(no subject)
I knew a god once. His name was L-, a small and forgotten deity, the kind that only gets a lower-case g.
Back in the day, I'm sure he was one of the up-and-comers of Greece. He and all the other gods would have kicked back, shared an amphora, and promised never to loose touch. We've all been there. Not everyone makes it. The gang broke up, egos got bruised, golden apples were bandied about. Dionysos got ideas in his head and went off to Rome. L-, always a small god of debauchery, got left behind. Sure, sometimes he'd turn at unannounced at a Bacchanalia, but it was embarassing to the newer crowd. Like a cousin trying to impress your cool new friends.
I knew him a long time after all that, obviously. Everyone knew him, back where I used to live, though precious few suspected his origins. I think he'd forgotten it himself. Lack of worship had stripped him of all powers but one - omnipresence. L- could always find a party, and that's where you'd always find him. Regardless of who else who knew, where you went or how you got there, sooner or later you'd find him sitting in a corner, quietly smoking his unending joint. I must have met him in a hundred houses, barns, fields and music festivals. A friend went to Glastonbury one year, and there he was. He manifested outside my grad after I assured my girlfriend that this was one place he couldn't be. I moved away to college, knowing no-one in this new city and on my first day there... there was L-, stumbling through the campus on his way to a session. A brief word of greeting and he was gone.
He's faded now of course. I've not seen him in years. I think the few fonts of worship that kept him going have dried up so much that he doesn't exist in the world most of the time. But he can still be invoked on rare occasion, if you say his name while wondering near the tinfoil in a supermarket. Then you might just get a whiff of hash, you look around, and for a moment he'll be there. He'll look at you through barely-open eyes, nod, and go on his way.
They all still walk amongst us. If you know where to look.
Back in the day, I'm sure he was one of the up-and-comers of Greece. He and all the other gods would have kicked back, shared an amphora, and promised never to loose touch. We've all been there. Not everyone makes it. The gang broke up, egos got bruised, golden apples were bandied about. Dionysos got ideas in his head and went off to Rome. L-, always a small god of debauchery, got left behind. Sure, sometimes he'd turn at unannounced at a Bacchanalia, but it was embarassing to the newer crowd. Like a cousin trying to impress your cool new friends.
I knew him a long time after all that, obviously. Everyone knew him, back where I used to live, though precious few suspected his origins. I think he'd forgotten it himself. Lack of worship had stripped him of all powers but one - omnipresence. L- could always find a party, and that's where you'd always find him. Regardless of who else who knew, where you went or how you got there, sooner or later you'd find him sitting in a corner, quietly smoking his unending joint. I must have met him in a hundred houses, barns, fields and music festivals. A friend went to Glastonbury one year, and there he was. He manifested outside my grad after I assured my girlfriend that this was one place he couldn't be. I moved away to college, knowing no-one in this new city and on my first day there... there was L-, stumbling through the campus on his way to a session. A brief word of greeting and he was gone.
He's faded now of course. I've not seen him in years. I think the few fonts of worship that kept him going have dried up so much that he doesn't exist in the world most of the time. But he can still be invoked on rare occasion, if you say his name while wondering near the tinfoil in a supermarket. Then you might just get a whiff of hash, you look around, and for a moment he'll be there. He'll look at you through barely-open eyes, nod, and go on his way.
They all still walk amongst us. If you know where to look.