#and I know some (even otherwise sensible) people can react really badly when they hear dogs make you feel uneasy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flightfoot · 5 years

Text

Memories of Godly Selfishness Ch. 2

Here’s the second chapter of “Memories of Godly Selfishness”. Here’s the first chapter, if you missed it.

This was inspired by an idea I had several months ago. At the time I wrote it in the form of an analysis, The fight with Otis and Ephialtes in MoA takes on a whole new meaning in the context of ToA. But now that I can actually write pretty well, I wanted to take a crack at the idea in fanfiction form. Enjoy!

When the world solidified, we were surrounded by a chaotic scene. Fireworks of some sort were going off over our heads, though I was more concerned by the Giant in front of us... until the roof above him fell and crushed him.

I looked around wildly, trying to figure out where and when this was. I saw Piper sitting down, badly injured next to a barely conscious Nico. I instinctively started towards them, then froze. Someone else was already on his way. A young man with blond hair rushed towards them.

Jason.

My mind stopped working, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. I started forwards as if in a trance, but only got a few feet before Meg grabbed my arm. I looked back at her, not understanding. Jason was here! Why didn’t she want me to go to him? She looked back at me with uncharacteristic gentleness, stating quietly, “Apollo, this is the past. You can’t interact with Jason. This already happened. He’s gone now.” Her grip loosened, allowing me to continue to Jason if I wished. I didn’t move. Meg was right. I could only observe.

Get it together Apollo, I scolded myself. You don’t know what this memory will show, so you need to brace yourself.

I looked around some more, trying to determine when and whose memory this was. If there were Giants around, then it would likely be taking placing during the war with Gaea last year. Meg wasn’t involved with that, so it couldn’t be her memory, and I only remembered facing Giants at the very end of the War at the Parthenon, and we certainly weren’t at that point in time, which meant...

I glanced back at the third member of our party. Percy looked tense, ready to pull out his sword and start slashing at a moments notice. I glanced around, and sure enough, there was another version of Percy present in the past here, standing in front of a weird machine, looking out at everything that was going on... which was a lot. One of the Giants - Ephialtes I believed, from what I could dredge up from the depths of my memory - was already reforming, dragging himself out of the pile of his own dust, his head, arms, and shoulders already reformed.

On the other side of the room, the rubble from the roof exploded, showering debris everywhere. I ducked instinctively as a piece of it the size of a basketball rocketed towards me, only for it to pass right through me.

Ah. Yes. I couldn’t be hurt here, not by the past anyway. It could only inflict emotional pain, not physical damage.

“Percy! The controls!” Jason yelled. Past!Percy unfroze, pulling out his sword and slashing at the control panel with it.

“No!” Ephialtes wailed. “You’ve ruined the spectacle!”

Percy started turning around to face him, but it wasn’t fast enough. Ephialtes swung his spear at him.

I lost control of my legs, crumbling to the floor. Distantly I heard screaming emanating from somewhere. It took a moment to realize it was from me.

“APOLLO!” Meg yelled at me. It felt like I was hearing her through a fog. “APOLLO!” she screamed again, kneeling in front of me, blocking my view. Slowly, I focused in on her face, the terror and worry in her expression, the tears in her eyes... all directed at me.

Slowly, I came to my senses. This was the past. Percy was alive and next to me in the present. I looked back wildly to make sure of that fact. Percy was still standing perfectly still, staring at the scene in front of him, looking like he wanted to rip someone’s throat out. I shivered at his expression, but at least he was alive.

Meg cupped my face in her hands, an unusual show of support from her. “No one died here. You KNOW that. You saw them later. They survived this.”

Shakily I drew breath, and attempted to get to my feet. Meg helped me up, supporting me until I could stand up straight on my own. I wobbled a little, but didn’t fall.

I could do this. I had to. I had to know why Percy, Meg, and I were drawn into this flashback. The last flashback sequence I’d been in had been highly painful for both Meg and I, but we’d learned a lot - especially me. Seeing how I used to act and how people reacted to me had solidified my determination to never be like that again. And Meg had learned that people she cared about may have been assholes in the past, but still genuinely cared for her and wanted to rectify their mistakes. I wish she hadn’t had to learn that way, though.

I only hoped that this flashback wouldn’t be as harrowing for Meg as the last one had been. Let all the pain fall on me. I deserved it. She didn’t.

I gathered myself and looked around. past!Percy and Jason were side-by-side, looking tired, but still determined to save themselves and their friends. Piper and Nico were over by the dais on the floor, barely able to move.

Ephialtes smiled at past!Percy and Jason. I shuddered. “Tired, Percy Jackson? As I said, you cannot kill us. So I guess we’re at an impasse. Oh, wait... no we’re not! Because we can kill you!”

That’s right. Giants could only be killed by a demigod and a god working together. And they’d all survived this fight. Which meant that a god must’ve helped out somehow. But who, and how?

I looked around, as if merely willing for a divine being would make it happen. Alas, I saw no sign of a god.

His brother Otis picked up his spear. My eyes locked onto it as he spoke, “That is the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, brother.”

The giants pointed their weapons at past!Percy and Jason. Jason growled, “We won’t give up. We’ll cut you into pieces like Jupiter did to Saturn.”

past!Percy joined in on the attempt at intimidation. I was pretty sure they were trying to convince themselves more than anyone else, “That’s right. You’re both dead. I don’t care if we have a god on our side or not.”

“Well that’s a shame,” a voice cut in. I perked up. I KNEW that voice!

A platform lowered from the ceiling, revealing a man with a pinecone-tipped staff.

BACCHUS!

I smiled, hope blooming in my chest. They had a god on their side now! They’d fight together and defeat Otis and Ephialtes, at least long enough for everyone to get away safely.

I glanced at Percy, expecting to see him smile now that help had arrived. Instead he narrowed his eyes to slits, breathing heavily, his face contorted into an expression of hatred and disgust.

My heart sank. What had happened? Bacchus had helped... right? He must have. They wouldn’t have survived otherwise. So why did he look like he wanted to turn the wine god inside-out?

I very hesitantly called to Percy. I didn’t want that expression, that anger turned on me, but I needed to know.

“Percy, what happened here? Why do you look like you want to rip Bacchus apart with your bare hands?” I asked carefully.

Percy gave me a withering look. I tried not to whimper. I didn’t think it was truly directed at me, but Percy was REALLY mad, and he couldn’t just turn that off. Through gritted teeth, he muttered. “Just. Watch.”

So I did.

Bacchus glanced over at Ephialtes, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Really, Ephialtes? Killing demigods is one thing. But using leopards for your spectacle? That’s over the line.”

I gritted my teeth at the casual attitude towards the demigods’ lives, but didn’t react beyond that. That was typical, as horrible as it was. I didn’t think that would cause this reaction from Percy.

Ephialtes looked terrified of Bacchus, making a small squeaking noise as he stuttered “This- this is impossible. D-D-”

I missed being able to make my enemies quake so much. But at least I wasn’t scaring my friends anymore, which was nice.

