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                            "Fuckin' rule the world"

                       (c)1984-7 PGE/Cult of the Dead Cow

                               proudly presents...

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


                                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

                                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

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

                                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

 (c)1984-7  cDc communications  by Franken Gibe                    3/29/87-08