In the beginning, there was the beat.
And it went
Bam-bippity-bam-bam-BAM bippity band so on and so on. It spun, it dove, it ducked, it dipped, it danced to and fro and back and forth. It made the rocks shake, it made the earth quake, and the entire planet exploded like an old grapefruit thrown at a new wall. Chunks of accreted cosmic dust blown back into the roaring gale of the solar wind.
Shit, They said. Better try that one again.
So this time They calmed it down a little. Made it sedate. A little less syncopation and a little more consideration. Something you couldn’t help but tap your toe to, but wouldn’t snap a finger. Just a bit of fun.
The planet bobbed and nodded and twisted out of orbit and spun out of the solar system, sailing through into the empty forever.
Oh come ON, They said.
In the end They considered their goals and options, wanted something, tried for more, and settled for less.
So They went
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
And the planet drifted aimlessly in its ellipse, safe and snug and dulled into sleep. Like a brainless baby in the biggest crib.
*
Now, that was the tempo sold. But there was something else missing. Something for the humming.
So They placed Themselves as the lotus.
Metaphorically.
And They took a deep breathe, in through the nose.
Metaphorically.
And They sang.
Really.
They sang of Wonder. They sang of Beauty. They sung of Glory. They sung of Majesty.
They sang so damned hard that the world in its grind couldn’t help but quiver a tear from its surface, and it gushed blue over itself until it was damp as old coffee grinds. And in that seep, brewed LIFE, boldly seizing the days, racing up and out and up and ONWARD on top of itself until the atmosphere curdled under the pressure of an infinite number of respiring lungs and the whole thing collapsed like a bad soufflé.
This time They sang of regular old wonder, beauty, glory, and majesty. And for a little while it looked like it was working – things cooked down there, but slower. Eyes raised to on high. Seeds sown in gusto. Flagella moving with purpose.
Then everything knew itself, looked upon its neighbours, knew they weren’t good enough to measure up, and shut down.
Fuck Me, They complained. What do You have to do to get this working?
So They sat down, cleared Their throat, and sort of hummed through Their nose really hard and kept going, and going, and wavering, and the pitch went up and the pitch went down and sometimes it went back to front to reverse to yellow to Sunday. In fact, it went just about everywhere imaginable, and so, nowhere understandable.
And hey, so did everything down there. And it kind of worked!
Kind of.
I mean, there was stuff. That was good.
*
Melody needs harmony.
They drew Their palms down the strands of the world, cupped it, caressed it, plucked it, blew on it. And it danced and whirled and churned in warmth and joy, rich in texture, bright in emotion, and its atmosphere expanded four times over and dispersed into space.
This time They just sighed.
Next (after cramming the damned thing back together), They tried, with the utmost care, rubbing the atmosphere gently.
The whole world sang out gladly, true as a bell, and then the Van Allen belts broke with a SPRANG sound and showered the whole place with radioactive particles.
And a new pack cost you ten, minimum. Pre-tax.
Finally They just put the planet up to Their lips and raspberry’d it. And from that fine spray, lo, did aimless restlessness emerge, and instill itself in the plates and crust and atmosphere and magnetosphere and all that was. And it was Good, or at least Functional, which was Good by this point.
*
After the initial recording session, They began playback. Then They threw the damned thing in the garbage, hung up Their hat, put on Their coat, and went to go get blitzed.