"Let There Be Streetlight!"

Deus ex machina: god from the machine!

The primeval, glorious being came thundering down & cried restitution, retribution & redemption [oh, dark redemption]; smoldering sunset eyes & black locks of funnel clouds & a deafening roar heard only as the silence of the cosmic dark. & its fingers spun webs of immortal perfection ensnaring all mortal souls at once -- its descent, of course, made upon a rickety, wooden machine lowering with creaky drunken swings. Pulled by a rope. A cheap throne of human construction.
God from the machine: the last human hope.

& the plot thickened & brimmed with promise & we praised & were enamored & dazed: resolution of our ideals incurred... The drama unfolded; an ancient Greek god, sent to rectify, rectify, rectify! A concept relentlessly resonating through time -- that our machine god would save the world, render humanity salvageable. & it was a beautiful work of fiction. Bestow upon me your truly potent righteousness, Deus!


But history repeats, repeats, repeats itself & what once failed & lingered only in the realm of fabricatedfiction... remained so. Ever faithful futility. The tragic flaw that rendered the plot device simultaneously a cheap fix & a brilliant vision.

For, what is power but failed in the face of spectacular abuse?


God from the machine: try in vain to save ourselves with artificial might & behold the atom bomb, polluted skies, & the corporatocracy! It cried "let there be light" & we echoed "let there be streetlight;" "let me save" & we echoed "we shall destroy."

Impotent human righteousness. God from the machine. Reality a parody of a comedy.

No, god is the machine -- as we reify & deify our almighty man-made prince of darkness, lord of doom. Worship, bow before our legendary, cataclysmic Fall. Wrought by the very potency that might have saved the world.

Diabolus Ex Machina!

The pocket watch inevitably slows to a stop with entropy...

Morcifer

*on the nature of God's ability to give life, take life, cause angels to fall to hell, etc, while still being good (a lost, often unrecognized balance)

Morcifer, my dancing black angel, whose laughter was the chimes of armageddon,
unfolding and rocking and plunging, dense redness in my mind.
Darker than evil, darker than love, a lost balance,
his was the youthful rejoicing and relishing in the pain,
the destruction, the ruins, the perishing,
the arcane.
His own call was his song, his instrument of peace, and his throng,
but "Can't you see?" he said, "I'm not that strong..."
And he stamped his feet to the ancient tune and rhythm of throbbing hearts of lovers
and rumbling earthquakes and the beating of golden angelic armies,
and the firmament began to collapse itself.
Out of love, joyful love,
he could do anything and all,
wreak destruction and renewal to realms beyond,
cause the angels of eden to fall
[into hell, out of love],
make a soul perish with clean-stained hands, breathe life into a cold white gravestone.
Anything; to save love itself.
Mortality was the chariot of Morcifer, my dancing black angel.
His soul is young yet.
Howling of the primordial chaos of the supreme,
of love, of delight, and the human being, he cried
"Thou art never alone!" and unleashed his mortal perils, retribution and absolution,
reaping and wreaking mortality.
"And I am the ruiner, the destructor, and the perisher and I love. So join the above."
But they never knew, never knew, thought his love was hate; so he woefully sang,
"And perdition... will be my life!"
He had another Angel of Armageddon, Messifer, and they screamed
"That we love is our holy light, and our holy dark yet!" And as he rocked suspended in the air,
his laughter [the colour of the aurora],
echoed and their memories
billowing in the wind
faded fast, and their words only rang at last,
where bodies blended with stardust and grass:
"Oh, how I love you..."