Before the arrival of gods, before the existence of matter and energy, in that abstract fluid of nothingness, there existed a figure who stood as tall as galaxies, and whose strength burst forth with the power of supernovas. As mere human beings, it is impossible for us to exaggerate his vigor. Indeed, as human beings, our very existence resulted from one of his bursts, which today we call the Big Bang.

The figure, whom I will refer to as Doug, was always proud of the name Big Bang, but it was not the way his wife remembered it. To her, it was an uneventful affair, marked by disappointment and regret that maybe she should’ve gone with someone else when her youth still afforded her such opportunities. As things stood, or rather as they didn’t, she found herself worried.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, “Is it me?”

“No,” Doug replied. “I don’t know. Stress from work, maybe.”

“Work? What work? We live in a perpetual vacuum.”

She then added, “There’s somebody else, isn’t there.”

“Gosh, how many times have I told you. Sal is just a friend. Just leave me alone.”

“Well, maybe you can at least finish yourself off.”

Her comments were hurtful, but Doug knew this was a fight he could not win. He dragged himself over to a little corner of darkness, shamefully accepted that this occasion would be one of solitude. As he began, he could only think that he had been honest about work. He had been trying to create worlds, build life. As he continued, he thought that if only he could complete his project, his wife would understand what he was doing all along. Then something happened that had never happened before. His success arrived like poetry.

In his research regarding world creation, he had come across works detailing the physical elements of the universe, heavy texts describing the optimal placement of planets, and mechanical sketches regarding the construction of living beings. But this time, time having not existed until this very moment, he came across the stars.

I am not so blind as to not realize that this topic is subject to crude metaphors or, perhaps worse, an epic allegory of erectile dysfunction, but this is genuine human sorrow, derived from the fact that the moment I finish writing this, I will have to throw away a banana for having turned stale. It sits on my desk now, unaware of its fate. This is for you, banana.

The townsfolk thought that by having me tarred and feathered, I would die from humiliation, but they only helped me complete my human-rooster transformation.

Whenever I pass the intersection of Atlantic and Valley, my memory harks back to the early days when I first arrived in L.A. for college. I was 18, and the world was without limit. I knew because I had seen commercials for Girls Gone Wild.

Biblical events have begun taking place on my body. Today, a tiny Moses parted my hair.