I finished writing The Rev in 2003 (I think) and haven’t looked at it since. God knows why. But here it is, with all its foibles and occasional moments of brilliance.
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THE REV
by Craig Loo
Prologue
We used to fly in the mind of God. We in God and God in us. We are grounded now, a virus against the principle of life.
In death, I couldn’t help but think of the sad moments that endured with unnatural stamina-a good portion of my life had been spent beneath an umbrella of despondency. As I grew, the sorrow grew with me, vine-like, entwining tendrils of melancholy about my soul. This was known as mono-no-aware-the sadness in things-but it began more as depression. As a result of external stimuli I had discovered the lowness that can be achieved when love of the self is lost. What sheer meanness arises from those depths history knows in the decay of cities and civilizations, in the sad lack of fellowship.
And what applied to the individual applied to the mass organism as well. We were falling apart, individually and from each other. There was no social cohesion, no binding cord to ensure civility or even a tincture of normality. We neared the apex of violence, but the change had been so wholly gradual that the level of indecency was accepted as commonplace.
But there was always the surety that we could not run. We were the sovereign creators and proprietors of the blight, and thus were charged to remain and cultivate the poisoned lands.
I, too, remained, staying myself with the one reassurance that complies with the laws of inevitability and inexorable motion-against all worry, death is coming.
In the Big Bang that held the promise of my death, in that little instant that unwinds the memories you own and plays them back before closed eyes, I found a thread of truth and held on until it unraveled into infinity. The memories of this life and others burned within, cauterizing the wound of life, branding the body of those memories to my soul. The thread of truth lasted a mere instant, and that instant for all eternity.
This, the recounting of a tragedy, I give as a gift. It is told from the perspective of death so that the illusion of life may be exposed.
This is reminiscence. This is the everlasting I recalling history to life. This is the circle.
This is the way things happened….
Go To Chapter 1
Go To Chapter 2
Go To Chapter 3
Go To Chapter 4
Go To Chapter 5
Go To Chapter 6
Go To Chapter 7
Go To Chapter 8
Go To Part II – Chapter 1
Go To Part II – Chapter 2
Go To Part II – Chapter 3
Go To Part II – Chapter 4
Go To Part II – Chapter 5
Go To Part II – Chapter 6
Go To Part II – Chapter 7
Go To Part II – Chapter 8
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