A small Armageddon


I sit in the bath completely still and imagine I am a volcanic island. I imagine all the villagers living lives of blissful simplicity. I imagine them being infinitely kind and loving, existing on an entirely even footing with the Earth and all things upon it. I imagine them laughing and singing songs of praise to the spirits who protect them. I imagine them falling in love, bearing children and burying their dead- who always pass peacefully in their sleep, exhausted from living so very long and so very happily. I image them all sleeping soundly, untroubled by racing worried thoughts or nightmares of terrible things. I imagine their days to be full of purity and joy and the kind of unremitting contentedness that all human beings claim to crave and yet live so as to push it further and further away.

I imagine that the bits of dirt in the tub are not dirt at all but the most beautiful and elegant marine beings ever seen, such as if you or I could ever hope to gaze on their form we would immediately burst into tears at the magnificence and benevolence of creation. I imagine a mother cradling her child, singing it gently into the tender bosom of sleep. I watch all this with a straining heart, dreaming that such impossibility could be reached for us all. That we too could be those little islanders, living in such wonderful perfection.

Then I shift a little, slowly beginning to raise up. I imagine the unconcerned thanks they would give for this new event. Then I would stand up and step out of the bath and imagine their entire universe being snuffed into the dark. I would feel just like God, while I dried my balls on a threadbare old towel. By the time I dress, I have forgotten the gurgling of that sleeping infant.


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