Monday, November 10, 4004 BC

Today is eviction day.

I sit crouched just outside the burning hedgerow. Within its perimeter is warm and the air effervescent; without, it is cold but clammy like a cardiac creation suffering ischemia. I can only imagine strolling like a god into this encircled life of privilege, contentment, and scintillation: the ground moving me to where I need to be, the sky agreeing in variegated approval, and the aether sparkling with the flavor of ambrosia. To breathe into my chest, to feel the overhead cosmic embrace, to join my feet in a contract of partnership with the world underfoot! To feel the blood returning and agonal angina allayed.

My infernal machine is whirring, its irony--for being--to undo infernality.

Ussher was right. A portion of the hedgerow flickers out, ashes replacing its stamina and pistils that wax blacker than eclipsing suns at totality. Out of the charred discontinuity blows an ill wind; no, it is drawn in from where I sit. I feel the putrescent rush that will defile Eden.

They emerge, naked and ashamed. And quite surprised.

And so very angry, their explanations and excuses ignored and unheard.

And so very guilty--not for what they did, but for all the machinations of death and cruelty their progeny will engender.

Time to start over, begin again, anthropomorphize anew. Homo 2.0. This time, should there be three genders--no stalemates, no struggles to persuade, no refusals? Only a tie-breaker?

S’s work, so sibilantly I invite the naive them-made-Man into my time machine and they accept, lured by a promised gateway to before their fall--before serpents and temptation and falsely persuasive arguments for knowing everything. Instead--and heroically--I send them back to early in the Fifth Day, Thursday, October 27, 4004 BC, to witness the new-spawn creatures that live in the sea and the new-hatched creatures that fly. By the next day, it will be written somewhere, our protoparents will be gone, having confronted the new-forged animals that live on the land, before the decreed protection from the Garden’s covenant to harm them not.

I know that I have a day at my disposal. Perhaps a stroll through the ashen hedge. Perhaps shedding my clothing and letting the ground move me to meet this Tree myself. Skillfully spurning the succulent and sidestepping the Knowledge of Good and Evil, sibilants and fricatives are no match for me, so I can laugh aloud at the serpent. To spend a final night under that Tree, leaves of startling realizations falling upon me!

I breathe Man’s final sigh of relief for the next day--for them, in my past, but in their future--when they are torn apart by the beasts of the land, the devouring continuing to their very bones, leaving no trace they ever were Made. The branches of the family tree are umbilical cords, so I must join the oblivion I orchestrated, rescuing my fellow billions with the embrace of that oblivion. Lives prevented and lives never lost--lost via instructions of bonds of serial homicidal amino acids that is a double helix of death.

It will be a day of rest.