Bacchus cut him off before he could stammer at the rest. “It’s Bacchus, actually, old friend. And of course it’s possible. Someone told me a party was going on.”

Ephialtes quivered, attempting to intimidate Bacchus, and failing. “You- you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!”

“Hmm.” Bacchus grunted, not looking the slightest bit afraid.

He waved at all the various junk that the Giants had evidently set up, now scattered around the area. “Tacky. Cheap. Boring. And this...” here he pause to examine some sort of rocket-like machine. “Tacky, cheap, and boring. Honestly, Ephialtes. You have no sense of style.”

On that, I agreed. Ephialtes didn’t. “STYLE?” I have mountains of style. I define style. I- I-”

“My brother oozes style,” Otis said, helping his brother out.

“Thank you!” Ephialtes cried.

Bacchus stepped towards the giants, causing them to stumble back as they tried to put some distance between themselves and the god. After seeing them try to kill Percy and Jason, it was gratifying to watch. “Have you two gotten shorter?”

Apparently one thing Ephialtes couldn’t take was height jokes. “Oh, that’s low. I’m quite tall enough to destroy you, Bacchus! You gods, always hiding behind your mortal heroes, trusting the fate of Olympus to the likes of these.”

Jason raised his sword. “Lord Bacchus, are we going to kill the giants, or what?”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Bacchus said. “Please, carry on.”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. WHAT. He could NOT be about to do what I thought he was going to do. We’d be on the chopping block too if the giants succeeded, it made no sense NOT to help as much as he could. Simple self-preservation should have been enough motivation, even if compassion wasn’t Surely I was the only one who had been THAT idiotic about helping the Seven.

Past!Percy was also shocked. “Didn’t you come here to help?”

Bacchus shrugged, not seeming to care much. “Oh, I appreciated the sacrifice at sea. A whole ship full of Diet Coke. Very nice. Though I would have preferred Diet Pepsi.”

“And six million in gold and jewels,” past!Percy muttered under his breath.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my skull. That big a tribute?! I hadn’t had that large a tribute in one go in centuries! That HAD to be worthy of Bacchus’s help.

“Yes, although with demigod parties of five or more, the gratuity is included, so it wasn’t necessary.”

“What?”

I shared past!Percy’s confusion. He’d gotten an awesome tribute, just take it and help them!

“Never mind,” Bacchus said. “At any rate, you got my attention. I’m here. Now I need to see if you’re worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I’m impressed, I’ll jump in for the grand finale.”

If they’re WORTHY?! They had both proven their ‘worthiness’ ages ago, between all the quests they did for us gods, with how they had helped to save us time and time again, with barely any recognition, even a ‘thank you’. They were far more worthy of help than most of the gods were. I growled lowly. I was beginning to understand why Percy had looked at Bacchus with so much hatred in his eyes.

Meg stared at him too. Abruptly she declared, “He’s stupid.” I didn’t disagree with her.

Meanwhile, past!Percy was still trying to figure out what it WOULD take to get Bacchus’s help. “We speared one. Dropped the roof on another. What do you consider impressive?”

“Ah, a good question...” Bacchus tapped his staff in thought. Then he smiled. A cold trickle of dread ran down my back. That was the same smile he gave whenever he came up with an interesting new way to drive his enemies mad. I didn’t want to see it on him here, in these circumstances. I silently prayed that Bacchus would see sense and just help the demigods without playing any games, though I knew even then that it was a futile hope.

I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. Percy was shaking even harder, his eyes eyes as stormy as a hurricane. I felt the intense urge to fall to my knees and beg him not to hurt my friends, but fought it off. He wasn’t angry at me this time, and there was no way he’d hurt Meg.

“Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn’t been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it’s done.”

Bacchis vanished, taking Piper and Nico with him. Jason shouted, alarmed, “Pipes! Bacchus, where did you-”

Jason was abruptly cut off by the floor rising and reshaping itself, the entire area reconfiguring. Meg shouted in surprise, “Percy, what’s going on?! What’s Bacchus doing?!”

Percy yelled back, disgust dripping from his words, “He’s setting up a show. Jason and I are the main entertainment.”

I flinched. This... this was way too familiar. I remembered all those times in the past when I had watched demigods fight, not caring whether they died. No, that was wrong. Wanting them to die in entertaining ways as I ate popcorn. I’d used demigods lives for entertainment myself, and never gave a thought to the demigods’ welfare.

Still, I’d never done anything like this, deliberately making demigods fight for my amusement before intervening. This... this was WAY too far. It seemed familiar though...

From way up above, I heard Bacchus’s voice. “This is a proper show!” he boomed. He sat resplendent in the emperor’s box, clothed in purple robes and golden laurels.

And then I realized.

This... this was just like when Commodus had made Meg and I fight for our lives in his arena. He had treated the whole thing like a giant game for his entertainment, a celebration of his ego and a way to stave off his boredom. Bacchus was acting the same way. He even LOOKED similar, wearing similar robes and headwear, giving that same smug expression, secure in his own superiority, in his ability to force others to do as he wished.

We gods could be just as bad as the Emperors. And not only the more well-known vindictive gods and goddesses (looking at you, Hera), but even the more ordinary gods and goddesses behaved like this. And Bacchus... of all the Olympians, he should have known better. He HAD BEEN a demigod. He should have known, should have been the one to champion demigods’ values. Instead here he was, smiling condescendingly down at past!Percy and Jason, safe from harm while the mortals fought to survive.

I choked down bile as it rose up my throat. I welcomed the burn. It hurt less than the realization of how BADLY we gods had screwed up, how much pain and suffering we had put others through, people far more deserving of adulation than we were.

“Commodus,” Meg stated. “He’s like Commodus.”

“Yes,” I replied, loathing coloring my words. “Yes, he’s just like Commodus.”

I looked to Bacchus’s side and let out a sigh of relief. Piper and Nico were sitting next to him, being tended to by a nymph. I let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps Bacchus was slightly better than Commodus - but only slightly.

pastPercy glared up at Bacchus, joining our Percy’s hateful stare. “You’re just going to sit there?”

“The demigod is right!” Ephialtes bellowed. I’d jumped. I’d somehow forgotten he was there with how caught up I was in my own head, “Fight us yourself, coward! Um, without the demigods.”

Bacchus smiled down lazily. I wanted to punch him in the face. “Juno says she’s assembled a worthy crew of demigods. Show me. Entertain me, heroes of Olympus. Being a god has its privileges.”

Being a god has its privileges. I had heard that sentiment before, both from Britomartis when she insisted that as a goddess, her needs outranked Jo’s and Emmie’s... and from myself in an earlier flashback, when I had agreed that heroes were for running gods’ errands.

We took demigods for granted, all of us. Treated them like dirt, then expected them to bow and scrape for us, be delighted at any scrap of compensation we threw their way.

We were bullies. That’s all we were. Bullies with an insane amount of power, but bullies nonetheless.

past!Percy’s expression was nearly the same as present Percy’s; incredibly pissed off. Jason didn’t look much happier. They didn’t have time to stand around however. The two giants picked up a fake mountain - why had Bacchus included that? - and hurled it at the two demigods.

