Leviathan

1 Sometimes I feel like Jonah fleeing Nineveh. Who wants to hear what is evil? Every day we make this earth less alive, various or legal. What is this diminishment but sin against god which is a program to generate complexity? I should go to Nineveh and cry against wickedness which halts love which wants the other’s different self to stay itself. 2 They say if you’re fair or moneyed or live on a mountain you won the lottery, everyone else, apologies — storms aren’t going away so play the game nicely. Lots are cast, blame allotted, men tossed to the ocean’s torsion, seaweed’s cage, foreclosing depths and then the blue whale’s curdled belly digesting everything we’ve done. 3 I visited a branch of Sea Life in an ex-county hall. Mops in corridors, half-empty vending machines. They took photos of us pretending to look scared in front of green screens. Rays took titbits from stinking cups. The sharks were gilled glide, ravenous for outside. We were vomited onto dry land by the Coca-Cola London Eye. 4 I must warn Nineveh. But who wants to hear me say what is evil? It is dominion. It is the law that makes goodness impossible, fasting in sackcloth the only option. But god will not say must only relent or sorrow as the whale does when her calf is taken — a harrowed sound that does not bear description.