Older Gods pt 3


Older Gods 3

Disembodied we connect now more completely, cells in motion swaying in these current pressured deeps. Now there is no you, no me, no consciousness wrapped up in skin, no ties beyond the ones we choose, no master, slave, no kith nor kin. The mitosis of the God’s blood is undone. Collapsed, compressed, at long last we are one.

And yet amid the electric impulse of our joy: you, me, I, us could feel the thread of something left unsaid unravelling. In the paean of this mad and lonely God, this deity trapped in darkness, this Lord bereft and manorless, is the shadow of some immense untruth. We who lost our youth to ageing travel, desiccated by the salt and sun can sense the veil, invisible, afloat upon the sunken waves, the dance of something long desired but always swaying just away from sight.

The God; drunk on our long awaited draught: belief; sensed the poison of suspicion. We glimpsed the shadowed vaults of his vast mind, the galaxies colliding in their stately walk to death, the effigy half hidden in the lightning of his thoughts. The poison fired him, unable to stop his being soaking up all our belief, the venom of hestitation reflected his withheld confession. His rage tore torrent and tornado through our vaporous existence, until expended he fell sobbing in the throbbing quiet vastness, inseparable and one we coalesced again.

“Ask not”, he begged, piteous shadow of omnipotence. “Ask not, for I am so long alone in this hard darkness, and maddened by the very scent of you.”

I have been waiting centuries; at long last you have come.


Back to contents

part four


If you are interested in my storytelling look here


Older Gods pt 2

2013-05-29 14.26.00

Older Gods 2

I wept this world into existence, gnawed the firmament to anchor mountains and the sky, spat seeds to plant the mother trees. I bound the whole in my own hands, and from my bleeding blisters I made man.

Such curious things you were, so keen to contemplate the nature of your maker, so cunning in your artifice and your joy of making things, eyes always in search of difference, to catalogue and differentiate, as if you were not born out of the spatters of my blood.

I gloried in the variegation of creation, the purple moors, the white capped mounts, the surf, the sea, the infinite shades of blue and green. You counted up them all; assigned a category; classified and codified; weighed, measured and valued.

What right have you to judge, determining the destiny of any but yourself? I made you articulate and ambulatory to leave you free to move, unshackled by silence. What was it in the ichor of your substance and the air that I bequeathed you that made you seek dominion, to raise other gods than me, and in their name impose your will? What made you so arrogant, so beholden to your “me”?

I wept again in horror, and washed it all away. Thinking I had cleansed the world, heedless I let your pestilence spread out unchecked, until aghast I saw brutal scars upon the surface of the earth, the power vested in your filthy pantheon of envy and desire. I raised my hand to bathe the world in fire, but my potency was gone. Without belief my blood ran thin, my bones clashed and rattled in my skin, I roared but raised no wind, the sound echoed shuddering and died within. They laughed. That brothel kin of childling Gods, the man made masters of the world of want looked upon my pitiful predicament and laughed.

So here I fled. The last miles of the world for which I bled, the deeps where the sun I lit no longer shines, and the creatures of my lone imagining will never find. I fled and I have waited, knowing someone would raise their voice against the world where greed now means the same as need. Someone would strike out in search of me. My blood will out and I will rise again.

I have been waiting centuries, at long last you have come.


Back to contents

part three


If you are interested in my storytelling look here

Older Gods pt1


Older Gods 1

Raised in the floating barrels of cooped conformity, and ripped on the coral floor of justice by jealous deities, we fled these shores in search of older Gods. We sought the starless sky, absent of the hymnals of our dreaming pantheon. We left behind the lights of harbours and the last vestiges of home. We forged our own and undirected path between the hunger of the north wind, and the waves daemonium. Soft flesh salt dried to skeletal, skin haggard on the bone. Until exhausted, coracles entwined, endoldrumed, flat in mirror black, we floated in unnatural calm, ruined bodies languishing irrevocably alone.

With no whisper from the stifled air, no lapping from the waves, our own voices sucked to silence we heard the hammer of our heartbeats perfectly in time. A fury in the drumming, a persistent double tap, call, response, contiguous, a ritual in rhyme. We pierced the bottoms of the boats, the water drank them down, and we sank ceaseless and willing, the drums called us to drown. We sank. Who can say then if we lived or died, for your hair spread out like thunder clouds, your eyes flashed like lightning chains, but the manic beating slowed until a true and total silence dissolved all of our consciousness, the twists and ties of our like minds were unravelled and undone.

We heard the voice then in the darkness of the sensory divide. In the moment of our separation where our thoughts could not elide. Vibrant and enveloping, bone deep and resonant. Shattering in the certainty that our long search was done.

“I have been waiting centuries, at long last you have come”.


Back to contents

part two


If you are interested in my storytelling look here