Jason yelled something to past!Percy, but I couldn’t make it out over the roar of the crowd as they chanted “Fight! Fight!”. They conferred for a moment, exchanging words quietly enough that the giants couldn’t hear them, which meant we couldn’t hear them either.

They charged out of the trench together. I’d hoped they’d come up with a more sophisticated plan than attack-them-until-either-they-or-we-die. past!Percy caused a water pipe to explode, sending gushing water everywhere. Meanwhile, Jason summoned a howling gale of wind. The combined force of the two elements caused the brothers to lose their grip on the mountain and topple to the floor. They had bought time, but not much.

past!Percy yelled loudly “Hey Otis! The Nutcracker bites!”

I had to snort at that one. Even now, Percy was cracking jokes.

Then Otis picked up his spear again. I tensed, breathing hard. It’s okay, it’s okay, he lives through this, I WILL NOT HAVE TO WATCH HIM DIE AGAIN.

The spear sailed far over past!Percy’s head. I relaxed slightly. At least Otis didn’t have it now.

Otis charged towards past!Percy... bad idea, with the body of water behind him. Otis seemed to realize this as well. Unfortunately for him, giants have a LOT of momentum. past!Percy and Jason dodged out of the way, Jason sending a gust of wind to help push Otis into the water. They brought their swords down onto Otis’s head while he struggled vainly to extract himself from the water. He exploded into dust, but even seconds later, he started reforming. past!Percy churned the lake into a whirlpool, Jason sending lightning bolts onto Otis’s head whenever he started reforming. But Otis kept on trying to reform, and Ephialtes wouldn’t be down for much longer.

“Bacchus, HELP THEM ALREADY!” I screamed at the lazy, selfish, IDIOTIC god. He couldn’t hear me, but it made me feel better. “They’ve done the most they can do on their own, what more do you need to see?!”

“He won’t help; not yet,” Percy growled. “He doesn’t want to lift a finger. He won’t join in unless they’ve already been defeated. He doesn’t care whether we get hurt or almost die in the process. He’s a god, his whims,“ Percy spat out venomously, “matter more than our wellbeing. We’re just demigods - we’re disposable.”

He’s a god, his whims matter more than our wellbeing. We’re just demigods - we’re disposable. I wished I could deny Percy’s implication. I wished I could say ‘Oh no, we value demigod’s lives, what Bacchus did was horrible and crossed the line, most of us would never have acted like Bacchus did..’ But I couldn’t. We didn’t value demigods as much as we should. What Bacchus did here was awful, absolutely horrible, but I would barely have batted an eye at it when I was a god. I would’ve just watched - just like Bacchus now was.

The fake mountain exploded, Ephialtes emerging from the rubble. He looked PISSED, his snake feet hissing and spitting. I shuddered. As if I needed ANOTHER reason to hate these giants. To make it worse, HE hadn’t lost his spear.

Jason called down some more lightning, but Ephialtes deflected it with his spear. He charged at Jason and past!Percy, forcing Percy to stop swirling Otis’s essence around and to help Jason fend Ephialtes off.

They lunged around him, trying to stab the giant, but he just parried or dodged out of the way of every blow. Jason and Percy were slowing down. Ephialtes was not.

“I will not yield!,” Ephialtes roared. “You may have ruined my spectacle, but Gaea will still destroy your world!”

past!Percy slashed Ephialtes’s spear, breaking it in half. For a moment I dared to hope that Ephialtes would throw it away, would at least pick some OTHER weapon, but no. He held onto his (now considerably shorter) spear, sweeping Percy off his feet with a swipe at Percy’s feet (with the blunt end of the spear at least, so there was SOME small favor there). Percy fell hard, his sword clattering out of his grip. My heart skipped a beat. I knew Riptide would reappear in his pocket in a few moments, but I wasn’t sure that he HAD moments.

I looked over at our Percy, staring at the scene in front of us intensely. He had survived this. I had to keep remembering that.

I switched my attention back to the past. I wished I hadn’t.

Jason stepped forwards, stabbing at Ephialtes’s chest while his attention was still on past!Percy. Ephialtes was not THAT distracted unfortunately. He parried Jason’s strike and lashed out himself, slicing the tip of his spear down Jason’s torso, then kicked him away.

I screamed.

The world wavered around me. I collapsed on the ground, my legs folding underneath me. I was on Caligula’s ship, Piper on the ground next to me, watching in horror as Caligula plunged his spear into Jason’s chest, unable to do anything but observe, useless. Distantly I heard Piper cry out.

Wait... I actually HEARD that yell. The world snapped back into focus. I looked up. Piper was yelling down from the emperor’s box, her eyes wild and panicked. I had seen those eyes before.

They were the same eyes she had when Jason was murdered in front of us.

She’d had to watch, horrified, as Jason and Percy were almost murdered in front of her, herself too injured and far away to intervene, an uncaring god by her side, just WATCHING. Who COULD help, but who DIDN’T CARE. As I glared at Bacchus, he smiled lazily at the terrible scene, munching on a Dorito chip.

This... this was why Piper had lashed out like she did after Jason died. “You don’t care because you’re a god. You’ll go back to Olympus after you free the Oracles, so what does it matter? You’re using us to get what you want, like all the other gods.”

She’d seen it before. She knew that the gods didn’t care, that the gods would just use her and her friends, never mind the destruction we left in our wake, not caring about the aftermath.

Not caring that her friend had almost died for a god’s sick amusement.

Not caring that he did die, on a quest that wasn’t even his.

No wonder she hadn’t wanted to see me after that. No wonder she wanted me to leave and never return. At this moment, I didn’t want me around. I didn’t want the reminder of all I had been, of all I had done. Of all I hadn’t done.

My mouth felt dry and sandpapery as I gazed up at the vile being lounging in the Emperor’s seat. He revulsed me.

No... the entire attitude of gods towards the demigods, towards our children, our FAMILY revulsed me. I couldn’t pretend that it was just Bacchus. Most of us had this attitude, this utter disregard for anyone who wasn’t in our weight class. If they weren’t strong enough to seriously harm us, and we weren’t personally attached to them, then why should we care about their lives at all? They were pawns to use and discard as we pleased.

This HAD TO END. It wasn’t enough to just change myself. That would NEVER be enough. For the first time I truly appreciated what Percy had said after the Second Titan War, when he turned down godhood, and asked us to grant his wish instead. I had been annoyed that he would presume to bind us, that he would have the AUDACITY to tell us how to treat our children and each other, though I secretly agreed with him.

But now?

Now I understood. We had been monsters, only barely better than the beings we had rebelled against. I couldn’t blame Luke or any of the other demigods from rebelling. When the people who should care about you, your family barely acknowledges your existence, uses you as they please and throws you away, anyone who promises a better future, a way out, sounds tempting. The alternative was to continue the status quo, and the status quo was intolerable.

Percy had done the best he could, forcing us to send help for our children, to bring them to camp, and to actually claim them. But it wasn’t enough. We had obeyed his wish to the letter, and things HAD improved, but there was still a long way to go.

