Unholy.

Self portrait 9

Such a lovely word, no?

Six letters that can bring forth the wildest thoughts. What do you think of?

My true followers will feel a frisson of something, give it your own name. Am I talking about you? You want me to be, I think, but unholy is not something to be claimed lightly. First we must define holy.

The dictionary will give you something involving the word sacred, to someone, gods will be mentioned clinically, with perfect neutrality. Marvellous. What would you add?

Gods are a big deal, for all that they don’t exist. All kinds of claims, anyone can claim to be a god, ask Jesus. Mohammad, now there’s a smart man, charisma and primitive genius, excellent combination, he doesn’t need to be a god to rule his religion.

GOD himself, makes lots of demands and is impossible to reach. Where is he? He likes messing around with you, but really, you should be demanding some face time. You’re such pushovers. All of you make a virtue of not requiring some sort of proof, afraid you won’t find it. Isn’t that convenient? The guy has you doing his work for him, foaming at the mouth at the drop of his name, I do have to give him some credit.

For centuries I invited him to all my dinner parties, but he always has some excuse.  He’s afraid I’ll hurt him. Or corrupt him. How hard would that be?

I remind you that God is a lunatic, and not the interesting kind.

Think of his demands, let’s list a few, shall we?

Sacrifices, he needs those, if you can’t slaughter something think of other things you can do to yourself, deprivation of any kind is a good start.

Mutilation, this is his fetish, do it and watch him get it up. He also has it in for women, abuse yours properly, he approves. Remember to keep them on their knees, for him, for you, it’s all good.

The Earth? He contributed, they say, but there’s never been a warranty. He could give a shit. Wherever he is, he’s not on the planet, why should he care what happens to it?

Imagine how things would change if he sat up suddenly, and said,

“Holy Shit! You Motherfuckers! What the fuck are you doing to my planet? Assholes! You clean that shit up right now, you shut those fucking lights and shut your fucking faces. I’m going to take down a Fuckton of you miserable bastards, you goddam well plow them into the fucking soil and go hide in some hole before I burn you all for the infestation you are!”

It’s what I would say, only it would be eloquent, and there would be a great deal of suffering involved. Abuse of the planet, not even a sin. God likes you to exploit the gifts he gave you, wring the last bit of worth from their blood, turn them to dust, the worse it gets the more worshippers come looking for him.

Absolution. That’s what they want, and he gives it to them. Invisibly, by magic, from wherever he isn’t. What a trick, God the Magician isn’t half bad.

But if we look strictly at his track record, his legacies in the world as it languishes in slow, gentle death throes, we must come to the conclusion that God is, himself, unholy.

The word loses its lustre.

The logical conclusion is that I, myself, as God’s antithesis, am in fact, the holiest thing going.

But you knew that already. Just another reason to light candles for me.

“Coma” by Buckethead   With my compliments to Serj Tankian. More, gorgeous one, more. And louder.