The Anus

The anus is the guardian of modesty. The anus is our sense of control in this living world. We voluntarily controls the levator ani muscle that make up the anus itself. We decide when to pass solids and gas. We decide to empty our bowels. We decide to not embarrass ourselves in public predicaments. We leave the room and of course, we associate voluntary anal control with people that are with it. And thus, we associate certain individuals that do not have this luxury, the extreme ages, babies and the very elderly. It is directly related to brain function.

No matter how people die, which way they end their life: suicide, accident, natural, illness, murder. Now matter if they are young, old, pretty, ugly, clean, dirty. The anus will abandon them. The anus will abandon us all. The sense of control is gone.

There are more bacteria in our gut then there are our own cells put together. Even though we pass away into the unknown, the bacteria are still at work, eating, living and playing. They are the ones that push out into the surface of the dead anus by slowly invading the underwear. Whenever one turns the body over, there it is, the fecal smear. The poop stain. It’s the signature of our anus. It’s the trademark of that loss of control. One might think it is fear that drives the alive person to soil themselves when passing into death. In some cases this is true. In some people, the trauma of their own passing, usually a violent suicide, causes micturition and defecation during the process. These people have a little more than usual.

Everyone dead does it. Babies in diapers. The old man in his tighty-whities. The beautiful woman in black lace panties. The middle aged man his camouflaged boxers. The phrase “losing their shit” really becomes apparent.

I know science. I know physiology. But I still feel a need to explain. Aside from the bacteria and the muscle, I see it as the body’s catharsis. The body retreating. The anus defeating. Perhaps there is nothing past this life. Perhaps the anus knows better than us. The anus has kept us together. It is the purse-stringed consciousness.