At God's court

I watched a roach once, moving. It doesn't really move, a roach. It's sort of like a gas, it fills the vacuum rather than moving. That's why they're everywhere, roaches. You can tell them from their smell, you know, their smell. They don't have one.

Look at the world. It's like a putrid lady greeting you at the door. It's all a knob away, you know, the rotting. On the floor, coming down from the ceilling, raising the walls...

We used to love them. We love them, I love them and you love them. Waiting for every drop of their digested fluids, slow-ly... dropping. There. It stands outside, dying at every moment. The world; and what do you do about that, Jack? What do you do? Every moment falls like a small guillotine on the world's large neck, and what do you do about that, Jack? When you know the world is dying, when it's dying, when it dies, what'you do, man, what'you do, huh? A memorial, Jack, a big tombstone to remember it? No, Jack, no! Look around you, man, look around you! A new one is already here. They don't mourn it, Jack. They throw away the corpse never to be seen again, Jack, and they bring in the future, Jack. Well, I wouldn't have it that way, man, no I wouldn't. It disgusts me. Out that window every tree branch points out to me like it's a dead man's begging arm. Do you see it? It's all rotten, it's impure, it's malsain, it smells, it smells, Jack. It always smells. The screams smell, the last breaths smell, why do they have to smell when they leave, Jack?!

I spread those roaches. They soothe me. God, just sitting in here drives me nuts. What if it comes inside, Jack, what if it comes inside? You're never alone you know. It's all out there, just waiting for a breach to come in. So I let them be, Jack, and I had damn good reasons for that. I let the roaches be. I wanna know what those dying... acorns are doing out there. I wanna fucking know if they come anywhere near my house, damn it! It was the only way, you know? you gotta keep an eye on your own kind, Jack, you know? Keep them safe. It was the only way, it must have been.

Roaches.. hff. God, would smile at the irony. So, I let them about, Jack. I wanted every mountain, every stone covered with them. Because they sooth me, Jack, because they sooth me. Look out there. Do you see the glow? Their eyes cover the landscape like the dew of a new morning comforting the stirring black of night. Humid drops, on a thousand leggéd veil, blinking, staring. The world isn't dying anymore. They've eaten, it, for Christ's sake, they've solved the problem! Life is lenient in this shadowy world, falling in the shade of the roaches' skirts, never to see the Sun again. And you better thank me for that, man! When I was little, my mother used to scare the crap out of me telling me awful stories about the Sun, how it altered your DNA and gave you bad skin. You better run if you ever see it again, Jack. You better run. The world is good among these dancing shadows, dancers in the dark. It's peaceful. And from that vortex in the middle of the swirling skirts, that new starry pond, falls the liquid. Yes, the roaches filtered it for us. See, when God ran this world he had it rotting. Well, I stirilized it. No more of that shit for us, man. The roaches.. that was the brilliance of my idea. See, the roaches eat it, and then filter it. It's like a giant pasty, shapeless haze of whizzing legs, working for us, giving us just what we need. If a body falls, they eat it. If a building falls, they devour it. If the world falls they feast on it. If the day and night fall they love it. And they come here, and spit out of their cracks, what happened, and leave it forever, as a dropping. The world doesn't have to die anymore, don't you see it, Jack? It can all stay here with us, Jack, forever, as droppings. We can keep it, Jack, we won't ever have to change or say goodbye to another thing ever again, Jack, ever again... And I've made this all for you, Jack. 'Cause your my son. Now, you wanna call them meat-thirsty cold-blooded journalists? And you want to send them away? Well, be my guest, son. I did what my conscience had me do.