There’s this outraged eye in the sky – an angry orb blazing with a baleful intensity; it must be some capricious god. I must appease the capricious god. Where’d I leave my sacrificing knife? It’s obsidian, real hard to come by – found mine on Ebay. Let’s see, I had it on Thursday when I had to make a quick sacrifice to impress the gods of tube strike.
Yeah that was me. You’re welcome, people who didn’t suffer strike-related delays.
I’m sure I would’ve put it away in my kitchen drawer where I keep my rabbit feet and tarot deck. Oh there it is, behind the crystals I use to predict future lottery numbers. No luck yet, but then if you can tell the future you don’t really need luck.
Right, now to load up my maps app on my iPad. Ok, so the best sacrificing stone is up the hill. I could probably use the exercise. Then again I don’t have much time – that fiery god in the sky probably doesn’t have much patience. Hmm. There’s a non-denominational sacrificing stone near the library. It’ll do in a pinch – then again it’s municipal so there might be a queue. And I really need to get my appeasement on.
It’s like a couple of weeks ago I had to sacrifice a goat in a branch of Burger King. I just about got away with it, even though I had to do it with plastic cutlery purloined from the kebab place a few doors down. You know the one – their lamb doner is award-winning.
Half the battle was convincing the staff that it wasn’t a health and safety breach. But that was for a minor pothole god – oh they said call the council; they’re the appropriate highway authority. Or higher authority – I wasn’t really listening because I was concentrating on my chanting. Anyway, the pothole’s been fixed – the council took pains to look really visible with the branded hi-viz jackets and plant machinery. But I know better; I’m privy to the real, secret truth.
I hung out with Odin on his tree, I helped Isis make do with some clay when she had to put her husband back together; I’m the one who convinced Prometheus that petty larceny was the way to go. Christ taught me how to liven up a party and Krishna showed me how to love.
I know the secret names of Amun Ra and Yahweh and the trick to besting Anansi.
So while you might see the sun, shining slightly more fiercely now that winter’s on the way out, I can see more clearly. I see an angry god in need of some tender loving care courtesy of a pure-blood sacrifice, or the spring won’t come.
I’m off to the IT department to find me a virgin.
This post seems increasingly ironic as time goes by and the winter refuses to leave gracefully. Like a drunk at a restaurant.