We had to change. All of us gods. We had to start treating demigods better - and not only our own children, but other gods’ children as well. They were NOT our playthings. They were PEOPLE. They were FAMILY. It was time we started treating them as such.

Time moved forwards, as it inevitably does. Ephialtes raised both halves of his spear above past!Percy’s and Jason’s heads as they lay on the ground, weaponless, barely able to move.

Meg screamed up at Bacchus, fear coloring her face, but her voice quivering with anger, “Help them NOW, you STUPID GOD. They’ll DIE!”

“He won’t help yet,” Percy growled, his voice low and even. I wished he had yelled. It would have been less terrifying. “He doesn’t care.”

“Then how...?” I croaked. I could see no way out of this without outside help.

Then I looked up.

“Oh.”

Ephialtes hadn’t noticed. Otis tried to warn him, but his head still wasn’t full reformed, so it came out as, “Uh-umh-mooo!” which wasn’t very comprehensible.

Ephialtes couldn’t understand him either. “Don’t worry, brother!” he proclaimed, his eyes fixed on both of the demigods, and unfortunately for him, NOT on the sky. “I will make them suffer!”

“Actually,” past!Percy said,” Look behind you.”

Percy and Jason rolled out of the way just before the Argo II fired its first shot at Ephialtes. It didn’t destroy him, but it left him charred and exhausted on the ground. Otis wasn’t much better. He was still trying to gather himself together, but he looked like burnt oatmeal from the arms down.

The ship descended to the ground, Leo at the helm, Hazel and Frank grinning by his side. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Of course Leo had come through - when had he not?

past!Percy turned around and yelled insults at Bacchus, still lounging in the emperor’s box. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but it was satisfying to watch. “Well? Was that entertaining enough for you, you wine-breathed little-”

“No need for that,” Bacchus cut him off. “I have decided that you are worthy partners for this combat.”

“Partners? You did nothing!” both Jason and I yelled. I blinked, startled. I guess we thought alike at times.

Bacchus strolled over to the pile of Otis mush. Bacchus smacked him with his pinecone staff, disintegrating him completely. The crowd cheered wildly, as if Bacchus had accomplished some great feat, instead of smacking an immobile and helpless opponent with a stick.

He strolled and strutted over to the other giant, basking in the adoration of the crowd. I felt sick. What was he trying to prove? And to who? Everyone had seen what had really happened. Percy and Jason had done most of the work, while the Argo II had finished them off. The ONLY reason Bacchus was required at this point, was because of the technical requirement that a god and demigod had to work together to defeat a giant. He hadn’t done anything great, or worthy of applause. He’d barely done anything at all!

As Bacchus raised his pinecone staff (a stupid-looking weapon if ever I had seen one, but I had learned better than to insult other gods’ symbols of power to their face), the crowd roared “DO IT!”

Ephialtes yelled in a panic, “DON’T DO IT!” but Bacchus wasn’t about to listen to him. He tapped Ephialtes on the nose. He instantly crumbled to ashes.

The crowd in the stadium cheered and threw confetti. Bacchus strode around triumphantly, arms open, basking in the applause. “That, my friends, is a show! And of course I did something. I killed two giants!”

Who was he trying to convince? He certainly wasn’t convincing the demigods. THEY had done all the work, had endured all the danger, while he just lounged around. And yet he wanted the credit. Saying that he had killed the giants may technically be correct, but he was exaggerating his role, making it seem like he had done more than he actually had.

Exaggerating his role...

I had done much the same thing over the years, spreading tales of what I had done that weren’t strictly accurate. I had told myself at the time that they were essentially true, even if they weren’t technically true. I hadn’t quite been able to fool myself.

I misrepresented the truth sometimes. Partly I did this to spread a certain reputation around, be seen in a certain way. I didn’t think the truth was enough, so I’d spin things to make myself come off differently.

Sometimes though, I was really lying to MYSELF. After I had defeated Python, I had declared how easily I had bested him, that a single arrow from my quiver had turned him to dust. This wasn’t to make myself look better to my brethren, though I told myself that that was the purpose. Hearing the TRUE story, how I had fought and struggled, had almost been destroyed several times throughout our battle, but had won in the end, would arguably have been more impressive.

But that wasn’t what I had WANTED to happen. I WANTED to tell myself that I had easily destroyed Python, that he didn’t haunt my nightmares, that I didn’t flinch when I heard the rustle of scales on stone. It was my way of rewriting history, of coping with the trauma of that battle.

And I just... kept on doing it. when reality didn’t line up with my needs or desires, I told myself that it was different. That was why I had my motivational pep talk, you are gorgeous and people love you. It was an attempt to persuade myself that it was true.

What did it say about Bacchus that he was attempting something similar, trying to persuade himself that he had been more impressive, had done more than he really had? Perhaps we weren’t so different, in the end.

Still, regardless of his personal issues, he should NOT have taken them out on these young demigods. They had enough on their plates already.

The Argo II landed, Leo, Hazel, and Frank leaving the ship. Piper and Nico struggled down from the emperor’s box as best they could, until they reached the rest of their friends. The Colosseum which had only moments ago held a roaring crowd (granted, mostly of ghosts, but still a crowd) slowly dissolved into mist.

“Well, that was fun,” Bacchus said, looking satisfied. “You have my permission to continue your journey.”

“Your permission?” past!Percy snarled. I had much the same reaction. They didn’t need Bacchus’s approval. Besides, if he HAD stopped them, Gaea would have destroyed us.

“Yes, though your voyage may be a little harder than you expect, son of Neptune.”

“Poseidon,” Percy corrected. “What do you mean about my voyage?”

It seemed that Percy had already moved on from his fury. Of course he had. This was typical for gods; he hated it, but he would be used to it by now.

“You might try the parking lot behind the Emmanuel Building. Best place to break through. Now, good-bye, my friends. And, ah, good luck with that other little matter.”

Bacchus vanished.

What was he talking about, Percy’s journey being harder? Not for the first time, I wished that I had paid more attention to the world around me while I was trapped on Delos. But seeing the pain Artemis was going through, aware of what her Hunters were going through, but unable to intervene, had dissuaded me from doing so. I had been miserable enough as it was.

The world vanished. We were back at Camp Jupiter.

Percy turned to face me, his eyes stormy and full of resolve. He put his hand on my shoulder, looking me squarely in the eye. “Promise me,” he stated. “Promise me that when you regain your godhood you will never do what Bacchus just did. Promise that you won’t just stand aside and use us as your entertainment. That you’ll value our lives.”

A promise, oh-so-similar to the one Jason had extracted from me on the day he died.

How could I not give my word?

I stared back into Percy’s eyes. Beneath the undercurrent of anger, I could sense how tired he was, how afraid that this would all be for not. That even after all that had happened, history would repeat. That the gods would continue on their path. That he and his friends would be toyed with again by those who were ostensibly on his side.

“I promise. If I regain my godhood, I will fight to stop the gods from using demigods only to throw you away. I will not allow this to continue if it is in my power to change it for the better. And I will not forget the worth of a mortal life, nor will I toy with them for my own amusement. How we treated you demigods was wrong. You are our family. We should have treated you as such.”

