When I was in the military I learned to pee as nature intended and it was beautiful. Up until that point Society had domesticated me so effectively that one of the most natural biological functions in the world (peeing freely without any sort of receptacle) seemed alien and not something that came intuitively to mind.

But for a moment in time I found freedom. One summer, my friends and I, after two weeks living in tents in the woods, managed to break our psychological bonds of urinary conditioning. After we returned back to civil society, for a time, we remained wild and carried the fire of the wilderness burning bright inside us hot like the yellow sun. We still heard nature’s true calling. And with backs to porcelain gods, we answered it truly.

We would sometimes pee out the barracks window in the dead of night, in back alleys and front alleys, along highways and byways, once thanks to too much alcohol and a sleep walking condition, pee was peed in a wardrobe closet over kevlar helmets and gas masks. There were parking lots, bushes, trees, and grassy patches between main roads in the city centre. Christened were many a right angled corner and nondescript column, fence, and gate. I’ve written yellow love poems in the snow. Haikus. One special New Years Eve, In a country far, far away, urine was showered down from the second floor hotel room window.

Those were such times, a time when we were truly alive, our bladders always on the verge of bursting. Our true essence flowed free and liberated, glorious and uncontained, like warm golden liquid sunshine, we willingly casted our rays over the heads of mortal men and all their ephemera with neither prejudice nor hesitation.

But the sun must always set. Society fights hard to have its way. Now we all even put the seat down when we’re finished, and we do it lovingly, and take great care not to splash. But sometimes, very rarely, I do splash and I remember those friends and those times.