Procrastinators’ Prayer

O hear my cry

In this hour of need

Of another cup of tea.

Lead me not to the washing-up

Or the toilet 

For I could poo again,

Although I don’t really need one

But there is an article I am halfway through

From the Arts section of last weekend’s Guardian.

In thine infinite wisdom, or whatever, if there is a god

Or not, I’m not sure. I did read I think

That there is in the apocrypha a gnostic gospel

Of Judas, and therein he mentions

Barbelo, a kind of queen god amongst gods

Of which God is only one, and a pretty crap one who keeps

Fucking things up.

I’ll google it, hang on.

Yeah, it’s pretty cool actually,

And also makes the kind of great point that in fact

Judas was not a traitor but the holiest of all

Because without his ‘betrayal’ the prophecies would be wrong

And there could be no second coming.

So he was like the hero really.

And God is like a gas or something.

Anyway, Rowan Williams, who is one of the chief vicars or whatever,

Said, like, “oh yeah this is a load of bullshit” as did the pope,

Based on the fact that it um wasn’t written officially or some shit.

And to be honest, I reckon there’s a shitload of this kind of stuff in the Vatican Library.

Which sounds like a cool sort of place, mostly cause it’s so secret and even though I think Dan Brown books are fucking shit I think I’ve seen one made into a film and it passed some time even though that was shit too, and nowhere near as good as Rat Scabies Looks for the Lost Ark or whatever that book is called

Hang on

Oh it was Rat Scabies and the Holy Grail. It’s really quite brilliant, and you should read it.

Ten to twelve now. I reckon a quick dump

And then to town to pick up some bits

Although it’s raining isn’t it

Ah sod it

Deadline’s not for a week anyway

And it’s Friday

So.

Hmm.

Amen, and that.

Just in case.

Reminds me of Elvis, who used to wear a crucifix, a star of David, and probably some kind of Buddha round his neck all at the same time.

“I don’t want to miss out on heaven on a technicality,” was what he was quoted as saying.

That’s funny isn’t it.

And, well, I think rather perceptive.

What was that thing again? The deathbed conversion?

One mo.

Ah well I can’t really find that one, but it’s some kind of insurance policy in philosophy that is based on the fact that any conversion is an absolution, so basically live however the fuck you want and if you confess your sins and ask for grace you will receive it

So that’s handy isn’t it.

I’ve just seen that there’s a book about Christopher Hitchens that somehow manages to accuse him of converting to Christianity on his deathbed.

I mean, as if.

Mind you, it’s a good joke that isn’t it.

God bless Chris Hitchens

He’s in a better place now.

Well, I’m sure he’d appreciate that one, if he wasn’t too dead to notice.

I ate my lunch one time at 11am

Because I was bored

And working at home

And fucking why not

I’m 45.

If I want to have a cake for breakfast I will. I never do. But I could.

O graceful one

Let me consider this pile of steaming wank stream-of-idiocy

As ‘work’

For the wordcount approacheth 600

And that’s not a bad morning’s toil

Not really

And though the article I am not doing is only a couple of hundred words over that

And though my PhD essay is largely there and needs reorganising and a bit more than a few days’ work

And though the research for the other pieces is not even difficult

I bow to thy mercy

Amen, and stuff

To be continued

Maybe

Some opening lines for unwritten books

I had been high for a month.

Lothar strode through the flames.

God’s mother was pissed out of her head again.

Her piss tasted of a stale nothingness.

I took the deal. I had to.

Once upon a time time stood outside itself for once.

Mikha’s stare was a smack.

Snowflake Santa

One horse open sea

By Edward Lager

NORTH POLE – The popular giver of presents at Christmastide, Santa Claus, has announced plans for an eco-friendly season.

Inspired, he says, by environmental campaigner, Greta Thunberg, he will be ditching the sleigh – in favour of a wind-powered catamaran.

“The time has come for me to step up and be counted,” said Claus. “Extinction Rebellion have certainly made me think about my carbon footprint.”

His magic-powered sleigh is estimated to pump out in excess of 1.2 million kilograms of MO2 – mystery dioxide – which supernatural scientists have pegged as a major factor in the continuing rise in global cheering.

“It is simply not sustainable anymore for Father Christmas to be quite so profligate in his world-spanning journeys,” said Dr. Yootha Dagobah-System, of the Royal Society of Chrimbo Chemistry. “We welcome his decision to switch to natural energy sources for this year’s present-distributing season.”

Toilet

Claus, who celebrates his 1,749^th birthday in 2020, has already hired Malizia II, the IMOCA 60 racing yacht which Thunberg took on her journey from Plymouth to New York City. The 18-metre craft has no shower, toilet or cooking facilities on-board, although the jolly bearded Santa is looking forward to the experience.

