We can’t just stop. We are not rocks. Progress, migration, motion is maternity, it’s animate. It’s what living things do. We desire. Even if all we desire is stillness, its still desire for. Even if we go faster than we should, we can’t wait and wait for what?

God? God.

He isn’t coming back

And even if he did, if he ever did come back, if he ever dare to show his face or whatever in the garden again, if after all this destruction, if after all the terrible days of this terrible century, he returns to see how much suffering his abandonment has created, if all he has to offer is death, you should sue that bastard!

That’s my only contribution to all that theology. Sue that bastard for walking out! How dare he?

Angel 1:

Thus said the prophet.

Prophet:

So thanks for sharing this with me but I don’t wanna keep it.

Angel 2:

He wants to live.

Prophet:

YES! I am thirty years old for god’s sake. I haven’t done anything yet. I wanna be healthy again…and this plague should stop in me and in everywhere. Make it go away.

Angel 3:

We have tried…we suffer with you but…we don’t know. We do not know how.

Angel 4:

This is the tomb of immobility or respect. Stay in heaven, don’t return to life. Suffer no more. You choose.

Prophet:

I can’t.

I still want my blessing. Even sick, I wanna be alive.

Angel 1:

You only think you do. Life is a habit with you, you have not seen what is to come, we have. What will the grim unfolding of this later days bring that you or any being should wish to endure them. Death, more plenteous than all heaven has tears to mourn it.

The slow dissolving of the great design, the spiralling apart of the work of eternity, the world and it’s beautiful particle logic all collapsed, all dead—forever.

We are failing, failing, the earth and the angels. But who asks of the order’s blessings but apocalypse descending? Who demands more life when death like a protective blinds our eyes, shields them from tendon earth more horror than can be born?

Let any being upon fortunes smiles creep away to death before the last dreadful day    ravaging returns to you in morning blisters crimson and bears all life away. A tidal wave of protein fired and curls around the planet and bears the earth—clean as bone.

The prophet:

But still…still…then bless me anyway. I want more life, I can’t help myself. I do. I have lived through such terrible times and there are people who lived through much much worst but you see them living anyway.

When they are more spirit than body

More sores than skin

When they are burned and in agony

When flies lay eggs in the corner of the eyes of their children,

They live

Death usually has to take life away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal, I don’t know if it’s not braver to die, but I recognise the habit.

The addition of being alive.

We live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that’s it. That’s the best I can do, it’s so much not enough, it’s so inadequate but still…bless me anyway.

I want more life.

And if he returns, take him to court!

He walked out on us

He gonna pay.