff’

(as a companion piece to ‘The Patriarch’s Nuts’).

In gathering material for my ‘Music Album Musical Bum of the Bible’ (and there is far more than one might initially imagine), occasionally a gem appears. For instance, this effort at a philosophy of farting:

Farts are not all equal. Most are ho-hum, run-of-the-mill farts that are just a question of necessity. Some, however, are great and noble farts. They have resonance, volume, stink, they bring relief, express one’s mood, extend the self outward; they are one’s very soul expressed, squeezed, enfleured, captured, and displayed as an offering of the self, available just for a moment, then gone on the wind. In erupting from the body, the fart splits the body open, rendering it no longer single and hermetically sealed. Its orifice apert, the body has become double within itself; difference and otherness are within. The is the Fart Absolute, the distillate of distillate of one’s being.

Valerie Allen, On Farting, p. 104.

The transient fart can only be performed, never archived … it does not exist qua fart until it passes the anal threshold. A fart in futuro is just trapped wind. A fart long past no longer exists. A fart comes into being in the moment of transition, in between inside and outside, in between cheeks.

Valerie Allen, On Farting, pp. 2-3 (my night-time reading)