Wielder of Names 2-35
‘On the topic of dogs, a passing priest once pressed me quite fervently on the subject of my own mortality. He was very concerned about preserving the nature of my immortal essence. “Grandson,” said I, “I am old and my bones are sopping with death already. Why should I care?” He went on to describe in great detail the rituals that could be undertaken to guard one’s soul against degradation and ensure smooth passage to the next realm.
“Do you perform these rites every day?” I asked him, trying to humor him. “Of course, auntie,” said the priest, “Every morning before I wake fully I perform my rites, then four more times a day before rest. It keeps me in good health and spirits, knowing that my death will be a golden door to paradise.”
“Four times a day?” I said, incredulous. “Of course,” said the priest, “Don’t you think about dying, auntie? You should be worried, at your age.”
“Do you think about dying?” I asked him. “How about before sleep?”
“Yes,” he said, seeing that I was clearly straining his good nature. “How about when you bathe?” I asked him. He thought a moment. “Well, sometimes,” he replied. “How about when you shit?” I said. “Never,” he said brusquely.
“Not even once?”
“Well maybe once, but I don’t see the point! Who knows?” he said, clearly seeking to draw away from me and peddle his wares onto more the more gullible trash that populated the gutter. “A dog has more sense than you,” I said to him, and thumbed at a lazy mutt that was picking through the market. “He doesn’t think of death at all. Not when he sleeps, not when he bathes, and certainly not when he shits.”
“And I supposed there’s a point,” said the priest.
“You and he will both die,” I pointed out to him. “The four great elements of your bodies will collapse one into the other and you will both become no more substantial than a fart.” I should mention at this time in my life I had very little patience for rhetoric.
The priest spat on me later. I didn’t mind.’
-Meti, of the Yellow City
Aesma teats are not for mortals eyes. Even imagining them will shatter ones sanity.
Ignorance truly is the great armor of the one who wields the blade of Want. How much so our Alison is like Aesma! Yet where Aesma’s Want stemming from her powerlust is like a great cleaver, hacking and hewing all opposition, Alison’s Want, born of her simmering hatred of Self, is a more nimble blade, twice as swift, thrice as subtle, and wholly unpredictable.
Cutting at turns enemies and oneself, in equal measure. Such is the Want born of Self-Hatred.
s/peddle his wares onto more the more gullible trash/peddle his wares onto the more gullible trash
A constipated dog might think of death in the aspirational sense.
she’s casting a shade, and her shade is casting a puke. how does this work.
the magic of alcohol
Waaaiiiitttt… Zoss smote the prime angels.
We’ve seen 1 Metatron and 2 Michael, read about 7 Sound, seen 23 Liminal and their death.
YISUN divided the infinity of self into YIS and UN, giving a multiplicity of existence and absence.
A prime can not be divided except by itself, is that why 23 was able to play around with an even angel (to coin a term) like 82 so casually?
Would the Conquering King then be 0 Zoss?
Zoss gets no number, for he is an Inheritor and Demiurge.
While based on heavy conjecture, what isn’t in this maddening existence, and Angel’s number represents their reincarnation.
They’re physical shell has been destroyed, leaving only a malleable husk for smiths such as myself to mold into whatever we please. Their animus is taken… elsewhere though, to meditate and wait in the Void until they are brought back into a new shell.
It’s a shame, I’ve always wanted to make a fine blade with the essence of an angel.
The numbers don’t indicate creation order, but rather how many times they’ve died and incarnated. The smaller the number, the more badass/powerful the angel.
It occurs to me that Cio’s ex – and red devils in general – might well explain, say, tengu.
Love the comic, very mythic.
You could spell it “lichor”. It works on at least three two levels.
They say the best cure for a hangover is the hair of the dog that bit you. I fear greatly for for any self-proclaimed dogs that would cross this mouse.
I just realized why there’s so many tiny devils around the bar. They were born there!
Or, perhaps more accurately, they crawled out of a pile of vomit made by someone who’d had too much to drink.
Am i alone in sensing parallels between Alys-UN and Scoville of Girl Power fame?
What was she supposed to do with the charm, then?
I just couldn’t leave your website before telling you that I truly enjoyed the top quality info you present to your visitors? Will be back again frequently to check up on new posts.
Wow I can say that this is another great article as expected of this blog. Bookmarked this site.
i was just browsing along and came upon your blog. just wanted to say good blog and this article really helped me.
I was surfing net and fortunately came across this site and found very interesting stuff here. Its really fun to read. I enjoyed a lot. Thanks for sharing this wonderful information.
Hi, I find reading this article a joy. It is extremely helpful and interesting and very much looking forward to reading more of your work..
This is a great article thanks for sharing this informative information. I will visit your blog regularly for some latest post. I will visit your blog regularly for Some latest post.