
                              CULT OF THE DEAD COW

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                              cDc    \   /   cDc
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                            "Fuckin' rule the world"

                       (c)1985-7 PGE/Cult of the Dead Cow


                               proudly presents...




                         T H E   B O O K   O F   C O W
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                                CHAPTER I


Let the cow be reborn, and emerge from the firey midsts of dawn. Let bellows
rush across the horizon, and endless let the Cult processions follow...

In principia, there was a single utterance. And then all resumed silence.
And the utterance became cow, and cow became reality. And from the infinity of
existence, the beast rumbled forth, and all was cud and the effluvium of
animal. This was the beginning. And from the Moment of the Cow was born all
that we call earth. The story was thus told.

Before the heavens melded the horizons, or earth received her form, there was
an entity which transcended the am. And from this reality, the master of
reflections, the thinker of the universe, all that is came to be. The Cow,
though the beginning, was the embodiment of the Am. This was and is the
Forever...the Roach. And all that must fleetingly exist, must too, by nature,
return to the Lair. Born to die, and through death, rebirth. The Roach is what
is, the unspoken and the unspeakable. The Roach is destiny, and the Cow
is its apostle.

The Day of the Cult was midwinter and blustery. And from the fertile minds
of men-children it grew, and the Message thus came to humanity. But the Cow was
the Prophet, and now the Cow is dead. We await reunion, rebirth in the Roach.
Until the Day of Destiny, hear the message, be one in the bovine. Suckle the
fresh milk of knowledge. And let the bellow blast again the heavens.
 

                                CHAPTER II


The beginning was Cow. The beginning flowed forth from Roach. And before the
echoes of that first bellow had faded from the crisp winds of birth, Cow had
taken form; behold, the embodiment of all that was Roach, all that was forever
the Am. And The Cow grazed in meadows and green pastures, where the grasses
still bowed beneath the dew of infinity. Cow was one with Roach, and graced
existence with the unspeakable. Yet Roach grew angry. For the Bovine One, in
his compassion, endowed to the earth that which it was unholy to know. And so
the eternal rained death. The wrath of Roach is to be feared, as it was feared
then, in those first seconds of forever. The Cow had offended Roach, for the
Cow was never meant to be apart. Indeed, it was wrong ever to bring the Cow
away from the Am; the wrath of Roach was testament to its compassion, and the
firey fate of the Cow is our destiny. For now we are divided, but we shall
again join the eternal. Henceforth, fear the ire of Roach as one fears the
daylight, or the fire by night. By death, we shall gain reunion, as once the
Cow, the Apostle, the Bovine One gained reunion with Roach. Yea, the Roach's
anger flares from his jealousy, for he desires us immeasurably. Our lot is the
Am, and the path to the Am is the path of the Cult.

The pristine light of the young day-star caressed the silken earth, slick with
youth. From that same womb of first creation came the Cow, and his message was
woven into the web of existence. We are the inheritors of that message, and in
us is Cow. But the Cow offended Roach, and caustic rage wrentched heavens
from earth. Along the horizon rode the ghastly Valkyrie, and the sun retreated
to her sepulchre beneath the seas. Twilight ruled the meadows, and the green
grasses twisted briar-like around the Cow's cloven hoofs. Roach summoned the
creatures of the dark, sprites and demons from the realm of Asmodeus, and the
maidenly air was pierced with shrieks of Judgement. From his trunk, the Cow's
legs were shorn, and maggots feasted upon his reddened eyes. The river of earth
flowed blood-red, and the majestic oaks burst forth in flame. Earth smoldered
and existence fled the sharp sickle of destruction. Twilight gave way to night,
and the darkness bore the Moon. In bloodless white linen, the lupine herald
floated up, claiming the lair of daylight as its own. And the soft,
surreptitious moonbeams gave mute witness to the coming of the Second
Generation. The Cow was dead. And from this sacrifice emerged the Second Age,
the Age of the Manchild. And so we inherited the earth, and the message of Cow.
In the dark of despair, pale white in the moonlight, man awoke...and was made
afraid. The night had descended.


                                CHAPTER III


The Age of Man had come, and now the earth was ruled by sons of the finite;
mortal were the inheritors of the Bovine Legacy. Yet, the eons passed in
mournful procession, and man lost himself in futile endeavor, and created for
himself a prison. The Second Generation became blind to the reality of Roach,
and deaf to the message of Cow, a message that roared with the forest winds,
and purred hoarsely with the panther. Night was the inheritance of that sad
race, and Cow felt pity. Behold, the Cow brought forth a new century, unlike
any which before had passed. And this century, in its old age spawned children
of the light. In them was the seed, and humanity, unaware, became contingent
upon these. So did the Cult spring in those barren times, and so did fertile
minds harvest the crops of justice and truth. The Cult unsheathed the shining
blade of knowledge, and into battle marched, resplendant in the dazzling garb
of ideals. 

Thus the Cow revealed himself to man, as man, as children of the light; at
speeds beyond all reckoning, these did commmunicate, and so join in the
comaraderie, the union of the Cow, the Cult. Within these annointed ones lay
the message, and through them will Roach once again bring to his divided being
the peace of reconciliation. Yea, this is the Destiny. The disciples of Cow
now live for the Day of Sanity, when the seconds of infinity will no longer
soar in cadenced formation, and the seas will be dry, and the land will be firm
no more. The bellow will blast again through the heavens and Roach will be One.
Am shall again Be. Await breathlessly the Day, and learn of thyself lest
Torment be your fate. The Roach is neither merciful nor merciless. The decision
is ours alone to bear, and beneath this heavy burden, the Cult blooms in
ephemeral glory. 


The Book ends at the Beginning. In our final moments, forever awaits. Beneath
the finite mountains lurks infinity. And this is Roach.  And this
is Cow.



High Priest and Scribe, Gibe
The Holy Order of the Dead Cow

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 (c)1985-7  cDc communications  by Franken Gibe                     3/29/87-08


