The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, / The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before; / The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air, / And the clouds perish’d; darkness had no need / Of aid from them—she was the Universe.
Oh Sun, harbinger of death, nuclear warhead in the sky, ball of fire, Calligula’s bitch, is there nothing you wouldn’t do to make people worship you? Oh Moon, ball of light, or so it seems; erotic participant in Simo’s dreams: from sacred darkness your essence is shorn to partake in the epic war against the one named Ahura, for what is seen is not what is true nor what is real, and like you, we are all light-reflecting faces caught in gravity fields. I, the owl of Minerva, live in the realms of the dark night of the soul, for darkness is my home and through it I must roam. Shocking as it may seem, realms of light, and light beams, are not an aid to vision, but an object of my derision. You say that darkness is bitter and light sweet, to which I retort: Without the bitterness life wouldn’t be so sweet, sweet as halwah, sweet as the taste of “The Lilly of Havilah.” Big bang boomerang, what goes around comes around, and after the expansion must come contraction. Qabd and bast, qabd and bast, ana-al-haqq! Or am I? We think we can see in the brightness of day, and our vision will fail when the light goes away. That is false, it’s a lie spoken to hide the subversive truth that it was the prophets, not the Devil that had lied. But if theirs was a lie, it was noble indeed, a lie to prevent corruption and greed. Then history happened with wars and with rape. This is the form of our existence and our human shape. So to reach the Truth in this postmodern spectacle, we must become Iblis’ receptacle. A Faustian bargain is life’s little cure for a sad and meandering existence, often a bore, for the Devil is good and his truths are sublime, his way is the left-handed path, which is so hard to climb. So I join the clan of the Devil tonight, to seek the One who brought all to life. I become the seeker seeking the Sought, in this world of violence and strife. I am the owl of Miverva, the apple of your eye, and the winged cherubim you’ll see when you die. I am all of this and much more: I am a prophet, I am a whore. I am everything and nothing at all, I am the apple, I am the fall.