In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form and void… but then it got fucked up.
Ab ovo. So this egg, see, it formed out of nothing into the brine; it hung out for a while—not long: a narrow window—and then just before this egg kicked the bucket, this sperm leapt into the void yelling “Banzai!” No, yelling “Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!” No, “Forza, Italia!”
That can’t be right.
Maybe it didn’t yell anything. Maybe it just leapt. Whatever, this sperm was probably thinking, “Where the hell am I and more important, where is the rest of me?” It wasn’t alone; it had a lot of companions and competition, but it knew even without thinking about it that it would be the one. Not that it mattered, because whichever one made it to the starting line, which was also the finish line, this sperm would hand off its element, its −ness, its joeability to the starter—it’s kind of an osmotic thing that sperms do—and the result would be the same: a catastrophic event of the grandest insignificance; not a bang but a whimper.
It was easy from the start. But then it got fucked up.
Then there was a car ride, the first it could remember. Hearing, if not seeing. Then there were lights, bright ones; and cold air and silly, brusque movements; wetness and jostling and then once again, finally, soft warmth and comfort.
It would have been a big deal, except it wasn’t.
from whence it came
It Came from Beyond
Out of the depths