This is the opening scene of a TV pilot I’m working on. It isn’t about the death of God in the sense of a rise in secularism, but rather a fall in meaning. Questioning if bureaucracy is the antithesis of spiritualism:
If God’s corpse was found in the river down the road, what would run through your local authority’s head? Who’s gonna fish it out the water? Who’s paying for that? Who has to fill in the forms? Has Satan been notified? Does this fall under Church or State? Are we, technically, all in the will? Procedure without meaning is the true death of God. There’s a lot of that in London. The script is predominately about this godless shithole I’ve moved to.
Holy books are not rule books, there isn’t an algorithm to become closer to God, and please realise no one else in the country does the left-side-of-the-escalator thing. In my local library, you have to sign into a chair. Real thing. And if you try and sneak a chair past them, they come up to you with a clipboard and ask how long you’ll be staying. I’m typing from the chair.
Nomadic Wondera 
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