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...presents... The Coming of Angels
by Obscure Images
>>> a cDc publication.......1990 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
_______________________________________________________________________________
It was raining again. It always seemed to be raining those days. The
stinging of the raindrops on my bare skin had long since become just another
minor annoyance. My boots were smoking from the acid puddles when I walked
into the etched grey building.
The door swung open at the touch of my hand. I walked into the dimly
lit foyer and stopped for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
There are times that I wished that my eyes would quit adjusting - to quit
looking. The lobby would have been dressed in a victorian fashion had it not
been for the passage of time. The carpeting which had been a rich thick red
had become a matted brown color, much like the color of dried blood.
One glance at the occupants of the lobby was more then I cared for. I
walked across the floor to the elevators. At least the elevators still worked,
though nothing else around here seems to. The lights in the elevator were out,
all except the glowing numbers that illuminated the elevator in a murky
crimson.
The 23rd floor came up fast. Being the only one on the elevator, I
felt relieved. Sharing an elevator with someone usually ended in a fatality.
The doors slid open, revealing the 23rd floor. I walked down the familiar
hallway, stepping over the body of my junkie neighbor, who had apparently shot
up for the last time. She left her apartment door open, so I casually glanced
in both directions and snuck inside. I searched the room for something with
any value at all, but there was nothing. I suppose that I should have known,
her being a junkie and all, but you never knew anymore. At least I got the new
TV Guide.
I walked into my apartment after having unsealed the lock and turned
off the security systems. The climate control kept the small apartment warm
and dry, the way I like it. I carefully removed my outdoor clothing and put
them in the cleaning closet, can't take too many chances with the acid. The
television clicked on as I sat down in the old easy chair I found in an antique
shop several years ago. There was nothing of interest on the tv, so I told it
to turn off- it refused. Having been completely pissed off by the latest in
consumer electronics, I stood up, ran across the room, and kicked a hole in the
screen. That took care of the video, but for some reason the audio kept
playing so I kicked it again, finally destroying it.
The smoke dissipated as time lurched forward, silence had been achieved
for the first time in the day. It was a strange feeling, the feeling of
nothingness. The feeling always passes, however as the ears adjust to the
myriad sounds of silence. The floor was as good of a resting place as anywhere
in this place. The thud as my body hit the floor was heard by no one, the
decay had begun.
---
The world is swarming with inventions of every kind. The rate of
technological improvement is beginning to slow down. The innovations of the
past are not all that easy to come by anymore. The universe regulates the flow
of information, too much information and the universe hides her secrets from
you. It has been argued that the slow down in the acquisition of new data is
good, gives us time to think about what we already know. I don't think so. I
think that something should be learned from everything. The world is gone.
All that is left is us. We are dying everyday. We can't seduce anymore tricks
from Mother Nature, we've done nothing of lasting value.
When the dancing of angels finally comes to rest, and the divine
beauties remove their toe-shoes, the blackness returns to fill the room. The
brightness of the event loses intensity as they return to their gilded towers.
That is where we are, we are in the aftermath of angels. The stunning
brightness that was mankind draws to a close. Unlike the angels, however,
mankind does not gracefully make its exit. The angels knew. The time had come
for them to leave and they did. We cling like children to the fantasy of
reality. There is none. What a fucking crude lot we are.
---
The time for the decay was here. The synapses grew apart, the dna fed
upon itself. It is the worm that turns, the quiet revolt of the body. It is
not to be feared, as I was later to find out, but to be embraced.
In pain there is understanding. The spiritual realization can only
come through intense agony. There is no escaping it. On the day I died I was
also born. I became what I never thought I could be. There were many others
with me, a minuscule number compared to the whole of the population. There is
a natural weeding out in cases like this, I suppose.
We watched from afar the comings and goings of our former race. We
could see the fleshhooks of chaos dig into the flesh of the people. We could
taste the pain of loved ones dying. When the time came, not very long after
the beginning, we stole the dying breath of our people. The others began their
ascent to the new lands, I could not. The last of my kind exited this
universe and the gateway was closed.
I was alone. I could feel nothing but the cold emptiness of the vacuum
embracing me. A tear was dropped from my eye as I wondered why I could not
leave with my brothers and sisters. The tear floated away, blossoming into the
seed of a new people, a people unlike the rest. I watched as they crawled from
their wombs; I nurtured them until they could stand alone. I realized then why
I was left behind. I am angel... no... I am God.
"And When You Tell Lies An Angel Dies"
-Severed Heads
_ _ _____________________________________________________________________
/((___))\|The Dead Zone........214/522-5321 Demon Roach Undrgrnd..806/794-4362
[ x x ] |NIHILISM.............415/285-9453 The People Farm.......916/673-8412
\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194 The Bombay............714/897-0412
(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691 The Works.............617/861-8976
(U) |=====================================================================
.ooM |(c)1990 cDc communications by Obscure Images. 5/8-05/17/90-#136
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.