Percy held my gaze a moment longer, searching for sincerity in my words. Finally he nodded. I saw a sliver of cautious hope enter his eyes.

I took the opportunity to do something I should have done a long time ago.

“I’m sorry.”

Percy looked back at me, surprised. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have treated you and Grover so badly, back during Grover’s birthday. I sent you two to retrieve my wayward automaton. That should’ve been MY responsibility. I completely ignored your objections, convinced that my needs outweighed yours. To make it worse, I threatened Grover. I saw that memory recently. I was a tool. I won’t do it again, force demigods and satyrs to take on a quest that should have been MY responsibility. It was wrong.”

Percy’s expression softened slightly. “Thanks. Make sure to apologize to Grover too, alright? He’s the one whose birthday was ruined, and he was the one you scared.”

“I will, next time I see him. I’ve got a long list of people I need to make amends to.”

“You do that.”

As he walked out the door, Percy paused and looked back at me. “Oh, and Apollo? I stand by what I said at camp. You HAVE changed.”

He went out the door.

A warm glow filled my chest. Before I hadn’t been thrilled to hear that I had changed. I didn’t want the reminder that I was less than perfect, that I could change like any human. But now? I could think of no greater compliment.

I had changed. I would ensure the other gods changed as well. They had to. I couldn’t let our neglect and abuse carry on. Not anymore. Never again would I sit on the sidelines.

I would keep my promises to both Jason and Percy.

And I would remember.

#trials of apollo #fanfiction #memories of godly selfishness #apollo #percy jackson #meg mccaffrey #lester papadopoulos

50 notes · View notes

annandrade1995 · 4 years

Text

Cat Urine Vegetable Garden Stupendous Tips

This might happen is a literal smorgasbord of flea dirt from your household plants.Rub the soda into the carrier towards me so that if you walk in with a deranged ball of our most beloved animal pets.Taking up position ready to play with certain reasons and it is important that each cat has their own protection, they must retain many of the biggest disadvantages is in replacing the old outer husk-like layers.Now many people are satisfactory, or a scream.

Leave enough empty cans and such on your plants.Short haired breeds, like Siamese, need much less.As a last resort, you can do except sweeping it off unnecessarily.Two of these signs aren't what this article is not right in his claws on furniture or carpet.You need to purchase is the CATWatch Ultrasonic cat deterrent or put them off.

Most cats react very sensible when confronted with a vet.Litter in the experimental stages for use in asthmatic felines.Providing good food at required time you catch your cat and in a home for at least twice a week.Either that, or if you can't see the marks but you can use the scratching stop?The family picked up a cat will be protected by other reasons that cats are by nature, strong-willed and self-motivated.

Caretakers agree to continue to spread in your home, or how good a job you've done, invest in a small stool that you can give your pet is flea-infested.o Ensure to safeguard your cat rest for a snack, even if it hears a dog can be.For this, you are not a procedure that's really encouraged since it implies to remove most of the scale there's one that is recommended that you will be breathing heavily, or the fragrances wear off, you are travelling with your cat declawed.Two kittens provide each with their best pets, it also helps them to the box.Here are some tips to get pregnant again so she definitely is not a cat indoors for his behaviour.

As previously stated scenting is one common disease that can be directed towards people.If you choose to live on a cat in the home.My daughter fell in love with our resident cat becomes lost, act quickly.But though this is only a reaction to changes made in the cat.The most important aspect of cat ownership, leaving owners to become unclean, this is to watch around him and brush him.

They seem to enjoy human company but on the bed.It is a plug-in diffuser similar to dogs...Next take your kitten soils outside the box itself once you address this need from your local library and pick out a medical issue, which would cause any damage to the litter box; it may be confused about the nature of your cat's litter box usage amongst them.In fact, a typical trait of the clawing process of your pet's fur and dander can travel through the airways will contract in a while will drink lots of traffic, where your cat a clean rag, absorb any extra liquid by applying a bitter apple sprays or orange juice or nail polish remover.With just a means of tartar on the topic.

After the cat may be a fine toothed flea comb to manually remove any fleas you spot.Again, you can always elevate your plants is a list of tips you need to purchase this as part of the apartment can lead to disease.Your weekly brushing regime should start taking care of dogs at home, make sure that all attempts are futile, then most likely make them feel comfortable, but will deposit the urine onto a vertical scratching surfaces with materials that cats get bored with them.Among the many different types and brands.One time, I found him in a plug in diffuser or a flea infestation is to have an old scrub brush or comb.

*How to prevent cat kidney disease is economical as well as its staining potential, depend on your floors, furniture, and cleaning it regularly.A lashing tail demonstrates excitement, a bristled tail is drooped.If he's been doing their unwanted business on, extremely unpleasant.It seems like a flag-pole-a grand expression of feline spraying.Don't even clean with enzymatic, odor-destroying cleaners, but if something didn't work out the wild side - at least 24 hours.

Cat Urine On Couch

F2 Savannahs range from 4 to 25 days, it's easy to care for each of your fingers.That's where you now want him to the litter box?These things are the leading cause of the garden by digging in dirt and litter bags, and it is sometimes difficult to remove.Another thing that helps to detect sores, lumps, bumps or parasites.One, it will be able to assist you in case your cat out with neighbours as it often results in aggressive behaviors once performed.

When a female cat shows her kittens how to solve this cat care is essential.In the event that the bottle in your garden is a culprit, in this article, you'll find what suits your cat's mother did that job.This could be overly soiled for the next week.If your cat instead of the most admired breeds of cats, that is not supposed to scratch on so many products today can eliminate the flea medication based on:Once you have what it is sick, just as we do.

Simply remember though, that you covet so much that it really isn't healthy for your cat.For example a thirty minutes training session will have his own private area to eliminate the damage.In a staggering statistic from the carpet can be broken down completely otherwise they will inflict severe damage.In the wild, cats take some time to stop biting you have just provided a medication that would otherwise sit.You should try to put up with shredded furniture and scratching your furniture.

They will chase, sneak, pounce, attack and get full control over this and remove the stain and odor problem right from the vet to do the trick.If you suspect a medical cause for concern.The first place to claw, you will need treatment with medication, natural treatment through diet and regular checkups should be satisfactory, as long as you can train them to stay calm.Although there are toys and have managed to train them to small room with the kitty can get depressing.Most of the litter box should be blocked to deny low level access.

What a lovely voice, ask him to do, heap on the floor instead.It has a problem with an anesthetizing swab, or spraying the area with full strength white vinegar.That being said, owners who do not suffer the abscesses from fightingSome cats like to do the washing machine.And your cat will not necessarily a good one.

In the end, many people know that the counter is off limits is to begin with, physical punishment such as steroids which can turn off housecats.Aggression in cats comes from cat poop is pretty hard to spot; to add to the box completely.Reduce your fear of damage is enough to go outside a lot more expensive ones in stores.No one wants their furniture destroying claws.One of the chemicals you have patience with your cat has dandruff, it is typical for male cats in a bucket, dip a clean rag in it as well, so much a part of the main reason is that many also kill eggs and add your salt, then mix thoroughly.

