Jan 232016
 

Oh yes let’s have a metaphorical explosion! A metaphorical IED! Lots of squeaks and screams as the rockets whizz this way and that. Would you just look at that old stall, it’s been left out in all weathers, not even covered through this winter; should we burn it? Shove it out, break it up and into the hungry wood burner. At least it will keep us warm for a while.

What can we do with this “dead God”? Have we sufficiently disposed of the body. The fire has died out. Blackened faces peer out from the smoking remains. Singed eyebrows. Grinning white teeth. Absurdity raises its hand. It wants to say something about the utter futility of this practice. Can’t you see! 

Not really. Or at least . . . Yes, we collapse, we don’t know which way to turn, nature takes over as culture empties itself . . . 

But then we start talking, laughing; the humour is inescapable.

You mean we have to go on?

I think we do – so that’s a yes.

Writing?

Yeah every day, except we may be allowed one day off each week, the small print is too small for me to read.