Signs & Portents

Of what this is a portent, I do not know; what I do know is that portents seldom presage any good.

The sky is of yellowy-grey aspect, thick; but not with cloud – nor mist, nor fog.  With expectation.  Again, of what, I cannot say.
The temperature is unseasonably warm.  Humid.  It is eleven o’clock in the morning, and it is mid-October.  Yet, even the wind rustling through the trees is more eerie than cold, more fantastical than visceral.  And yet, it is tangible.  The air pregnant with anticipation.

The noticeboards, are, quite naturally, full of obsessive chatter with regard to this oddness.  There is some wit, some brevity, as ever.  Confused rambling and inane chatter dominate.  As ever.  With picture and with word, the citizens of the web ask plaintive questions and long to be noticed doing so.  As ever. 
The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same, as our ancestors have told us.

The fiery ball weighs heavy in the sky, and many pause to contemplate this strange celestial phenomenon.  It is not just that the sun, or the sky, is a different colour. 

It is that all of this does seem to suggest somehow, that Something Is Finally Happening.  Is it The End?

Either that, or it’s sand in the air, making things look a wee bit weird.  No meteorologist am I.  No, nor prophet either.  Nor prophet neither.

We shall yet see.

Eventually, clouds part and a great, ghostly apparition – a disembodied face – looms suddenly in the sky.  This is a surprise, to say the least.  Many, however, do not notice.

Some look upward, expectant, anticipating God’s Word.  Others look down at phones.  Others are indoors.

What the observant actually hear is a heavy sigh.  And a voice, trembling with a mighty exasperation, saying unto them:

“Oh, for fuck sake.  I am but a figment of your imagination – I exist purely as you imagine me into being!  Your minds are powerful enough to imagine Me into existence, yet you do not understand this; how can you not conceive of solving your current problems?  You created me, and immediately externalised me as Something Other, someone to blame, someone to praise?

“I am not Me, I am not I, I am US!  Because that is what We have made Us!

“All this have You done!  And yet, you still expect Me to solve all Your problems?  Well, Youse can fuck right off.  Do it Yourselves!  YOU do it!
By the way, sorry if I seem a bit abrupt and angry, it’s just that I am the sum of your thoughts, so you know, that one is also down to you really.  But I’m also quite nice looking, which is a result of the same thing, so that’s good, isn’t it?  And I’m still also the sum of all the good stuff you do, like help each other out or start charities or whatever.  Or rescue people from terrible situations you have created.  Isn’t it funny that you – we – always have to do our worst to bring out our best?  Well, you know, not ha-ha funny.  But, you know, sort of heart-breakingly ironic, in the way that everything is.  I mean, it’s the essential dichotomy of existing in a temporal, finite and relative world, right?  If you look at it that way.  Which you definitely don’t have to.  You know, if you find it doesn’t help.  The point is, I know no better than you, really – except that I know all of what you know, whereas you need to ignore or forget things in order to experience yourselves fully.  You know what I mean though, yeah?  Like, you’re potential, and I’m sort of the sum of that, but it’s not all good potential is it – look around!  Also, I’m not really the realisation of that potential, because that’s not what you’ve made me, do you know what I mean?  Of course you do!  It’s what You mean – what We mean.  This is, like, the only thing of which we can be certain.  With the caveat that the only certainty is uncertainty.  You know?  You know.  Anyway, I gotta go, ok – good luck with all the wars and that.”

A child’s voice calls forth from the wilderness:
“But, Teacher!  If you are Us and We are You, should we not Together save All?”

The celestial voice booms back:
“Look, it’s just weather, ok?  Forget all the philosophical navel-gazing, it’s just sand and wind, yeah?  I’m not your Teacher, kid.  Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

“But Teacher, how can We leave You alone if You are Us...?”

The question hangs in the still air.