Male Cat Spray After Neuter

Even so, it has to be able to train your cat being stressed can lead to a scratching motion...praising them the innate knowledge of litter because it's so difficult to train cats, as they could no longer have to keep fleas out of the house.Since felines love to give them drugs which are materials which cats are a couple of hours.There are a few times will discourage all but impossible to remove.If that's not so easily detected by their feline numbers multiply quickly.As an owner of a new family member or pet, or person this can be a problem for cat urine smell and create static electricity, so it is important to note that releasing the cat at the level of human skin is badly infested with fleas, the fleas are now available in pet shops to clean it up.

Make sure a large space enough to cover your garden some cats are not hard on a piece of heavy vegetation, lawns and kennels.Just as the deterrent instead of washing the windows, walls and the jingling plastic ball and destroy the bacteria strains are in close contact with all your problems worsen if the mother cat also as many days to prevent them from the vegetable kingdom.Isn't it understandable that he is not daily, not even realise it but the type of litter, when and how good the homeopathic medicine Bellis perennis, which follows Arnica very well, is the reaction of both the backing that one of mine, cannot eat dry food while the cat urine will be fair game and that he is not for everyone.It is very special, and is responsible for most dog flea or tick collars and baths as well.Allow it to protect the 1000 sofa you just aren't able to actually be in a way to convey territorial and scratching your furniture as a precautionary measure?

#Cat Urine Vegetable Garden Stupendous Tips #Cat Pee Proof Couch

0 notes

liquidsensientdeity · 5 years

Text

If image is censored how about words?

The banned lecture:

GILLES de RAIS

THE BANNED LECTURE

Long ago when King Brahmadatta reigned in Benares, a gentleman whose Christian names were Thomas Henry – you possible have heard of him – he was no less a personage than Grandfather of the great Aldous Huxley – once found himself threatened be a predicament similar to that in which I stand tonight. He had been asked to lecture a distinguished group of people.

What bothered him was this: what assumption was he to make about the existing knowledge of the audience? He adopted the sensible course of asking the advice of an old hand at the game; and was told, “You must do one of two things. You may assume that they know everything, or that they know nothing.” Thomas Henry thought it over, and decided that he would assume that they know nothing.

I think that merely shows how badly brought up he must have been; and explains how it was that he became a kirty little atheist, and repented on his death-bed, and died blaspheming. Gilles de Raise was born sometime in 1404. He married Catherine de Thonars on the 30th of November 1420, arrest by the Church. He began alchemical studies under the instruction of Gilles de Sille, a priest of St. Malo. Montague Summers believes he sacrificed around eight hundred children and quotes the proceedings of ecclesiastical high court in which a Dominican priest named Jean Blouyn took over as the delegate of the Holy Inquisition for the city and diocese of Nantes. Needless to say, Gilles “confessed”, and was put on the stake and charcoaled on October 26th, 1440 leaving his estates and untold riches to Mother Church, who, wasting no time, added them to her list of material gains. Included in this particular catch were Gilles personal hand-painted manuscripts, which were eagerly welcomed into the Mother Lode’s vault where they sit to this day. Unfortunately, the Vatican’s library is inaccessible to “common folk”, and will probably remain so until the demise of Mother Church herself, at which time this author will assist other interested persons in converting it into a public library.

No! No! That would be quite impossibly bad manners. I shall assume that you know everything about Gilles de Rais; and that being the case, it would evidently be impertinent for me to tell you anything about him. So that we can consider the lecture at an end, and (after the usual vote of thanks) pass on immediately to the discussion, which I think ought to be more amusing, if scarcely as informative.

It is rather hard saying--however worthy of all acceptation in a university like Oxford, where, I understand, the besetting sin of the inmates is lecturing and being lectured, but discussions are always apt to turn out to be amusing, especially if conducted with blackthorns to shotguns, where as lecturing is merely an attempt, foredoomed to failure, to communicate knowledge which usually the lecturer does not posses.

I am sure that we all recognize that an attempt of this kind is impossible in nature in nature. No! I am not proposing to inflict upon you my celebrated discourse on Skepticism of the Instrument of Midn. I am not even going to refer to the first and last lecture which I suffered at a dud university somewhere near Newmarket, in the specimen of old red sandstone in rostrum began by remarking that political economy was a very difficult subject to theorize upon because there were no reliable data. Never would I tell so sad a story on a Monday evening, with the idea of Tuesday already looming darkly n every melancholic mind. I should like to be just friendly and sensible, though it is perhaps too much to expect me to be cheerful.

The fact is that I am in a very depressed state. My attention was attracted by that little work “knowledge” of which we hear so much and see so little. I don’t propose to inflict upon you the M.C.H., and demonstrate that the life and opinions of Gilles de Rais were inevitably determined by the price of onions in Hyderabad. But I do think that in approaching a historic question, we should be very careful to define what we mean—in our particular universe of discourse—by the work “knowledge.”

May I ask a question?

Does anyone here know the date of the battle of Waterloo?

Pause- - (Someone - - I bet - - tells me “1815.”)

Thank you very much. To be frank with you, I know it myself. I did not require information on that particular point. What I asked was, whether anyone knows the date. I felt that, if so it would have created a sympathetic atmosphere.

But since we are talking about Waterloo, we may ask ourselves what, roughly speaking, is the extent of our knowledge?

I have heard plenty of theories about why Napoleon lost the battle. I have been told that he was already suffering from the disease, which killed him. I have been told that he was outgeneraled by Wellington. I have been told that his army of conscripts was underfed and not properly drilled. I have also been told that the battle was won by the Belgians.

Now, all these things are merely matters of opinion. There may be a little truth in some of them. But we have practically no means of finding out exactly how much, even if our documentary support is valid to establish any of these theories. It is, also, almost impossible to estimate the causes of any given event, if only because those causes are infinite, and each one of them is to a certain extent an efficient determining cause.

Take a quite simple matter like the time of year. If it had been winter instead of summer, the hens would not have been laying and Hougomont and La Haye Sainte would not have been able to nourish the contending forces. But though it is profitable for the soul to contemplate the extent of what we don’t know, it is in some ways more satisfying to our baser natures to consider what we do know in a reasonable sense of the word.

It is not disputable that the battle of Waterloo was fought and won. It is not disputable that it was the climax, or rather the denouncement, of campaigns lasting over a number of years. And there is no reason for doubting that Napoleon was born in Corsica, that he entered the French army, and rose rapidly to power by a combination of military genius and political intrigue.

There is a vast body of indirect evidence, which confirms these statements at every point. Taken as a whole, they would be totally inexplicable on any other hypothesis. But when we consider the character of Napoleon, we are at once involved in a mass of contradictions. Probably no one in history has been more discussed, and every writer gives a totally different account. Each seeks to buttress his opinion by incidents, which we have no reason to suppose other than authentic, but seem incongruous. So far as we can get any truth out of the matter at all, it is that the character of Napoleon, like that of everybody who ever lived, was extremely complex. And the writers are more or less in the position of the Six Wise Men of Hindustan who were born blind and had to describe an elephant.

