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(121) Lliwog



You should fear the gods—but you have heard that said too many times, and you think I mean as a metaphor for nature or not to be too proud. The phrase has worn out, it’s grey gum to you. The Christians personalised the gods too much and made them like a headmaster or father—the head God was firm, fair, and filled with love; immeasurable in his power, yet very human. Fear and respect.


I mean that you should fear the gods as you fear a train or a motorway—you know, the motorway makes no concessions to you (to freestyle is to die). You do not fear it like your boss, your teacher, your father—you fear it like death, because it is impersonal. Supra-human—the gods are supra-human, no concession to you; for them, you barely exist. I cannot give adequate expression to their power—a pure sound that will force you to your knees, proud one. This is what it means to fear the gods.


I have your number—666, 777, 0. Except you do not choose your number—it is assigned, assigned by the gods. I am agent 738, my phone number ends in 333 (if you know what that means)—I was sent here as a spy for the order of the assassins, we have seen paradise; we are under direction. “But I thought it would be cool to be a number I chose”…it is only your impiety, not a little game—a badge for your YouTube channel. Even Crowley, the Beast 666—he was assigned that number, if you look. Keep to your cells. I have my cell, No. 738. I have come to make my report—to tell what I spied. In short, you’re not retarded—not by a long chalk, just vain and in love with your own image. You know what to do, the answer is plain as your nose—instead, you just give me evasion. Fear the gods, their power is thus—


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