POV: Beauty
Obsession is the greatest gift you can give to a god.
Worship is an addiction none of the ruling powers can get clean of. Without worship, who are we? We would be relegated to the same status as those who chase us— common, ordinary. Oh, how I detest the thought!
Maybe I do overinflate my own importance, but how else are you supposed to know of my power? How else will you come close to reckoning the impact of my presence? I should be chased, worshipped, obsessively doted on. I cannot deny that I am.
I deserve all the worship that I receive, of course. For without beauty, would the earth not be dreary and dull? Would life not lose its colours? I am in the music that man creates, in the relationships he keeps. I am in the flowers that bud, in the drops of rain that fall. Nobody wants to imagine a life where I am absent. I am present within the good and the bad, within man’s objective desire to experience me and the shallow longing to own me. I am within them all.
But I still need pursuit. I care about the mindless preenings into mirrors every few minutes to ascertain my presence. I desire to be looked for; in every beauty product ad encountered and in the gaze of the opposite sex. Seek for me. Buy, buy, buy to grasp this fantasy. Go to bed thinking of me, wake up hoping you’re beautiful. Oh, never stop.
Would it matter if I told you that you are already made up of so much beauty? Would it mean anything to you? If I said that the tinkle in your voice and the sparkle in your eyes were more than enough, would it not mean that you would no longer care for me? Would it not make you neglect me, to forget to pay me homage? No. Even if those words are true, I would not be telling you that today. Remember, obsession is the greatest gift you can give to a god. I love to be adored.
POV: Money
Catch me, if you can.
I love the game of life. I especially love man, because he imagines that outside of my desire to be with him, he can possess me. I am a lover like the wind— restful for a season, tempestuous for another. Who can bind me down outside my will?
Still, I enjoy the chase with man. There is no fire on the mountain, yet we run anyway. What can replace the thrill of the chase? What god isn’t flattered by a devotee’s pursuit? I am not immune to it; say of me what you like. I love to be adored. In my hands are the keys to all you could possibly desire. The missing ingredient for the life you seek is a favourable glance of my eyes. So, bow down and worship me. Worship and maybe, I will rest with you awhile. Maybe I will.
Sacrifice to me. Lay down your time, your pleasures, your health, your life. Lay them on the altar and I will come to you. Would I be a god if I didn’t respond to the fragrance of sacrifice?
Do you imagine that I would say, like Beauty did, that you already have all you need? Perish that thought. I know exactly what I bring to the table. I answer all things and you want me in your corner. You want to climb on my high horse and look down at the rest of the world. You want to saunter into a room and command all the attention at the mere look of you. You fantasise about the day that family meetings would not come to an end without your input, the day that everyone who looked down on your family will toady up to you.
I know your secret hopes of magical miracles that would bring wealth to you. I am right there when you paint your nightly dreams of luxury, connections and rich people problems. I am there to encourage you as you tie your self-worth to the bloat or hollowness of your bank account. Your ego is only quiet these days because I am absent.
Like I said, I know what I bring to the table. Will you worship or not?
POV: Fame
Say my name, say my name.
Shout it as loud as you want your own name to be known. We do not allow whispers here, only noise. This is the cauldron pot of celebrity. Do you not want to be a person of renown? Do you not dream that the work you have put so many backbreaking hours into would be validated by the world? Who decided that you have to be stellar or hardworking to be consequential? Why can’t you be popular— for simply existing?
Let’s be for real here. Do you really not want to be known? Would it be so bad to be adored? Would you really hate life if you had fans that loved you, supported your craft, defended you? Would it be absolutely horrible to be recognised? Do you not gaze at your screen wondering why the seeds of the prominent receive attention as though it were a birthright? Don’t you raise banners against nepotism but harbour a voice of envious desire that you try to silence?
You answer these questions. When you get to the end of the road and hear the desire in that silenced voice, call out my name. Raise your voice a few decibels as you reach out for me, and maybe I will respond to you. Pine after me and maybe I will finally knock on your door. I love to be adored.
Obsession is the greatest gift for a god. I particularly how aware all three are of their power and how they tell you how they can get you to worship. It's obvious but we fall Everytime.
As always this was too good my babe. Tooooo good! I would love to be your pen or your laptop🤌🏽