The Entry Word 1.8


‘Here Bartholomaus Hamson introducing,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘Lieutenant. Sidekick. Limb.’

Bartholomaus Hamson is an ugly brute of a manstrosity.

‘Herds Bartholomaus Hamson the Unslept,’ continues Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘Guidance divining crowd control.’

Bartholomaus Hamson offers his sleaziest of smiles.

‘Grin on, fine friend,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘Planet now feeling fear and not happiness.’

Bartholomaus Hamson begins to shuffle inconveniently and though the world could never know this is Bartholomaus Hamson expressing his joy at arriving through spontaneous dance. His dermatitis skin forms new flabs and folds and flakes as Bartholomaus gathers an unseemly pace.

The Entry Word 1.7


The next morning.

‘I am obtuse from now forever,’ declares Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘We have seen enough of your foolish world to be anything other than annoyed for having been summoned through your stupidity.’

Jodocus smiles.

‘Furthermore, you will now find it hard to understand me when I speak.’

Another smile.

‘But just before that happens just always know that I only have your worst interests at heart. There can never be doubt with this.’

Jodocus Meaddowcraft clicks his fingers.

‘Sense now over gone forever hard speaking me confusion reigns misunderstanding.’

The Entry Word 1.6


‘There is a multitude of us,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘One after the other and then the next again forever now. More than you can count.’

‘Behold the Unslept’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft, pointing at the screen. ‘See how they play.’

Jodocus laughs.

‘Each one summoned by a mistyped search.’

The Assembly looks and what it sees chills to the bone. A hundred thousand million figures in perpetual tortured motion; fighting and climbing and dancing and jumping, in gangs and alone, all moving forever. The image is grainy but there was no doubt as to what the world is seeing, the end of itself. They begin materializing. All the shapes and sizes you can imagine. Many you cannot hope to.

The Entry Word 1.5


‘I bet you don’t even know what I am?’ Jodocus Meaddowcraft continues. ‘Saint? Resurrect? Alien? Visitor? Deity? Destroyer? Saviour? Traveller?’

No one knows what to say to Jodocus Meaddowcraft. Advice is sought but not provided.

‘No whispering,’ whispers Jodocus Meaddowcraft loudly as delegates confer. ‘Do not talk amongst yourselves any longer. Only to me with the conditions I have outlined.’

Jodocus Meaddowcraft looks around.

‘This building is about to be off-limits to you all so please get ready to leave straightaway.’

The Entry Word 1.4


‘I don’t know what I want with you yet,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft to the General Assembly of the United Nations. ‘You brought me here and I haven’t had time to formulate a plan.’

All languages at once are heard true in his ear. Only the world cannot hear each other.

‘You gathered people are right to be afraid because it was a terrible idea to wake me up and get me here from there. A terrible idea.’

The Assembly have no words.

‘I will take petitions like a king from old. You may visit me in my court. I will accept tributes of all and every kind. I will read four letters a day but only if they are handwritten. Be there in person and be prepared to wait for a long time.’

Jodocus Meaddowcraft turns to leave.

‘I warn you though,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘I cannot ever be fair.’


The Entry Word 1.3

Sea levels start to rise. Waves lap. Buildings now bob. Submerged where once they stood tall and proud. Clouds boil black and fearful. Deserts grow tall green grass springing from the dirty sand.

‘Simple tricks,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘Pointless entertainments designed not to prove worth but to simply demonstrate. D-E-M-O-N-STRATE.’

Mere feints and darts. Patients are miraculously healed and tumours disappear. But churches collapse. Ocean liners sink without trace. Airplanes vanish. Technologies begin their fail. Countries start to starve.

‘This is what I mean by disorder,’ smirks Jodocus Meaddowcraft. ‘In the time we have already spent together I have brought seventy six species of plants and animals back from extinction whilst also removing 0.000002% of the world’s population.’

Jodocus Meaddowcraft looks through the camera into the eyes of the world.

‘The question is what next?’

The Entry Word 1.2

‘We are here,’ says Jodocus Meaddowcraft. Not tall or small or large. Just him. Her. Both. Neither. All. Bleary-eyed. Centuries-old and the same tired. Crumpled after arriving. Constipated. Wearing a plain linen suit with a sweat ring beneath each arm. Polyester shirt. Slip-on shoes. Migraine.

‘I suppose you could call us cosmic spam if you felt so inclined but it matters not a jot. Most things matter the small sameness to us. We are endlessly without endless priorities.’

Jodocus does the chat-show circuit all at once, simultaneously appearing on every chair and sofa around the world. Beamed live on every screen.

‘It was you who spelt the Entry Word so don’t blame us for what happens next. With your too-big fingers and too-hasty thumbs all tapping and typing in terrible error. How could you have ever known?’

Jodocus lifts a single finger for emphasis.

‘History is jumble anyway so what’s more confusion.’

Jodocus smiles for the cameras.

‘Only disorder is truly understood and therefore ever-engendered. None look like you have the capacity for real stillness with your fussing and itching and barking like annoying small dogs all less important than they believe.’

Jodocus shakes his head.

‘No interruptions. None. Simple listening will always suffice.’

And though the whole world has a hundred thousand million objections all based on size and creed and history and logic and faith and superstition and other such informations none of these hundred thousand million objections actually formulate properly in the presence of someone so far removed from understanding as to render each and every thought and belief and hope held dear now redundant. Replaced. Deep dark dense dangerous delicate. Unfathomable.