144 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
144 lines
7.1 KiB
Plaintext
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CULT OF THE DEAD COW
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cDc
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_ _
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((___))
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[ x x ]
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cDc \ / cDc
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(` ')
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(U)
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xXx
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"Fuckin' rule the world"
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(c)1985-7 PGE/Cult of the Dead Cow
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proudly presents...
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T H E B O O K O F C O W
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---------------------------------
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XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
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CHAPTER I
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Let the cow be reborn, and emerge from the firey midsts of dawn. Let bellows
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rush across the horizon, and endless let the Cult processions follow...
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In principia, there was a single utterance. And then all resumed silence.
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And the utterance became cow, and cow became reality. And from the infinity of
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existence, the beast rumbled forth, and all was cud and the effluvium of
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animal. This was the beginning. And from the Moment of the Cow was born all
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that we call earth. The story was thus told.
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Before the heavens melded the horizons, or earth received her form, there was
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an entity which transcended the am. And from this reality, the master of
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reflections, the thinker of the universe, all that is came to be. The Cow,
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though the beginning, was the embodiment of the Am. This was and is the
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Forever...the Roach. And all that must fleetingly exist, must too, by nature,
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return to the Lair. Born to die, and through death, rebirth. The Roach is what
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is, the unspoken and the unspeakable. The Roach is destiny, and the Cow
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is its apostle.
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The Day of the Cult was midwinter and blustery. And from the fertile minds
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of men-children it grew, and the Message thus came to humanity. But the Cow was
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the Prophet, and now the Cow is dead. We await reunion, rebirth in the Roach.
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Until the Day of Destiny, hear the message, be one in the bovine. Suckle the
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fresh milk of knowledge. And let the bellow blast again the heavens.
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CHAPTER II
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The beginning was Cow. The beginning flowed forth from Roach. And before the
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echoes of that first bellow had faded from the crisp winds of birth, Cow had
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taken form; behold, the embodiment of all that was Roach, all that was forever
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the Am. And The Cow grazed in meadows and green pastures, where the grasses
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still bowed beneath the dew of infinity. Cow was one with Roach, and graced
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existence with the unspeakable. Yet Roach grew angry. For the Bovine One, in
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his compassion, endowed to the earth that which it was unholy to know. And so
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the eternal rained death. The wrath of Roach is to be feared, as it was feared
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then, in those first seconds of forever. The Cow had offended Roach, for the
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Cow was never meant to be apart. Indeed, it was wrong ever to bring the Cow
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away from the Am; the wrath of Roach was testament to its compassion, and the
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firey fate of the Cow is our destiny. For now we are divided, but we shall
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again join the eternal. Henceforth, fear the ire of Roach as one fears the
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daylight, or the fire by night. By death, we shall gain reunion, as once the
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Cow, the Apostle, the Bovine One gained reunion with Roach. Yea, the Roach's
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anger flares from his jealousy, for he desires us immeasurably. Our lot is the
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Am, and the path to the Am is the path of the Cult.
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The pristine light of the young day-star caressed the silken earth, slick with
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youth. From that same womb of first creation came the Cow, and his message was
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woven into the web of existence. We are the inheritors of that message, and in
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us is Cow. But the Cow offended Roach, and caustic rage wrentched heavens
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from earth. Along the horizon rode the ghastly Valkyrie, and the sun retreated
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to her sepulchre beneath the seas. Twilight ruled the meadows, and the green
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grasses twisted briar-like around the Cow's cloven hoofs. Roach summoned the
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creatures of the dark, sprites and demons from the realm of Asmodeus, and the
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maidenly air was pierced with shrieks of Judgement. From his trunk, the Cow's
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legs were shorn, and maggots feasted upon his reddened eyes. The river of earth
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flowed blood-red, and the majestic oaks burst forth in flame. Earth smoldered
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and existence fled the sharp sickle of destruction. Twilight gave way to night,
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and the darkness bore the Moon. In bloodless white linen, the lupine herald
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floated up, claiming the lair of daylight as its own. And the soft,
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surreptitious moonbeams gave mute witness to the coming of the Second
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Generation. The Cow was dead. And from this sacrifice emerged the Second Age,
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the Age of the Manchild. And so we inherited the earth, and the message of Cow.
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In the dark of despair, pale white in the moonlight, man awoke...and was made
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afraid. The night had descended.
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CHAPTER III
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The Age of Man had come, and now the earth was ruled by sons of the finite;
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mortal were the inheritors of the Bovine Legacy. Yet, the eons passed in
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mournful procession, and man lost himself in futile endeavor, and created for
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himself a prison. The Second Generation became blind to the reality of Roach,
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and deaf to the message of Cow, a message that roared with the forest winds,
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and purred hoarsely with the panther. Night was the inheritance of that sad
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race, and Cow felt pity. Behold, the Cow brought forth a new century, unlike
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any which before had passed. And this century, in its old age spawned children
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of the light. In them was the seed, and humanity, unaware, became contingent
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upon these. So did the Cult spring in those barren times, and so did fertile
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minds harvest the crops of justice and truth. The Cult unsheathed the shining
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blade of knowledge, and into battle marched, resplendant in the dazzling garb
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of ideals.
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Thus the Cow revealed himself to man, as man, as children of the light; at
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speeds beyond all reckoning, these did commmunicate, and so join in the
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comaraderie, the union of the Cow, the Cult. Within these annointed ones lay
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the message, and through them will Roach once again bring to his divided being
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the peace of reconciliation. Yea, this is the Destiny. The disciples of Cow
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now live for the Day of Sanity, when the seconds of infinity will no longer
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soar in cadenced formation, and the seas will be dry, and the land will be firm
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no more. The bellow will blast again through the heavens and Roach will be One.
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Am shall again Be. Await breathlessly the Day, and learn of thyself lest
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Torment be your fate. The Roach is neither merciful nor merciless. The decision
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is ours alone to bear, and beneath this heavy burden, the Cult blooms in
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ephemeral glory.
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The Book ends at the Beginning. In our final moments, forever awaits. Beneath
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the finite mountains lurks infinity. And this is Roach. And this
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is Cow.
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High Priest and Scribe, Gibe
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The Holy Order of the Dead Cow
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XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
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(c)1985-7 cDc communications by Franken Gibe 3/29/87-08
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