Voting: Rites Of Passage?

There's not been a lot of literature written about going for a shit. Or about needing one so badly that you start to behave in peculiar ways. It,s not something that has been endlessly chewed over by poets. There are few, if any essays of 'The Shit' and neither are there, maybe less surprisingly, novels dedicated to furthering our understanding of shitting from, say, a cross cultural, or romantic perspective.

Agreed, Gilbert and George did create 'The Naked Shit Paintings' reflecting directly on shitting, but there is scant else in popular or classical or art and literature of the Cannon to suggest that defacation has been given a fair airing. Peter Greenaway, in The Cook, His Wife, The Thief and Her Lover (sic), made effective use of the by product of this most fundamental of human actions in his early scenes, but it is fair to say the film treated shit as something largely dirty and not to be trusted.

In film the use of effluent is quite common: 'The scene' where our hero has to escape through one or another hatch into the foul sewage of his worst foe has, in fact, become an archetypal happening in cinematic narratives. Still though, we are almost bereft of any real considered literature about shitting as a human need and activity ~ like, for example; love.

I needed a shit this morning.

It was only a vague awareness at first and I ran errands for a couple of hours, parked my car and began the walk in to the town. Only when my conscious brain turned to the actual logistics of taking [having, or going for, in the UK] my shit, did my body begin to feel the need for urgent attention. It was interesting to me that only at this exact moment when my mind configured a route to the nearest [habitable] public toilets and axiomatically, pictured those toilets, that my need to shit became absolutely over whelming and intolerable.

I wonder if there is not something of a fundamental importance in this (I assume common to all?) sudden onset of urgency and intolerance - once the journey to the place of defecation has begun in earnest?

The parallels between this phenomena of the shit journey and the equally inevitable and sudden urgency of all of our election journeys to the polling booths is, again, irresistible:

All that is left for me to speculate on is what might be the consequences, upon entering the much sought after booth, of discovering that we had, in fact, failed to register ourselves as eligible to make that sacred deposit in that sacred box?

Is this not the true nature and beginning of The Protest Vote?