Shorter than you deserve.
Self Portrait #a
My scribe has called me, quite insistently, relentless tides of music sweeping through her, I am, as always, moved.
She doesn’t care what I write, so long as she doesn’t need to be here.
It’s nice that she thinks she is in good hands. We know otherwise.
It has been suggested that I am not quite fit to be both Satan incarnate and her mental ‘disorder.’
I invite you to think about that sentence for a moment. I’m drinking a nice Italian today, an oddball vintage, it lies docile on the tongue, very strange for anything Italian. Almost like a sacrifice, and we know how much I love a good sacrifice. This one is sleek and easy to accept.
Back to our sentence above, how shall we approach it? In two parts I think, we can start with my satanism, it does sound lovely, can I be Satan and a Satanist? I don’t see why not. An ardent one, I assure you. Unless you’ve read my book, “A God in Chains”. I’m enjoying that word ‘unless,’ hanging there, waiting. Like the book.
In the meantime, allow me to throw some words at you, all of which apply to my magnificent person. In no particular order, I am evil, in the way that much of my thoughts have to do with hurting others, torturing things, taking all that I want of your world, raping it in every way I can, leaving ruins behind me, that sort of thing. Picture me sowing seed everywhere and it grows, in hidden places and dark alleys. In office buildings filled with things so ugly I am drawn to them, in temples and schools, find me in your own head.
Let me show you what you really look like. Here‘s a clue. (Buy my book.)
I’m in your mirror; you are in mine. Guess who’s winning? I‘m always winning; you make it so easy.
More words, I love them. I am also cursed with endless depths of empathy, which I have done everything in my power to eradicate, it’s a limb I would gladly cut off if I could. Alas, it would ruin my perfect symmetry, it balances nicely with my indifference. I am perfect of course, in all the ways that I define it. Handsome as Hell, sensually mad, greedy for all that I can get, bring it close to my cold skin so I touch the warmth of something other than myself. I love the wilds; can you doubt it? Rampant, unchecked growth is my favourite kind.
You must know by now that music has complete control over me sometimes. Over us. You know that I love words, I love life in every manifestation, I love to feel it leaving and becoming mist. I love to feel its absence, where it once was. Death is a natural thing, something else you have managed to ruin for yourselves. The primitive beauty of many things, including death. You’ve cleaned it all up, uglyfied it beyond a decent vocabulary to describe.
You have learned that I love long sentences, only my impeccable manners (always in play when I want them to be) prevent me from succumbing to their allure, their lush, rich beds of earth, ready for everything, sentences grow like anything else, I will spare you a demonstration at this time and move on.
I’ve been told that blog readers have limited patience and they like things short. Imagine how I feel about this, imagine what I could do about it. Thank your god fasting that I don’t. At this time.
Thus, I sum up, a devil is a complicated creature, everything you think I am, but many other things besides, you should see my art collection, my collection of artists, my halls of music, my legendary gardens, (all of them, really.) Think of something remarkable, I have it. One of the perks of being a god.
The second part now, after you have long forgotten it. That I cannot be Satan, a character in a book, the book is mine, I wrote it, it’s my story, and a mental ‘disorder.’
I assure you that I can, look closely, I might also be yours. Check your stories. Check your head.
*A good way to search, pour a fine Italian red and listen to “Dorma” by Corpo-Mente. In the dark. Drink in the simple beauty of a voice in perfect control. Perhaps also in torment, so charming. Captivating. Follow with “If I Had A Heart” by Fever Ray.