I’ve been chewing over this for a while now, and I’ve finally decided: I’m going to abandon the one day for each thing format. I find it too restrictive - and also, it delays the speed of feedback for any new thing I write. So henceforth, although all the columns will be continuing, they’ll each be a little more irregular. But on the upside, you’ll probably get more frequent updates overall. And I will try to avoid putting two entries of the same column one after another, for variety’s sake.
This does also mean that Friday Fictions will now be called Fresh Fictions, but I doubt that will bother anyone
As the title suggests, it doesn’t have a lot to do with agnosticism - although it does treat doubt with more courtesy and respect than Dawkins seems capable of. It’s a fascinating read, too, which again scores it above “The God Delusion” - and it has some interesting ideas about both faith and doubt, and the historical context of both.
“What does it take to make our world come alive? What does it take to make us sing?”
Memo to Eldritch, Andrew: they’re called lyrics for a reason, Ando. You should really look it up sometime.
Actually, that’s unfair. It’s pretty obvious that it takes more than just lyrics to make Mr. Eldritch sing. Inferring from the content of his lyrics, a partial list of the things Eldritch needs would includethe follwing:
a pair of sunglasses
cocaine
a black leather jacket
the certain knowledge that his mere existence pisses off Wayne Hussey
a horde of screaming goth girls to pick bed partners from
Notable improvement of intellectual faculties, such as memory, concentration, and judgment. It is sometimes accompanied by an ending or lessening of emotional disturbance and beneficial personality changes.
“I’m always traveling, I love being free,
and so I keep leaving the sun and the sea”
I’ve never really understood the attractions of this song (although I know every word of the Chaser’s parody version). But I guess I’m just unAustralian or unpatriotic or something.
But seriously, does Peter Allan honestly believe that they don’t have the sun or the sea in other countries? I mean, obviously that man has seen the inside of way too many tanning salons, but does he really think that’s where every non-Aussie’s tan comes from?
I have a lot of ideas for what I want to with this particular column, but so far I haven’t been able to bring them together in a way that satisfies me. When I do, the column starts…
Admission: unclear, but presumably worthy human souls (see below)
Heaven, for Bill S. Preston Esq. and Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan, is a purple series of regular cities, floating through an endless white void like the contents of an unusually serene and orderly lava lamp. Admission is fairly straight forward - you merely need to tell the gatekeepers what the meaning of life is. (By implication, this meaning is personal and different for each person, but can almost certainly be found in the lyrics of a popular song.)
Everyone arrives in Heaven wearing whatever they had on when they died, only changed to a muted colour scheme of whites and mauves. Within its gates, the great and the good amuse themselves with pastimes such as charades. And God himself is a distant presence, although willing to intervene to assist those who petition him. He is, as Bill puts it, “a just and noble Creator.”
Insofar as Heavens go, this one is kinda G-rated. It seems like a nice place to visit, if one can deal with the monotony of the colour scheme, but it is entirely too much like a retirement home for some tastes. Like mine.
“A-Wop-bop-a-loo-lop a-lop-bam-boo
Tutti Frutti, all over rootie”
Okay, I’ll cop to shooting fish in a barrel with this one, but seriously, this song defies rational - or even irrational - analysis. Even after digging into its origins over on Wikipedia, I am still left with only two words that can accurately sum up my reaction to this song:
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