Feb Four

Why do you think I made every single atom unique?

Why do you think I gave every atom its own face and personality?

People from every vocation come into my office and ask me “Doc, I just can’t seem to keep it together in the present age; it’s too awful out there. I’m a plumber — that’s my trade; that’s how I make my living, and I support a family: my wife and three children — and now my entire left arm has started to hurt (even as we speak, it has become paralyzed) and this is my dominant hand, which I use to do all my tricks; therefore I have become useless in my profession, and I’m too old to retrain for another field — what should I do?” 

All that is required of anyone is to die in painful humiliation. No one has ever avoided this guaranteed doom.

Say that a swindler walks into a nursing home. The story that this dishonest crook tells to the elderly victims will contain true wisdom, just because.

Imagine the story of the first brothers, Cain and Abel. They go out into the meadow, and one kills the other. Who’s there to watch this? There’s no God, so the violent act simply occurs and then there’s silence. It’s like an illusion: did anything even happen? “What did you do today?” asks Eve, the mother of Abel, as her son returns from his killing-spree. “Nothing much,” answers Abel. Then they go to bed.

War was hazy and dreamy at first. Now it’s accompanied by constant audiovisual updates. Newscasters must convince the populace that war is necessary, as the public is glued to the television, newspaper, and Internet. And war still happens, just as it always did, since the first two brothers murdered each other, except it gets more and more exciting; which is to say, more and more boring.

And there IS a God. 

Plus I heard that staples are on sale at the corner shop. We should travel there together.

Even during famine, people are attracted to each other. Is this a true statement? I wonder if maybe people actually find each other repulsive, but they fancy the feeling of rubbing themselves against their equals, which produces more sparks and eventually fire. It’s like thrusting a ladle into the starfield and giving it a good stir while you wait for the universe to reach a rolling boil. Dull chores for a cosmic housewife.

Pack animals are officially approved too. They are issued laminated I.D. cards, so that they can stray. When an armed guard appears out of nowhere and blocks this group of animals, demanding to see their paperwork, they can simply show him their cards. Then the armed guard steps aside; & the whole pack passes & continues its straying.

And when you become an hungered, you can simply enter a diner and order a morsel of raw meat. Isn’t that better than planting a seed in the soil and moistening it, and waiting for this flesh to die and become a new creation; then harvesting it, because one always reaps what one sows? The latter path takes too long. The modern world is all about convenience. The waitress in the diner brings you the head of John the Baptist on a platter. It is a morsel of raw meat. You pay with your credit chip, and then you’re not late for your morning meeting. The shareholders greet you as you leap off the trolley. 

Shareholders really love each other — that’s what I’ve learned, from my years on Earth. If a member of their pack of strays leaps to his death from the trolley, they all hasten forward and perform a proper inspection. They call the local police, which are then pushed out of the way by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which are in turn shoved aside by the Central Intelligence Agency. Only the Christian Church has the authority to be more invisible than these holy ghosts. And, even then, you need to make sure that you’re controlling the right denomination. THE ONLY TRUE CHURCH OF THE WORLD is the one that you want: that’s the place that holds all the power. The other congregations are just cults: they’re there to look stupid. It's a job like any other. 

My name is Bryan, by the way. I’m the guy who sits on his couch in the basement and types this stuff up every morning. A noisy car lobs a plastic-wrapped newspaper out of its driver-side window when it passes my house, and this delivery lands on the asphalt of my driveway. I hop up and dash outdoors to open my present, and I immediately scan the sports section for all the scores of the games that were played in the recent past. I am interested in baseball, football, golf, bowling, soccer, volleyball, wrestling, martial arts, and nuclear warfare. I’m SO thankful that my favored team or fighter usually wins, because I participate in the gambling community; and it is better to appear lucky than to experience misfortune. That way, you remain on the right side of history.