The wisdom of Socrates
C : I certainly don’t believe that we already know everything. I am pretty sure that you know nothing.
A : How can I know nothing ? I am God.
C : Do you claim to be the only God, the One ?
A : Well, I wouldn’t go as far as saying that. Yet, those miss-believers that still believe the old religion…
C : What of them ? Are you going to eat them ? Fry them ? Boil them ?
A : They’re warned.
C : Let’s find the mouse of the matter.
A : I feel I am not as Good as Odinn. I can’ever spell his name for one thing.
C : Not your average run of the mill Pazuzu. Wasn’t Odinn both evil and good ? One eyed and all that ?
A : I sometimes ask myself: ‘Who am I, as a God?’ The answer : ‘I am a strong supporter of the righteous.’
C : There we go again with right and wrong. Who cares ? So there are some with rings of power. Surely Andvari’s curse applies to them too. And if not, not! Why all this begging, and guilt. I want to eat a mouse, I skin it. I go ahead and do it.
A : Is there a question ?
C : Is there ever an answer ? From you, or anyone ?
A : Surely, there must be something that we have done that is worth telling. Creating this world for example.
C : Geez, I wouldn’t ever want to take credit for this mess.
A : But who are you, cat ? Have you sat cross-legged on your way back from the desert, besieged by demons ?
C : That would be beneath me. But I know others who did those things. There’s nothing to be gained from navel-gazing.
A : That’s madness.
C : Not at all. Come meet my grandmother, Hel. She will tell you what’s what.
Churn the ocean
Steal the pot
Eternal life, my foot.
Demons every where
Evil is ill
It exists between silences and behind the eyes of your neighbours.
God is invoked, but revoked. The Iron Door is bent out of shape, its mechanic rings are spinning.
There’s no safe space, no formula, no litany, no succession
Athena is my witness, Artemis was my name.
If you think you are not good enough, join the moot.
A : A tapestry of pheasants, a conferences of doubters. A varied agony at the throat. Molasses of piano-stricken dialogues, riddled with root canals. I’m not the perfect Wagnerite. I am not the sound of some broken dream. Come and collect my nightmares, and you will see. They’re on offer. Discounted. I am lion that bites the flaccid buttocks of False Truth, and a friend to Asia and Europa alike.