Alright, I get what you are saying, that Onkis is essentially an avatar of the Head on the Pole. I'm still not really buying on it, because I feel like the Darkness that Comes Before is the Gods and the Head is your own head, reflected. I mean, I could be wrong, but that's how I am currently inclined to lean on it.
H, come on man, you gotta give somewhere. I can't make this shit up, you know this.
The idol was worked in white marble, eyes closed with the sunken look of the dead. At first glance she appeared to be the severed head of a woman , beautiful yet vaguely common, mounted on a pole. Anything more than a glance, however, revealed the pole to be a miniature tree, like those cultivated by the ancient Norsirai, only worked in bronze. Branches poked through her parted lips and swept across her face—nature reborn through human lips. Other branches reached behind to breakthrough her frozen hair. Her image never failed to stir something within him, and this is why he always returned to her: she was this stirring, the dark place where the flurries of his thought arose. She came before him.
By the way, I'm loving that Serwe bit. Saubon? What about the Captain, Bakker said we're not done with him yet. What makes all that very interesting to me, is we know Kellhus has created his own Ciphrang/sorcerer hybrid running to Zuem right now. We obviously, know that the Captain was one also, how many more have done the deed and went on to the Outside? Intriguing. Very.
Not to go off on a tangent here, we might have start some new threads with all these ideas popping up. But check out the Circumfix scene with Serwe and how Kellhus is obsessed with preserving her and
denying what he really feeling. Emotion. Its when he first
falls into his dream. I forget how good all of PoN actually is. Its great.
Bound to a circle, swinging from the limb of a dark tree. Bound to Serwë. Cold and lifeless against him. Serwë. Spinning in slow circles. A fly crawled across her cheek, paused before a breathless nostril. He puffed air across her dead skin, and the fly was gone. Must keep her clean. Her eyes half-open, papyrus-dry. Serwë! Breathe girl, breathe! I command it! I come before you. I come before! Bound skin-to-skin to Serwë. What have I … What? What? A convulsion of some kind. No … No! I must focus. I must assess … Unblinking eyes, staring down black cheeks, out to the stars. There’s no circumstance beyond … No circumstance beyond … Logos. I’m one of the Conditioned. From his shins to his cheek, he could feel her, radiating a cold as deep as her bones. Breathe! Breathe! Dry … And so still! So impossibly still! Father, please! Please make her breathe! I … I can walk no farther. Face so dark, mottled like something from the sea … How had she ever smiled? Focus! What happens? All is in disarray. And they’ve killed her. They’ve murdered my wife. I gave her to them. What did you say? I gave her to them. Why? Why would you do this? For you … For them. Something dropped within him, and he tumbled into sleep, cold water rinsing bruised and broken skin. Dreams followed. Dark tunnels, weary earth. A ridge, curved like a sleeping woman’s hip, against the night sky.