The Authors Of The Big Bang


The Big Bang is not out of nothing, say NASA astrophysicists. It is difficult to know how things went 13.7 billion years ago. Besides, are we sure of the date? According to current science, this is when the greatest event of all time happened: the Big Bang. Because before the Big Bang, there was no time!

Hawking was wrong

At least that’s what famous astrophysicist Stephen Hawking thinks. He claims the Big Bang came from nothing. He says the very existence of time began with the Big Bang. Therefore, it makes no sense to ask what existed before the Big Bang because there was no time for anything to exist.

Hawking is wrong, says a friend elephant. Time already existed, and everything else. But on another plane no doubt. I approve of this elephant — he is a good friend of mine. Moreover he’s right. I agree, and I’m adding a layer to it. Listen.

Why would time be a necessary and sufficient condition for anything to exist? Maybe there was no time, but eternity doesn’t care, and so do we. I sing it to you in all tones: in astral there is no time or space. But it is full of life. What do you find there as hyper-luminous shamans! They go a billion times faster than light, because in astral one moves at the speed of thought in an abolished space. It is not you who move, but matter, planets, stars, universes. Everything comes to you at your slightest desire.

One day, 13.7 billion years ago, a bunch of learned astrophysicists imagined the big bang. A bubble was immediately created in the astral plane, and from this bubble the big bang sprang. Time has changed gears. Our universe was born.


These geniuses are the ABB. Authors of the Big Bang. I saw them as you see them. When I want, I still see them as I saw you before you fell on this site. You had to, so I did it for you. Everything is written, say the believers. They are right.


To write everything, the ABB needed only a few models. By combining them, they made the Big Bang that multiplied their work by assembling these models in every possible way. By hand, so to speak. Thus was born our universe. Since then, everything goes wonderfully in a spontaneous, self-managed, self-replicating world. A world that no longer needs them to exist, grow and multiply. Life is not their work but it owes everything to them. The Big Bang scored the goal, the Abbs had given him the assist.




Do what they do. Drop the endless calculations, the myriad equations, graphs, numbers and deciphers, equivalency tables, binary listings, and Huppoulaie’s Monk Husset.

I saw them as I saw you as a child when you were playing in the playground. What are you? Five. Your brain has too much to do to remember the codes and rules from here. It gives you a royal peace. And you take advantage of it! All the kids take advantage of it. Your body is full of sap and energy. You are a ball of light that rolls, unfolds and marvels. How many worlds have you built? How many possibilities have you made? I don’t know. A lot, that’s for sure.

The sun was your friend. It was he who gave you the most beautiful visions. You iron them in your home theater and you come like a little one. The moon has given you so many dreams! Careful, she has stored them for you in her internal memories. Gently, surely, without looking like one, she returns them to you according to your needs. The sun is your mother and the moon is your father. Love them as a good daughter. And be grateful.

With age, we forget everything. And first the child that we were. The child that we were fleeing. Confused the child was. Childhood in oak barrels. At the end of the chain. Chain.



The moon asks me to help you, Amédée. Josée, tell me José, what can we refuse to the Queen of Nights? She dazzles, Louis. I said yes. The moon charged me to pass on to people the forgetfulness they have done. The facts they have left behind. In the rut. No canopy. Without light. Without prayer. One winter evening by the river.

Ahmed, I need help. Amédée will help me. And Dédé. And Thaddée. You who are looking at me, do you have any ideas? Your hearts will overflow? Come help us, the ego is dead, the lease is to be given.

The moon has been exhausted since we climbed on its back. It will be raped soon to steal its minerals, its ore, its minarets, its mi-ré-do. She will lose her good looks by grasping the scheme. The moon has its trombine and will pull the face. Like a horse that flinches, she has already trembled. Your sins are forgiven. The moon is your friend. Play it your do re mi.

You see them going through the moon. You see them going under the water, into the deep. Those who have eyes to see them will see them in turn. We see them as we feel their love. They will live forever. Time passing its turn waits for them in its turn. The child born without clothes will go away without return.

Moon without the other with ours, a good apostle aboard a cotre has wandered. See yours.

Moon unduly naked in the nude. Unknown moon. She came the small child, a girl with bare arms that a thin thread weaves on the menu, on the avenue, she came.


My lifelove

I love you
Like a magnet falling in love
I see you I faint and I lose the battle
I drift I slip into the rift
May desire notch by knitting the stitch
From stained glass coral to the sound of gunfire
That a sad scarecrow shooter draw straws



Farewell Stephen

The authors of the Big Bang are four and you will not be able to beat them. Their body is carved in alabaster and yours molded in plaster. Hold it to yourself to say my Stephen when I ring you on the phone. You are neither giant nor gorgon. A simple animal who thinks and who does not see that one is surprised by realizing that he is screwing up.


Lucidity is the meeting place of consciousness and sensuality.
Norman Mailer