“At least I won’t have to worry about reindeer farts. Yes, they look cute, but those little bastards don’t half let off some stenches, you know,” he said, adding that the newly-unemployed caribou will not be put to waste.

“We’ve already cooked and eaten Prancer and Dancer, and have Rudolf ready for the slaughterhouse on my return. I ho-ho-hope Mary’s got the oven ready!”

Experts have calculated that Claus’ journey around every continent by boat, weather permitting, will take around 15,000 days, not including travel by camel, horse or charabanc to each and every house to deliver every kid’s presents in between.

He is expected to use a sustainably-sourced pulley system to reach each chimney.

We contacted Piers Morgan for a quote but he had already exploded in a frenzy of anger and cum.

SUPREME MAN OF JUSTICE vs. THE EVIL KILADON

The EVIL KILADON PLANET-CRUSHING SPACESHIP looms over Ffossip-On-Sea. In its shade are the usual shops, cenotaph, public library, railway station, pubs, et cetera. Somewhere familiar. An anytown, but with its own character.

From the SHIP comes a BOOMING voice

“PUNY EARTHLINGS SUBMIT TO YOUR TRUE RULERS”

There is MASS PANIC in the streets below

The KILADON SHIP is readying its LASERBLAST GENOCRASH…

…BUT

Who is this handsome, muscled, caped hero?

It can only be… SUPREME MAN OF PURE JUSTICE

He is fighting once again to save his adopted Earth from the EVIL KILADON, a foul, cackling sentient reptile-creature from distant, war-torn lands.

SMOPJ: Engage… power of teleport!

SMOPJ dematerialises from the terrified throng… and reppears on deck of the KILADON PLANET-CRUSHING spaceship

SMOPJ: Not so fast, Kiladon warrior! Earth is not for you!

KILADON: I think not, Son of Hamble! I am already in position to mine your seas for the salt water my people need to survive!

SMOPJ: Drink THIS!

BOOM!

He punches the evil KILADON in his second-head!

KILADON: AIIIIIIEEEEE!

He recoils in pain and terror! SMOPJ stands heroically over his vanquished foe.

SMOPJ: Salty enough for you?

He prepares to deliver the DEATH BLOW

KILADON: Please… my people are suffering!!

KILADON: We only need a little!!

SMOPJ starts to ramp up the power in his arms – he grows to three times his usual size! His eyes glow!

SMOPJ: Engage…. DEADLY JUSTICE FIGHT HAND!!!

He draws back his hand…

*ring ring*

SMOPJ looks around… where’s that phone?

*ring ring*

KILADON: It’s not mine, I’ve got the theme music from Strictly on mine.

SMOPJ returns to normal size. He pats his pockets. It is his phone. He scans it.

SMOPJ: Ah sorry KILADON, I’ve got to take this.

Split frame with EARTH, a library. Quiet, studious, posters, kids singing at Rhymetime, some old people reading newspapers, a drunken stinky bloke in the corner taking a kip etc. BERYL the LIBRARIAN stands at the counter, opposite a cross-looking customer. She is on the phone.

BERYL the LIBRARIAN (on phone): Could you assist for a moment? Sorry to bother you on your lunch.

SMOPJ (on phone): Don’t be silly. It’s absolutely fine. I’ll be right there, Beryl.

SMOPJ (to KILADON): Seems like luck is in the stars this time for you, KILADON. Begone from here! For I will be back! Earth is not for you! Engage…power of teleport!

He disappears…

DURING THE TELEPORT:
SMOPJ: Engage… Joseph Library power!

…and reappears at the LIBRARY COUNTER.

He is now in comfy, but smart, pants, Skechers shoes that look like actual shoes but are trainers, a polo shirt that is neutral-coloured and reasonably smart, nice friendly glasses etc.

The conversation takes place over several frames. As it does, outside the windows an increasing amount of water seems to be heading upwards. We see fish, whales, Davy Jones’ locker (not that one), mermaids, etc. But the focus is on the desk area throughout.

JOSEPH LIBRARY (to BERYL): How may I help?

BERYL the LIBRARIAN: Mr. Jones said he definitely phoned us last week to extend the date, but when he brought it in today the computer flagged up a fine.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: Hmm, I see. And was there a note on his account? We did have that day in Fallback when the servers were down, last Tuesday. It may have slipped through. (To MR JONES) Sir, can you remember with whom you spoke?

MR. JONES: No, I definitely phoned, see, cause on a Tuesday I don’t normally come to town and I was nearly at the end of the book so I rang up, see. So there shouldn’t be a fine on the book, see?

