April 12, 2010
I guess it all started with the hokey little show called The Other Side. It was the kind of fake shit that got broadcast at five in the morning and starred the kind of guests that believed aliens were gutting cattle and that influential politicians were lizard people. The host himself was a smiling, keen kind of dude, with a quiff-like hairstyle, white teeth and a suit. He looked enthused, energised and healthy, and he obviously didn't believe a thing his guests were saying. He was the kind of person you secretly suspected was a kiddy-diddler.
That night - or, more accurately, morning - they'd had on a man who believed bankers were sending assassins after him, a woman who believed assassins were sending bankers after her, and an old man with a walker and liver spots who mumbled his way unintelligibly through a script he held in his shaky thin hands, while the host sat on and nodded, asking the regulation questions. The regulation questions were questions like, "So, have you believed in ghosts all your life?" and "You've got a family? Are they lizards?"
I'd watched the show enough times to know that they'd have a final guest on the show to fill in the last few minutes or so. The last guests were generally enthusiastic young advertisers looking to sell a product to identify Karma in your life, or Rid Your Life of Demons. Generally, it was a cream, or a lotion or something, which had always puzzled me. Perhaps Karma was stored in the pores.
The last guest looked old and kind of sage. He had a beard and a thick head of grey hair. He looked prodigious, like an old army major who had recieved over a dozen medals in his lifetime and held no truck with silly business.
'For our last guest,' announced the smarmy little host, 'we have a man who refused to give us any other name Elohim. Let's have a warm The Other Side welcome for him!' There was a smattering of applause and the cameras focused on the audience. They looked exactly like the kind of people you'd expect to be there.
'Greetings,' said Elohim.
'Wotcha,' said the host, and winked, which sent a look of utmost outrage across Elohim's face. There was a brief moment where you could feel, even through the television, the sheer heat of that rage radiating from Elohim like heat off a red-hot frying pan. I felt the ground shake beneath me, the heavens open up, the very fabric of the world tear itself into shreds and settle upon nothingness like so many flakes of snow; I felt the world end and begin again in one moment, I felt the feeling that only one man can feel when he has stared into the eyes of the universe and seen its true form.
'They say you're slick,' said the host. 'They say you're a real mover.'
Another thunderous look, and Elohim opened his mouth as if to say something.
'They SAY,' said the host, cutting him off, 'they say you're big in the religion scene. That you've got big plans for the Old Man Up Above. That you two can somehow communicate.'
Elohim coughed lightly, cleared his throat, and said, 'I do not have communications with the Old Man Up Above. I AM the Old Man Up Above.'
'Say again?'
'I'm God,' explained God.
The host looked from one side to another, like a man hemmed in on all side by an Italian biker gang called Il Pazzo Uomini. 'God, you say?'
'The Almightly. The Lord Above. The Holy Spirit. The Father of All.'
The host paused. There was an awkward silence around the studio. He looked to his camera men for support, but they had taken a sudden keen interest in the woodwork. The shot flipped to the audience, who sat looking from one to another in a believing silence. The thing was . . . he looked the part. The beard, the hair, the general look that you were a small bug beneath his feet; at most, you were an angry chihuahua. They wouldn't just believe any old coot that had wandered in and mistaken dementia for divinity - this guy looked like the real world-creating thing. The definite Wahoonie.
'Well, shit,' said the host. 'Damn.'
'If it helps,' said God kindly, 'think of yourself as insignificant specks beneath my mighty gaze.'
'Thank you, but I don't think that helps much,' said the host. 'I mean DAMN. We've never had God on the show. No gods, really. I hadn't prepared any questions . . .'
'This is no problem,' said God. 'I have prepared notes. Or perhaps you may consider it a speech.' He took a folded piece of yellowed paper out of his pocket and spread it out across the desk in front of him. 'Forgive me, the speech may be a little dated. In all honesty, I meant to get down here a lot earlier, but things came up. You know how it goes.'
'Yes,' said the host. 'I know how it goes.'
