Shiva

Cicero liked me because I was so deeply fucked up. She thought all these Jewish gnostic things, she said, but I actually I felt them. I had the … revulsion. She thought it marked me out: the quality of my disgust.

Disgust with what?

With everything. With the world. She used to talk of my pit of negativism. The beams of loathing I was, like, sending out. the way I saw through all things. Nothing could fool me, she said. Nothing can hide from you. It’s like I had X-ray eyes …

That’s why she called me Shiva. That was my apocalyptic name. Because Shiva’s, the destroyer, right?