Maybe you’re out for a walk to smoke a joint because you live in a place where it’s risky to do so in public, but you don’t really have a good place to do it, or maybe you just like fields, but for some reason, you find yourself meandering through a wide open field one day, tall grass blowing in the wind in that sorta slow motiony kinda way, the horizon so big and distant that its constitution seems somehow fixed, and then you blink for too long and realize it’s changing and you just weren’t noticing.
You notice something off in the distance, and at this point you’re pretty far from the road because you were walking and thinking about a bunch of random stuff, high, and you kinda lost track.
You walk towards the anomaly in the otherwise landmark free field and as you approach it begins to take a decreasingly unrecognizable approximation of a form until you’re close enough to recognize that you definitely don’t recognize it.
It is, soon you realize, the corpse of God.
You’ve heard about it in a few books, at least a dozen punk rock zines, numerous blog posts, countless internet forums and comments sections, a song or 10, a couple movies off the top of your head, and from at least one person in every bar you’ve ever spent an afternoon drinking a hangover off inside, even if that guy was most often you; and so you almost instinctively (but let’s not get too ridiculous) know what it is.
Your first thought is almost invariably going to be to take another hit of weed. Technically, that borders on a reflex in such a situation.
As interesting as the concept of God’s corpse can be, right there in the flesh it’s actually kind of boring. The vast field before you; the open skies. Those are far more interesting than this fading visage upon a tree stump that sprawls itself emptily before you.