God swept back his hair, and began. 'Good morning, and congratulations on your new progression into the dawn of the 20th century. I can see the human race is doing quite well. I fully endorse this Automobile that is developing such a hubbub.' God looked up for this, and nodded at the audience slowly, as if to affirm this fact. 'On the other hand, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon I consider to be a travesty. Pablo Picasso is a disgrace to holy goodness. No good will come of it. On a lighter note, a good birthday to Joseph Conrad. I very much enjoyed your book.' Another look up at the audience, another stony stare to drive home his message. 'But enough of trivialities. Today I have a very important thing to tell you all. Almost as important as Juliet's love was strong. Almost as important as that.
'From the get-go, I think, I got it all wrong. Putting the forbidden fruit out there right in the open? Oh, and letting that snake dude into the Garden of Eden? Whoo-ee! Big mistake right there. Original Sin, you know what I mean? You try to create a good, holy devout kind of human and along comes original sin fucking shit up. Just all "hey gonna fuck this up" and "hey gonna fuck this shit up too". Just like that.
'That said, it is with regret that I have to inform you of my terrible news today. It is with deep regret and all apologies that I have to announce all Earthly operations are to be shut down. Cancelled. Down the hatch. Canned. Axed. Slipped in the wad-bu-'
'Sorry?' said the host. 'Did you just, no offense Mr. God, say what I thought you just said?'
'I don't know,' said God. 'What DID you think I just said?'
'I thought you just said you were going to destroy the Earth. But that can't be right, because you're the all-loving creator. Not really the one for destroying, I reckon.'
'Not DESTROYING, as such. More . . . recreating. Destroying then putting the pieces back together. If it helps, think of yourself as dispensable and in the end quite, quite replaceable. Like tiny plastic toy soldiers.'
'I don't think,' said the host slowly, 'that metaphor helps at all.'
'Anyway, yeah, that's basically the lowdown of the whole thing. Gonna start up the Earth again. Kinda like the Second Coming, you know? Except none of that "the righteous will descend unto Heaven" stuff. Not right now. Maybe in a few years, when the whole thing has started up again and we've got a little less Original Sin, a little less atheism and a lot more righteousness. I've always felt that righteousness has been very low recently. Almost as low as ditching a dude for a fine lady. Almost that low.'
'The program only runs for thirty minutes . . .' said the host hopelessly.
'Don't worry about that. Are we going over schedule? Do not even worry. I'll sort something out. Anyway, I think I'll be going soon. I think that's all for the day- oh, no! Wait! You know how I said it's kind of like the Second Coming? Well, yeah, Jesus, big J, he will be coming down for a little encore performance of the good old Sermon on the Mount. You ever heard of a little place called Australia? You probably haven't, not many people have. Well it has this nice as hell rock smack bang in the middle of the whole place. Well, not exactly the middle. Kind of off to the left. Like the whole place has a squint or something. Anyway, yeah, Jesus, son of God, he'll be going up there for a little Sermon on the Mount kind of thing! Sweet, right? Sweet!'
The host floundered. He swallowed, looked around for support, floundered again then put one hand to his temple.
'Why Australia?' he asked, apparently deciding to focus on one single element, for ease. Maybe he thought that if he could focus on one element, he could forget everything else he had just heard.
'Always liked the old place, really. They've got nice beaches,' said God. 'Anyway, I think that'll be it. Cheerio, everyone. Good luck in the following few weeks. Oh, yeah, I don't think I mentioned. The world is going to end - to be RECREATED in three weeks from now. So, uh, good luck. See you in Heaven, when you get there.'
I expected him to flash out of existence, or turn into a flock of doves and fly out a window. Instead, he stood up and strolled out of view of the cameras.
The host looked to the audience, who, a shot revealed, looked quite satisfied with the whole thing, really. It had been a good show. They sure had hired a good actor, hadn't they? Of course, they'd all thought the whole thing was real a few moments ago, but they'd been just caught up in the moment, right? Of course they had.
I, on the other hand, was completely convinced. It was - I checked the clock - a quarter to six in the morning, but I was completely convinced that not only was the man who had just appeared on my television was God, but also that I'd be completely convinced of that same fact tomorrow, when I was at least semi-lucid.
