And I am altogether new to me After my born-again episode, When I failed to connect With the wishful promises Of heaven’s rostrum motivators.   I exclaimed I was born to die I will find my own spirit And give it a realistic name Something which rhymes with life And make something of it in between, For I am the Lie.   Believe this, for it is still spoken of on the Earth, And is repeated and interwoven with other lies That the greatest Lie existed long ago, and it was formed out of water and through water by the words from clouds, and that by means of these the world that then existed was deluged with water and was changed.   And by the same words the Lie’s believers around that now exist became stored up for fire, being kept for the days of the destruction of dissent, And one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day, for the Lie is not slow to fulfil its promise as some count slowness.   The Lie ...

The salt of self-praise tastes best in the speaker’s mouth, As fulsome as an old parent’s flabbergasted flout, An insult is heavy, and mockery is weighty, but a person’s self-praise is like lead in a shallow bucket, to them can follow cruel wrath, and overwhelming anger, who can barely stand astride another’s jealousy, there is room for open rebuke, nothing is kept hidden although faithful are the wounds of a best friend; for they are like the pecking kiss on the cheek. One who is full of it loathes the taste of honey, who is hungry for everything that tastes as sweet as it is bitter, Like a word which strays from a logical sentence, The self praiser leaves home as though straying from it, Smelling of rose perfume to make the heart glad, and the sweetness of attention from earnest seeking.

After the Ascension and during the Perpetual Feast of Lies when belief rolls on in crisis when bread is flesh, when wine is blood, there comes to it a revisionary man, who asks the obvious question, If this is a feast of lies, Where could he find the festival of truth? A thousand greasy fingers point this and that-away in confusing directions splattered with stale wine and bread. And he, deeply ashamed unlocks his anger and throws stones at the feasting tables, Since this universal plenum that represents him vainly, will be eating rocks instead.