The Lord wants to give a dinner party but can never come up with twelve guests.
Whatever steward He has at the time suggests many names, but the Lord can’t get excited about any of them.
At least the menu was determined long ago. There would be a mixture of fifty pure chemicals—sugar, amino and fatty acids, vitamins and minerals, all made from rocks, air, and water without any killing at all.
“Life is plotproof, muddled, desultory, irreducible to chains of cause and effect. It’s sweaty and rampantly sad. It’s a motion of moments. There’s no line of any kind other than the one that runs from birth to thwarting to death. As a reader, I drop out of a novel or even a short story as soon as I sense that the writer has a scheme and is overarranging things. I’ve had it with the masterminded.”
Garielle Lutz