Entropic Musings

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Melody

What could we know of endings

in that early season of unlocking,

when the breath of God was lilacs

whispered faint and cautious

on soft spun breezes that seemed

to promise us everlasting dances,

too soon slowing their tempos

as autumn gently touched our limbs.

 

Exegesis on Exodus

Just park your Bible over there, my man,

and let me sort these things out in my mind.

The way I hear you tell it—and let me

know if I got this right—is that some dude

named Moses came across a burning bush

that spoke to him and said that it was God.

Not only God, but the sole deity

the Hebrew slaves in Egypt should worship.

Still, Moses had to ask the bush’s name

so he could tell the Pharaoh who sent him

to demand that a bunch of laborers,

a super cheap work force at that, mind you,

should be given pink slips and sent packin’.

But why didn’t Moses know right away?

He was a Hebrew himself, after all.

A flippin’ monotheist all along,

yet he had to ask which god was speaking.

Sounds like his caravan might have been shy

a few camels, if you know what I mean.

But he was apparently I Am’s boy,

for better or worse, so that would be that.

Thus, God’s paladin goes back to Egypt—

that country where they threw him out before—

and he gets himself in to see Pharaoh,

who likely wasn’t thrilled that he’d come back.

“Let my people go,” he up and demands.

“Your people?” Pharaoh says. “You’ve got some nerve.

I’ve seen smaller balls on a brass monkey.

Those slaves belong to me and me alone.”

“Then God’s gonna get you,” Moses replied.

“Which god? Pharaoh asked. “I Am,” he answered.

“You are?” his majesty suppressed a laugh.

“No, I Am,” Moses reiterated.

“That’s what I said,” the Pharaoh insisted.

“You are, and my answer remains the same.”

“No, no—I Am, I Am, and Who’s on first.”

“I don’t care. My answer is still no, nada, nicht!”

So Moses left everything in God’s hands,

and the Almighty hardened Pharaoh’s heart

which meant that all the plagues that were to come

didn’t have to happen in the first place

since Pharaoh really didn’t have a choice.

Now, if you ask me, it seems I Am

was bound and determined to dump a load

on those poor Egyptians no matter what,

and thus the Nile River turned to blood.

But we all know it was really red mud,

and so did everyone else who saw it,

which means it didn’t count for diddly-squat

as far as being a threat from on high.

God soon followed up with frogs, lice, and flies,

but they already had flies a’plenty;

same with lice, and frog legs tasted real good.

Then I Am got nasty and killed their cows—

no matter that the herdsmen lacked the means

to get Pharaoh to unthaw his hard heart

which was I Am’s doing from the get-go.

Might I point out here how very absurd

it is to credit God with omniscience?

It costs you credibility, my friend.

See, if God already knows that the boils,

the firey hail, locusts, and darkness

weren’t going to work no matter what,

why would He go to all of the trouble,

making everyone’s lives hell—Hebrews, too—

before he hits them with His big whammy

and strikes dead the firstborn of every goy?

Kind’a dickish of Him, wouldn’t you say?

And that’s the Deity we should worship?

Well, yeah, it all worked out pretty damn swell

for Moses and his people, who were freed

but kept slaves of their own as time went on,

though all that came after God parted seas,

drowned Pharaoh’s soldiers, and rained down manna

as the Hebrews wandered for forty years

in the desert with nothin’ much to do

except follow a bunch of Commandments.

And it wasn’t like those rules were much fun;

no killin’ (’ceptin’ when I Am said to)

and no screwin’anyone’s wives but yours.

Even in a polygamous culture

that crap could get old very, very quick,

but it might still have worked out for the best

if God had followed His own rule and left

Joseph’s old lady, that Mary, alone.

But, if He had, that book you keep thumpin’

would have been a heck of a lot shorter,

and you might have found a much better way

to spend your time than convincing no one

that your holy version of Mother Goose

for adults makes the slightest bit of sense.

Just one more thought, fella: Why don’t you make

a personal Exodus out the door

before some of these other guys get pissed?

On Saturday nights, they sometimes start fights,

and I’d hate to see a river of blood

when there ain’t no slaves left that need freein’.