The Life of Riley

 

Prescript – A Word to the Wise.

In which history becomes legend and legend becomes myth. In which we are plunged headlong into the deep, deep maelstrom of events.

To begin is a dangerous thing; there’s just no ending to it.

To set out along the path to who knows what and God knows where – and that was His problem – is as grand a folly as they come; problem is He didn’t know it, couldn’t know it at the time – because time didn’t exist, couldn’t have a second thought either – everything was primal.

I mean just look at it this way: you’re in the here and now and everything’s hunky dory and then, without a by or leave it it’s all gone dual: you’ve got a past and you’re looking to the future and both don’t look good – neither do you, for the past is a cupboard full of primordial skeletons, of thoughts of maybe, but now the ‘maybe’ has become real. And the reality’s unreal, ‘the sheer unreality of it all’ – was the heart of the matter; being and non-being had gone out of the newly created window. Time had created opposites – and contradiction was the bitter pill; swallowed twice with every thought. His yearning was the payment.

It was like this:

In the beginning was the Mouth, and the Mouth was with God, and God moved the Mouth and created The World, and full of woe it now is, mostly because of what came to pass.

Behind the Mouth He was, when He used it to create the world. He did it by using a Word, the Word.

All in all it took seven days to create the world, the first of which lasted fourteen billion years, and then, for no particular reason, it was Tuesday. God created the world in seven days – the first of which lasted 10 billion years – and then, before He knew it, there was man, a reflection of the His self in all of its uncertainty – well that was the principle of it anyhow.

It was a very long word.  God disliked Sundays and Mondays. The Monday morning feeling came before the Monday morning had ever been a figment of His imagination.

‘Why couldn’t Friday be Monday? Why did things insist upon having their own peculiar order?’

According to some, the Word must have been an expletive, and judging from the state of creation most were inclined to think so, but it would be very difficult indeed to conceive of man as having evolved from a primordial exhalation of “F,f,f,f,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,c,c,c,c,c,c,k,k,k,k,k,k,k,k!”

A Word, pure and simple, but what kind of a Word in this timeless period before time, in that watchful period before watches?

He was dyslexic; all creatives are dyslexic; for only dyslexic people know how to shape a sound into anything remotely resembling a mis-spelt word.  The universe was a vernacular construct.

In the meantime, after all these years, He went home, to reflect and to ponder the imponderable. He was the deity formerly known as God.

And so it was that God Emeritus made His way to the great beyond, to a planet called Earth…

…and which ever way you see it, this is the only real explanation of why Ms Belladonna McDunnit was to be found on her birthday, on her annual shoplifting trip to Herrods Department store in the quaint spa town of Umbridge.

 

Phylis Stein
Pic: Claire Palmer

 

 

 

 

 

 


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