In the beginning,
They said it was as big as a washing machine,
With a big blue star on it. Lots of lines, lots of angles.
In the beginning that machine fell where your great great great grandmothers would then build their golf club, but you can’t remember that.
In the beginning that fall didn’t do any damage, you know? Well, back then that crush couldn’t harm anyone really. Even if it crashed hard and loud. There was no fire. There was no sound. Only a big grey cloud of dust. Nobody saw or heard anything. Back then we couldn’t see or hear or even breathe.

The story of the falling machine became then an old chant your great great great grandmother taught us.
More or less it goes like this:

In the beginning there was no air
We weren’t there
That big grey cloud of dust that grew for days, well
A silent fanfare

In the beginning there was no sound
Grey slopes, caved mounds
And that little thing that crawled out without a scratch, hell
Had us spellbound

Well, many of them actually. “Hundreds and hundreds” they taught us.
And they crawled together, they ate together, they ate each other.
Until their hunger devoured the horizon.
At the end of the beginning they became the horizon.
When your great great great grandparents first touched the ground, they didn’t notice anything special. After all, we had been there only once, ages ago and no one remembers much about it. Long story short we really don’t know how it all started.
Anyways, in the beginning when your great great great grandparents arrived, a silver smooth surface covered their entire view. The machine that crashed was still there. It looked like an altar. Still as big as a washing machine.

And then the surface started to breathe. Those creatures swallowed your great great great grandparents. They swallowed them through their mouths as big as craters.
Inside their bodies there was air and water and plenty of living excrement.

You might feel horrified by the idea.
But they said that it was the moment we found our place.

And your great great great grandmother used to sing:

It’s been a very long time since something ate us
A long long time since something ate us
A very long time since something ate us
A long long time since something ate us

And it felt good, it felt safe. Those beasts didn’t do it on purpose of course. We became part of their life-preserving routine. We were part of their biological process, without the need to be swiftly decomposed for their survival.
We never understood why there was no catastrophe. We needed a catastrophe. We always do. Your great great great grandparents had no clue inside of those enormous beings; as they witnessed their own lives simply moving on in linear, unspectacular mediocrity, meaningful interpretations became obsolete.
We might blatantly say they just accepted being shit.

They had time to sing:

It’s been a very long time since something ate us
a long long time since something ate us
a very long time since something ate us
a long long time since something ate us

It’s been a very long time since something ate us
a long long time since something ate us
a very very long time something ate us
And hell, it just feels great

[Undistinguishable voices complimenting each other]

And inside those indifferent giants the old generations indifferently thrived.
There came the bars, the dance clubs, the golf clubs, the swinger clubs, the moon clubs. Our clubs floated with their matter and we wanted to homage those creatures. We really wanted them to acknowledge our presence. We’re here! Hear us clubbing and thank you!
Their enormous indifference towards what was inside them made us think they possessed a superior form of kindness: godly, other-wordly. We thought they were gentle. We thought they were smiling at us.

But they wouldn’t care
‘Cause they couldn’t care, oh
They couldn’t care
‘Cause they wouldn’t care, yeah

It’s been a very very long time since something ate us, we should say that.
The last time must have been at least 3000 years ago, maybe a little longer, maybe a little shorter.