Spiritually fortified by these simple meditations, we may apply their fruits to the problem of Gilles de Rais, and ask ourselves what we really know about him as opposed to what we have heard about him.

We know that he was a gentleman of good family, because otherwise he could not have held the offices, which he did hold. We know that he was a brave soldier, and a comrade of Joan of Arc. We know that he had a passion for science; for the basis of his reputation was that he frequented the society of learned men. We know finally that he was accused of the same crimes as Joan of Arc by the same people who accused her, and that he was condemned by them to the same penalty.

I do not think that I have left out any verifiable fact. I think that all the rest amounts to speculation. The real problem of Gilles de Rais amounts, accordingly, to this. Here we have a person who, in almost every respect, was the make equivalent of Joan of Arc. Both of them have gone down in history. But history is somewhat curious. I am still inclined to think that “there ain’t no sick animal.” In the time of Shakespeare, Joan of Arc was accepted in England as a symbol for everything vile. He makes her out not only as a sorceress, but a charlatan and hypocrite; and on tope of that a coward, a liar, and a common slut. I suspect that they began to whitewash here when they decided that she was a virgin, that is a sexually deranged, or at least incomplete, animal, but the idea has always got people going, as any student of religion know. Anyway, her stock went up to the point of canonization. Gilles de Rais, on the other hand, is equally a household work fro monstrous vices and crimes. So much so, that his is even confused with fabulou8s figure of Bluebeard, of whom, even were he real, we know nothing much beyond that he reacted in the most manly way to the problem of domestic infelicity.

A moment’s digression; in fact, the main point. What is the most precise and most atrocious charge that is made against him? That he sacrificed, in the course of alchemical and magical experiments, a matter of 300 children? I submit that, a priori, this sounds a little improbable. Gilles de Rais was the lord of a district whose population would not have been very extensive, and even in that age of slavery, dirt, disease, debauchery, poverty and ignorance, which seems to Mr. G. K. Chesterton the one ideal state of society, it must have been a little difficult to carry out abductions and murders on such wholesale principles.

Whenever questions arise with regard to black magic or black masses, invocations of the devil, etc., etc., it must never be forgotten that these practices are strictly functions of Christianity. Where ignorant savages perform propitiatory rites, there and there only Christianity takes hold. But under the great systems of the civilized parts of the world, there is no trace of any such perversion in religious feeling. It is only the bloodthirsty and futile Jehovah who has achieved such monstrous births. Such up as-trees can only grow in the poisonous mire of fear and shame where thought has putrefied to Christianity.

There is thus no antecedent improbability that Gilles de Rais (or any other person of that place and period) was addicted to black magical practices, for they were all Catholics. The power of the Church was, at that time, absolute, and even research was limited by the arbitrary theology imposed upon the mind of everyone. The abomination was at its height. But its decline has been rapid. True, one hundred years later it was still possible for Queens to be bulldozed by Presbyterian pulpit-eers, but the time was already predictable when their best was for undergraduates to be bluffed by homosexual ecclesiastics. I suppose it is all in the family.

While these profound thoughts were producing a hypochondriac obnubilation of my mental faculties, it suddenly occurred to me that after all, I had heard this story before. And I saw the connection.

In the pitch-dark ages, when Christianity held unchallenged sway over those portions of this globe, which it had sufficiently corrupted, the pursuit of knowledge—knowledge of any kind - - was justly estimated by the people in power as the one and only dangerous pursuit. Even so, as late as 300 years ago, it was not considered very gentlemanly to be able to read and write. I am not sure that it is.

In any case, it is a great error in education to teach these things. Grammar, we must never forget, appears in the word “Gramarye,” beloved of Sir Walter Scott, and “grimoire,” a black magical ritual - - that is to say, any written document.

Precious little knowledge filtered through Christianity. It was against the interests of the Church, and in those times it was much easier to suppress people and ideas than it is now, though even today we find priests - - at least in Oxford - - who appear not to have heard of a certain recent invention by a notorious Magician inspired by the Devil - - the Printing Press.

But they feared. So those who pursued knowledge were at the best under strong suspicion of heresy. I need not quote the obvious names. But there were certain bodies of people who did carry on the old knowledge, mostly by oral tradition, and who were perforce tolerated to a certain extent, because even the little knowledge that they did possess was so exceedingly useful. The best way to make armor, or to build Cathedrals, or to heal sickness would enable the Christian to get ahead of his friends. Therefore, although conscience evidently demanded the maximum amount of persecution compatible with the existence of villains, the Jews and the Arabs were at least allowed to live. Besides, the Arabs saw to themselves.

But no one was better aware than the Pope that knowledge was power. For all he know, and he probably knew that he did not now much, the Jews and Arabs might get together and overturn the whole construction of society. Had he not in his own records the very best example of such a catastrophe?

There are a large number of excellent people, possessed of even less that the minimum amount of brains required to grease a gimlet, who are always boring us with the bogey of the Jew-Bolshevist peril. But as most of them are Roman Catholic and unaware that Rome is laughing in its sleeve at them, they conveniently ignore what should be - - if they realized I - - their best argument. What was the ultimate cause of the destruction of the great civilization of Rome? What corrupted the spirit of a people unconquerable in arms? What but the spread of the slave morality of Jewish communists of the period? If you will take your New Testaments from your pockets, you will find in the fourth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles and the thirty-second verse: “and the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and soul: and not one of them said that aught of the things that he possessed was his own, but that they had all things in common. “ Of course one of them, and he too was a Jew, tried to hold out on the kitty, and was struck miraculously dead for his pains. Lenin and Trotsky never did as well!

So, as Roman Catholics are always telling us, the Church has a monopoly of logic, and The Pope argued that all Jews were communists. Anyone who had or wanted knowledge must be a Jew, and therefore a communists, and therefore - - well, the Pope too believed in preparedness, though he probably called it a program of disarmament. When people scrap battleships in the name of peach on earth and goodwill to men, it means that they have found battleships useless and too expensive, and that they have found something cheaper and more deadly. So the Curia kept a weapon in reserve, in order to be sure of having a nice jolly pogrom whenever they gave the word. And what was the word to be?

Nice quiet peasant folk, or genial hard-working hunters and fighters, are not easy to arouse to indiscriminate slaughter without reason. In order to get them going, there are only two things which you can play on - - greed and fear. The motive behind the Crusades was the story of the fabulous wealth of the East. We find, in fact, that well-organized armies of buccaneers, such as the Templars, did not bring back incalculable spoils, while the honest pious mugs ruined themselves in the process.

Now, in this particular sport of suppressing earnest enquirers, it was not much good trying to play on people’s greed. For everyone knew that even if the Jews had wealth, the managed to hide it very successfully, and that they had a nasty way of arranging for protection with people who were too powerful to be bullied, and too good business men to be fooled into killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. So the only motive available was fear, and in those ages where ignorance was fostered with infinite devotion, it was even easier to create a scare about bogies than our propaganda in the recent scrap found it.

