Somebody Is Going To Kill You

Imagine that somebody is going to kill you. Not trying, but going… to kill you. No matter what, you’re dead.

Small wonder you’re so paranoid.

Our ancestors had the habit of projecting human characteristics into the world. They surrounded themselves with versions of themselves. And there was the comfort that if you did things right, you could be as safe with the world as you were as safe with your neighbours. You could even prosper. For our ancestors, the question was always one of how to get along. They typically decided to kiss ass, major–almost totally fictional–ass. Over time, the ass got bigger and bigger, until it blotted the sky.

We called it ‘God.’

But he’s dead, and we don’t have that option no more. So we have taken it upon ourselves to outwit our now mindless and all-encompassing opponent. What was once assassination becomes something infinitely collateral. A fucking crap shoot. Worse than shrapnel. And then, when one of the million coiled black tentacles strikes, yanks away everything, all surfeit and all penury–


At least you could leave last words with God.