THIS FLEA’S DEATH

Dear Reader,

It’s past midnight, going on way past midnight.

I fell asleep a couple of hours ago -- if thrashing through a panic about the aging of The Beatles’ songs qualifies as sleep. Thanks to a bit of warped subconscious logic and a little too much Thai iced tea, my dreaming mind focused on the year 2015, a mere twelve years from now, when the music of The Beatles will be roughly fifty years old. The phrase “fifty years” rang through my head again and again. (It beats last night’s dream of an invasion of heart attacks from Mars. I kid you not.) As I rolled over in bed, twelve years felt like nothing, Fifty felt like an absurdity. I can’t explain my panic. At its core was fear of death.

When I was born, Beatles songs were still new. Many hadn’t yet been recorded. When I was a kid, most of those songs weren’t much older than I was. Tonight, though, fifty years didn’t seem long enough to measure the wobbly fall of a water droplet from the tap to the sink.

This life slips away, and when I put my head on my pillow my mind only wants to sing songs about death. “We’re dying to take you away…”

Welcome to the second issue of The God Particle.

Best wishes,
-Eric Bosse
editor

PS I would like to thank the proofreaders for Issue 2, Jason DeBoer and
Steven Douglas Gullion.