I want to consume the whole universe. I will start with a hot dog – mustard, tomato sauce, cheese and all the trimmings. I’ll then polish it off with Moscow, wiping the corners of my mouth gingerly with the blanket of the Atlantic. Pretty soon the Americas will be in my belly and I’ll burp before drinking the Pacific dry. Crunching through the earth’s delicious pie crust I’ll savour the hot core like a chilli tako yaki from a Tokyo street vendor. I’ll move through the solar system inhaling comets, planets and space junk ’til there’s nothing left to hand but me and the sun. This I’ll absorb by osmosis. I won’t bother moving about to chow down on the rest of the Milky Way; I’ll simply focus my will and pull it to me like a sequined blanket caught in a vacuum cleaner.
I’ll keep going until there’s only me with all the universe inside me. Then, with the teary remorse that accompanies the consumption of all existence, I’ll draw in on myself until I am a singularity of anguish. An infinitesimally small point of potent rage and sorrow.
Finally, with nothing left to feel but abject compassion, I’ll explode.
And so it will all begin all over again.