Cult of the Dead Cow 056

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Cult of the Dead Cow

 · 5 years ago

  

 
                               cDc communications 
                                   presents... 

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                               xXx    \   /    xXx 
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                                       (U) 

 
                      T H E   P R O P H E C Y   O F   C O W 
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                       Recorded by High Priest and Scribe, 
                                  Franken Gibe 

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     Listen! The thunderhead of The Coming reins her fierce lightning steeds. 
The Prophecy is thine own.  Take to heart what shall be, when nations' eyes 
shall turn toward Cow, a hundred million eyes fixed, a hundred million ears 
shrinking from the infernal Blast. 

     Moonlight's world shall fall to decay, putrid with the rot of complacency. 
A chosen few shall safeguard the Cow Song, harbor all that is eternal against 
the blight of relativism, the self-indulgence of apathetic humankind.  It is 
the course of the Bovine that these few shall multiply, and their message 
shall take the form of a federation, a Cult.  Cow shall be a living memory. 
From three shall be ten, from ten, hundreds.  Here the Prophecy begins... 

                                      * * * 

     Thrice sun's setting, then dawn.  I see an eighth day, russet heat.  It is 
the dawn of suburbia, mown fresh and green, black-cored and sinister.  From 
this day night shall ever be vanquished.  It is the Day of Cow.  The Day of the 
Rebirth.  Unspeakable visions I see, visions of color and sound, hoof beat and 
udder's fecund milk.  Two of the Bovine Legion shall rule the eternal Day, two 
shall survive the death of Night.  On that first dawn of the New Age, the 
birthday of the new order, Cow will come again. 

     In the barren field of the barren age, the Old Age, in the field of 
corpses and skulls, I see a Prophet.  He shall be versed in the saga of Cow, 
familiar in the Ways of Bovinia.  And lo, the crimson field shudders beneath 
the taint of a thousand crumbling empires, kingdoms of corruption, and the 
barren field vomits steaming geysers of blood.  In the midst of this maelstrom 
of death, the climax of centuries of despair, I see the Prophet raise his 
limber arms, and as if orchestrating Second Creation, the field is quieted, the 
skies churn slow and calm.  Oh, unspeakable and ineffable!  Oh, prophecy and 
legend, Earth has shed tears of blood, seas of blood for thee.  Lo, the Prophet 
of the field drops to his knees, & behold, the fallow field is rent asunder. 
And from the awful rift emerges a deep, deep tenor, a staccato bellow which 
strikes deaf the unprepared ear.  It is the Bellow of the Cow Reborn, the 
trumpet of victory which heralds in the New Age, the Age of the Bovine. This is 
the Legend, this is the Prophecy marvelous and momentous. 

     Emotion chokes words, and begs of them undue function.  Yet have I 
endeavored to write what should remain unwritten, to prophesy that which is the 
stuff of nightmares.  Humanity, beware! For now Cow sleeps, but dawn approaches.  The Awakening is near. 

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 (c)1988 cDc communications by Franken Gibe 
                                    On this, the 13th Day of the Sixth Month-56