I had succeeded in creating the self; I had succeeded at that most significant of tasks. God help me but I had succeeded. I had succeeded but what was I to do now? I had created the self but what on earth was I to do with it? I hadn’t thought that far ahead, you see. I’m not so good at thinking ahead. Not so good at all. Well, maybe I am good at it but it’s just that I just never bother trying. That’s probably more like it. That’s definitely more like it.
‘Sufficient unto the day are the troubles thereof,’ isn’t that what it says in the Bible? There’s truth in that for sure – no doubt about that, no doubt about that. ‘Sufficient unto the day, huh?’ That just about sums it up, I’d say. Sufficient unto the bloody day.
The wise teacher figure came up to me then. The wise old teacher figure. A Grand Patriarch by the look of him, decked out in all the traditional gear. The full outfit from head to toe. Big old beard into the bargain. Big old beard – the beard of authority. The symbol of authority. Wise old patriarch. Wise but stern. Very stern. Mostly stern. Downright vengeful, some people might say. ‘Don’t do the bad things boy,’ he told me, glaring at me a severe fashion from close range, ‘don’t do the bad things or you’re gonna get your dumb shitty little ass kicked…’
‘Was that it?’ I found myself asking afterwards, ‘as is all you’ve got?’ That’s my natural response to authority figures you see. That’s my natural response to authority right there. I always react badly against authority, which I suppose is fairly normal. ‘Don’t do the bad things,’ I repeated to myself scornfully, what a total bloody knobhead. Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
It put me in bad form of course. That sort of thing always does. I should have told him to shove it up his hole,’ I said to myself angrily. ‘I should have told him to go fuck himself’. I hadn’t done though. I had been too intimidated. I had been pissing in my pants…
The patriarch, the patriarch, the bloody old patriarch. Always telling people what to do. Always laying down the law. Beating his fists on the pulpit. Berating the crowd. There are all the same, those bloody old patriarchs, aren’t they? Bunch of goddamn assholes. Shitheads, every last one of them. How dare he tell me not to do bad things. I’ll do the bad things look if I want to…
Demons tried to possess me then. Teams always try to possess me. Dirty loathsome demons. There’s nothing as bloody charmless as a bloody old demon, is there? Demons tried to possess me so they could use my body to walk upon this earth. They offered me all sorts of shit in return. You know – the usual. One told me that he would get me a highly paid job in the HSE. All the perks, all the perks. A permanent pensionable job. Lots of career opportunities, right up to the management level.
‘Don’t do the bad things, buddy,’ the wise old teacher-figure piped up again from his hiding place at the bottom of the magical well in the mystical garden grove. He had turned cool with purple wrap-around mirror-shades and a silk scarf. ‘If you do the bad things then you’re gonna get your scrawny ass kicked for all eternity and I’m gonna come up to you and tell you ‘I told you so!’’ He was no longer a meaningful authority figure – he had lost his beard and all the impressive flowing garb. Instead he sported a pair of speedos and a reversed baseball cap.
‘Don’t do the bad things,’ he called out again from his hiding place at the bottom of the well, ‘do you hear me, boy? Don’t you be doing the bad things now…’