The Love of Tiamat

behold now everything on this earth; the fields with abundance of grain, palm-grove harvests rich and fruitful, the forests that separate kingdoms and the fires that scorch them; the brickwork of ancestries and the towers that reach our gods. behold these crop-fields that we call life and death, grown on the back of a sludge-like entity sowed, and heaped, in granaries of self-doubt; collected by children's dirty hands; bronze-sickles, charcoal-eyes; while the storms unwrap in the south... gales have swept these homes and huts of clay, the dog-faced pazuzu gnarls at the moon, as inimical as it is revered; a mother's love for the murderous son is as complex as the children's dependence on these fearsome steppes. behold now everything on this earth; the countenance of the origin-beast-mother carved in the mountains of the north and the efflux of her genitals streaming to the south of the marshes, into that great ocean whose shores we know only by myth and whose waters is the abode of the primordial one, whom hurls the long-spear of flood and storm deep into the sides of these lands - for these lands are hers: when all comes about, has not the lands risen strongly from her bottomless and abysmal womb? was not the pleasure that shook the members of the old, old gods into ejaculation, indeed, the motion of her scaled loins? is she not the temple to which all sacrifices are offered, all libations put forth: is she not the shrine; the death-black ziqqurat; the lighthouse emitting darkness? is she not the stele inscribed with all words of grace, and the eloquence of our beautiful poets? over the lapse of a thousand millenia, she has been constricting the gods of the heavens in a strong leather noose, f o r i s n o t v o i d o r i g i n a l t o a l l ; c h a o s , d i s c o r d , o r i g i n a l t o o r d e r ?