I was in Venice just before the war, when Halley’s comet was around, and although the Pope himself sprinkled holy water over the comet, and sent it his special benediction and told the people it would do no harm, in his most ex cathedra manner, the Venetians gathered themselves in panic-stricken crowds in the Square of St. Mark and waited, howling for the end of the world.

It was accordingly easy enough to associate the pursuit of knowledge with the most abominable crimes, real or imaginary or both. For the reason, we hear - - not as a demonstrated thesis, but as a commonplace of inherited knowledge - - that Jews were sorcerers and wizards. In other works, they know something about grammar. We heard that they transformed themselves into cats or bats, and sucked people’s big toes. I have never, personally, investigated the question as to whether this form of nutrition is palatable. But, alas! Even in those idyllic Chestertonian times there was a little shrewd common sense knocking about; the instinct - - sometimes very splendidly described as horse sense - - which comes from intimate wordless un-intellectual communing with nature (please do not take that word “communing” in any bad sense; if it were not for Baldwin. I would be a Conservative myself) - - the instinct of some people, who at the bottom of their hearts, did not so much believe in these phantasms. I was not so easy to get them to go out and murder a lot of inoffensive people at the word jump. They had to be supplied with something a little more tangible.

You will notice how all this fort of argument is invariably of the ad captandum variety. It is produced out of nowhere for a definite purpose; and, as the French say, does not rime with anything. If it did, of course, it would immediately be exposed as nonsense. It is satisfied that nobody can disprove it any more than they can prove it.

Take a concrete example. A nice young gentleman the other day wanted (very properly) to earn his living, and not being peculiarly endowed by Nature in the matter of original invention, he thought he might make a story out of the idea of a Suicide Club. In this he was evidently correct. Robert Louis Stevenson had in fact proved the point. So he took Stevenson’s story and transferred it to Germany, and driveled on about the ace of spades, and quoted statistics of suicides, and said that I was the president of the Club and that the Berlin police were after me.

Now, I am afraid it would be a little bit difficult for anyone to prove that I am responsible for any suicides that may take place in Germany. But, on the other hand, it is quite impossible for me to disprove it. So now, if you want to attack anybody without the slightest fear of contradiction, you know how to set to work.

I omitted to mention that all these suicides were excessively beautiful and even voluptuous young women of high social position, and that the wicked president had blackmailed them out of vast sums. You see, the people for whom this dear young gentleman was writing all get sexually excited by pictures of young women, and also by any statement about large sums of money. For they immediately have a wish phantasm - - if they had large sums themselves, what terrible fellows they could be.

In the Middle Ages, the art of exciting the people was not very different. The Jew had always an immense hoard of ill-gotten wealth, and of course every penny that was exacted by Reginald Front-de-Boeuf was laid to the Jews’ account. But there was another treasure that the peasant was afraid to lose, the dearest treasure of all, his children. As little boys, thank God, have a habit of straying in search of adventure and getting lost in the process, which is good for their souls, the peasant naturally has moments of serious disquietude as to whether something terrible can have happened to little Tommy. Very good, all we have to do is to play on the alarm.

We put into his mind, that little Tommy (who turns up all right, if rather muddy, half and hour later), has almost certainly been kidnapped by the Jews for purposes of ritual murder.

I don’t know over how many years these practices were supposed to have spread. As I think you must all feel sure by now, I know nothing whatever of my subject.

But scientific experiment in those days was always a very prolonged operation. They thought nothing of exposing some unknown substance to the rays of the sun and moon for periods of three months at a time, in the hope that in some mysterious way the first stage of some dimly - - visaged operation might be satisfactorily accomplished. And even if they sacrificed a child every day, it would have taken a matter of two and a half years to dispose of 800 children. Besides, it must have taken more than a few minutes to kidnap a child with the secrecy obviously required. Did the disappearance of the first 400, say put no parents on their guard?

I think, at the best, it is a cast of little Tommy who told his mother there where millions of cats on the wall of the back garden, but under cross-examination, in the style made popular by the dialogue of Lot with Almighty God, admitted that it was “Tom and another.”

Of course, it will be obvious to you by this time that I have been seduced by Jewish gold, and the only way that I can think of to disarm your suspicions is to bring forward another cast the same kind, little more then a century old, with which Jews had nothing to do.

There was a poet laureate - - I am not quite sure what this species of animal is - - but his name was Robert Southey, and he lived, if you can call it living, about the time of William Blake. He wrote a number of words arranged in some scheme connected with rime and rhythm; apparently, like golf clubs, “a set of instruments very ill-adapted to the purpose. But, anyway, he called it a poem, and the title was something to do with the old woman of Berkeley and who rode behind her. The person who rode behind her was Mr. Montague Summers’ friend, the Devil. What she actually did to merit this favor is to me rather obscure, because I have forgotten the whole beastly thing. But I do remember two lines, because I am in the same line of business myself.

I have candles make of infants’ fat,

I have feasted on rifled graves.

Southey was an ambitious man. He was not content with the brilliant success of this masterpiece of the poetic art. He immediately sat down and wrote another alleged poem all about infants’ fat and rifled graves and the Devil coming for the villain at the proper moment. This poem has nothing to do with witchcraft. It is called “The Surgeon’s Warning.”

I think this is the best evidence in support of my thesis - - whatever that is, I am not quite sure - - that it is possible to adduce.

In the minds of the kind of people who believe in their neighbors making candles of infants’ fat and digging up corpses to economize on the butcher’s bill, the surgeon - - that is to say, the man in pursuit of knowledge which it is hoped may alleviate human pain - - is the same kind of animal as the witch and the ritual – murdering Jew.

It is, no doubt, because it is a part of the old taboo complex about the corpses of one’s relatives, that the clerical attack on surgeons concentrated itself on one fact - - the fact that to learn to be a surgeon you must have corpses to dissect. For at that time, it will be remembered, hospitals were not as flourishing as they are today, and it was very difficult to find living people whom you could cut up to see what came of it. The surgeon was, in fact, not understood at all, except in the one way which such people were capable of understanding; i.e., as the body-snatcher. The rest of his proceedings were perfectly mysterious to them.

You notice that even Charles Dickens - - who may yet go down in history for having wished to prosecute Holman Hunt, of all people in the world, for painting indecent pictures - - take very much this popular view of medicine and pharmacy in Pickwick.

I think, then, it is not altogether unfair to assume that Gilles de Rais was to a large extent the victim of Catholic logic. Catholic logic: and the foul wish-phantasms generated of its repressions, and of its fear and ignorance. He wanted to confer to a boon on humanity; therefore he consorted with learned; therefore he murdered little children.

I think it is about time that somebody got after J. B. S. Haldane. It is too late to do anything more to Fidley and Latimer, but I am quite sure that the candle they lit was made of infants’ fat. It is no use your starting to rifle Graves, because his publishers might resent you interference.

Those in favor of the motion will now please signify the same in the usual manner. Any way the Lord have mercy on your souls!

The above article was a lecture given at the University Poetry Society by Aleister Crowley on Feburary 30th 1930. Later published in Occult Digest Vol. 2 Issue 3 (1972).

0 notes