JOSEPH LIBRARY: Leave it with me, Beryl. Thank you.

BERYL: I’ll get on with that shelving in the kids’ castle. Rhymetime always makes a mess!

JOSEPH LIBRARY: It’s the excitement of the library for them I guess, the little tinkers. They just love their books.

BERYL toddles off to the kids’ area.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: (to MR JONES) OK, so I hear you sir. I see the computer is saying a pound is owing, because it is four days overdue. It’s 25p per day, as we don’t count Sundays when we are closed of course. But you’re telling me that you called in and asked for an extra week.

MR. JONES: I definitely phoned. It was just after Bargain Hunt, see. I always get some chores done after Bargain Hunt.

JOSEPH LIBRARY (creating a rapport with the customer to calm him down): Quite right too. Who won?

MR. JONES: Blues. They picked up a teddy bear for a tenner. Turned out to be an 1890 Steiff, which they sold at auction for £2000.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: Two grand! Well well well. For a teddy bear? That was a great spot! Who was the expert?

MR. JONES: Danny.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: Oh, yes, he knows his stuff that chap. Fair play to the blues. If only I wasn’t at work that day. I do like a bargain… Well, sir, it is the first time you’ve accrued a fine with us, and we were having computer issues that day. So we will waive it on this occasion, but if you can please do make sure you get the name of who you spoke to so we can make doubly sure we’re all on the… same page, if you like. Hahahaha!

MR. JONES: Ah yes, a good one. Same page. Library. Very good.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: Is there anything else I can help you with today sir?

MR. JONES (now happy and relaxed, as his complaint has been dealt with): No, I don’t think so. Thank you very much. Good bye to you.

JOSEPH LIBRARY: It’s my pleasure. See you soon. Look out for teddy bears!

MR. JONES leaves. JOSEPH LIBRARY whistles to himself as he takes the fine off Mr. Jones’ account.

Pan out: The LIBRARY – along with much of FFOSSIP - is now caught in a swirling vortex of sea, heading up toward the KILADON spaceship.

NEXT WEEK: SUPREME MAN OF PURE JUSTICE is summoned before the COURT of THE FIRE KINGS where he must defend himself from being accused of INTERPLANETARY BREACHES OF THE FIRST CONTACT, before rushing back down to Ffossip-On-Sea Library to deal with a disastrous mis-shelving of non-fiction by a volunteer unfamiliar with the Dewey System. DON’T MISS IT!

Golgotha

And do those feet now stomp in grime

Marching to England’s mounting shame?

And is the gammon dogma trod

For Jacob’s foul, dividing game?

And do the hedge fund bets comprise

A metaphor for all our ills?

And what usury will appear

Among betrayed, desperate souls?

Bring me my knife of burnished steel:

Bring me my meth and fentanyl:

Bring me more beer: My sertraline!

Bring me my neighbour’s car on fire.

I will not win this online fight,

Nor will my Tweets change any mind

Til we have wiped away the scum

In England’s grim, unpleasant land.

I Wonder

I wonder.

It’s not just me, I know.

But instead of medicating

Could we make the world

A bit nicer?

I wonder.

Is there anyone I know

That doesn’t suffer? Anyone

At all? It seems absurd,

Unlikely.

Of course

I’m not saying that no-one

Needs help. We all do, it’s true,

And sometimes a drug

Can work.

But I wonder

When sertraline’s in the water supply,

When SSRIs dominate just so we get by,

Is the world set up properly?

I wonder.

I wish I did have a black dog to pet

It’s as boring as hearing about

Someone’s fucking dream

But I’m afraid I’ve got it again

And the clock ticks scream

And I’m shelled and without

Myself; life seeps, droops, flops.

And I don’t mean to bore you

But I’m not swimming today

I’ve cramped up. Dirty, glued

And grunting, grimy, dismayed

And Zeus knows that I know

I could be, should be, won’t be.

Please don’t try to solve me.

I don’t need more fixing.

I don’t want you to absolve me

From this, or anything

Else; I’m not even lonely

Here today, but away, but away.

I’m here. I know I am, and I

Still don’t understand

Can’t fathom out just why

Through all that I’ve done

I’m the one to survive

Myself; question, suggestion, mission?

So, then. I know it’s boring

To listen to anyone

Who on paper has nothing

To make them so down.

I’ve been here quite long

Now. Earth to birth to earth.

There are words for it all

But they’re in the wrong place.

They’re astray, awry. Cold

Tentacles whose heavy embrace

Keeps me rooted, dull,

Sitting, sitting, sitting, sitting.