Lonely London Lad: The Story Behind the Eye Hand
One of the favorite comments I have ever received on MySpace was this one, posted the other day:
"Satanic BITCHES"
I just found it funny. I pictured a teenage boy screaming it out and his voice cracking on the "BITCHES" part.
But, at the same time, I found it unsettling. He was referring, of course, to the LLL profile picture, which, as you see above, contains a hand-eye. Many have asked me what it represents, and some have said outright that it's a gang-sign for Satan.
This MySpace chap, who I shall simply refer to as "MySpace Chap", had blown my cover, and no longer could I toil unnoticed in the world as one of Satan's faithless minions. Now I would have this chap onto whatever devilish deed I would do.
So it is time I come clean.
The Crossroads
Two years ago, I never would have imagined that I would be having dinner with Satan himself in a London restaurant. We met at 6:66 (7:06 pm) at a place called The Crossroads, at 666 South Kensington High Street (don't look for it, it's now a Starbucks).
What had led me there was a strange series of events. I was looking for something new to do in life, and a friend who worked in politics asked me what, in my wildest dreams, that would be. I retorted: "I suppose I'd like to be a rock and roll star who also had a good sense of humor." My friend tipped his head towards me and said, "Why don't you go down to the crossroads... and make a deal." Then he winked. It turned out it was just a reaction to a mote of dust that had floated into his eye, but it was clear he meant that I should make a deal with the Devil. He went on to say that he had made such a deal, and was now earning more money than a priest ever could. I didn't quite get the analogy, but I was intrigued. So I asked how I would go about it. He said it was as simple as phoning the Crossroads restaurant and making a dinner reservation for one for 6:66 p.m, and that Satan would be there.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
I must say I was a bit nervous before the dinner, felt like I had bats in my stomach. I also wondered what I would have to give up to become a rock star who also had a sense of humor -- I supposed it would have to be a lot, since I had never met a humorous rock star. I knew that Mick Jagger had supposedly made such a deal in the sixties, but I don't know what he gave up for it. I figured it would be my soul that I would have to surrender, but since I had never seen my soul, or knew much about it, I figured it was expendable. Still, I worried that I would have to give up an appendage or organ or something that I would miss using every day.
One Hell of a Meal
I must say, all my fears were groundless. Satan arrived at precisely 6:66 and was eminently cordial. He sported a black cape and a matching black fedora with two protrusions on the top to conceal his horns. The cape parted behind to allow his tail freedom of movement; this feature impressed me, and proved that he was a "detail man". I never thought they would sweat the details in hell, but here was the proof. He also wore kid gloves, which he took off to greet me. For all the hype surrounding him, though, he wasn't a very handsome devil. When all his designer clothes had gone to the coat-check, he looked like a normal chap; he reminded me of a mortgage banker. He had a pasty complexion and a bit of a paunch. You would never have guessed that he ran the Underworld. A very unassuming kind of guy, which put me at ease.
We discussed the whole rock and roll thing. At first he laughed at me, and asked if I couldn't come up with something better than that. He said that once he met a guy who sold his soul in order to be an accountant, which sounded like a waste of soul to me. Another one, a village idiot, had sold his soul to become President of the United States of America. But I would be just another bloke in a long line of immature males desirous of musical fame and fortune.
He looked bored by the prospect of yet another rock star, but said he could make it happen, and took out his iPod. He played me a few songs that sounded epic, and I asked who the artist was.
"It's you," he said. "If you want this to come about."
That's when the negotiations started. He said he wanted my soul, but he also wanted a "360 deal", which would give him a large cut of all my record sales, merchandising, and touring. A cut of everything, 360 degrees around. I asked him where he got that evil idea from, and he said "the major labels."
I was okay with the soul part, but not with the 360 deal. I wanted to remain an independent artist, didn't want Satan looking over my shoulder every time I wrote lyrics. "Not wicked enough," he might say, and that would stifle me, creatively. I mentioned that I owned a private island, and whether I could use that as collateral. He accused me of trying to impress him, and I admitted he was right. He said he owns the entire Underworld, and a lot of the Overworld... what could he possibly use a private island for.
"Romantic getaways?" I said, and knew right there that I had him. It turned out that he always went on a cruise whenever he was in the mood for romance, and was invariably bored out of his mind, and would always amuse himself by giving everyone on board food poisoning. But this island idea really hooked him, and I was proud of that.
"Okay," he said. "I'll take that, and the filet of soul, and a plate of barbeque ribs."
"Will that be all, my lord?" the waiter said.
It turned out he was ordering dinner.
"I'll just have spring water," I said. The two looked at each other and snickered.
He sat thinking for a while, and only over dessert did he accept my offer. "The soul, the island, and ... I want you to do some advertising for me."
"Advertising? What do you need that for? You're Satan. After all, you already control the media."
"I'm losing ground to cable, social networks, and cell phones," he admitted. He then reached into his back pocket and retrieved a pen. "I'm not the underworld's greatest artist," he admitted with disarming modesty, "but I have this idea for an album cover..."
He then sketched, on the back of a napkin, the hand-eye symbol. "If you place this on your first album cover, and on your MySpace profile picture, then we have a deal. You can have all the song ideas on my iPod, and you should be able to produce three CDs within the first six months of your existence."
"That's impossible," I said. "Nobody has ever issued three albums within 6 months."
"Are you questioning my absolute dominion over all worldly affairs?" he said, his pasty complexion turning a shade pinkish. "I'm Satan, for God's sake."
"No, no, of course not, my Lord".
"Just call me Satan," he said, and gazed into my eyes. "Or just... Satey".
I got uncomfortable at this point, as it seemed he wanted more than just my soul, so I averted his gaze and muttered a "Sure... Satey."
He stuck me with the bill, which I was obliged to pay (666 British pounds even, of course), and as he gobbled up some mints at the reception desk, I asked him about the humor part of the deal.
Through a mouthful of white and pale green mints, he said, "Go to hell." I suppose if I had let him bugger me, I would have something funny to say now.
And hell is where I languish to this day. I have fame, fortune, and thousands of close friends, but I lost my soul to rock and roll, and have no sense of humor.
Damn that eye hand. Damn it all.
- LLL
P.S. Somebody just posted the following comment on my status: "That story isn't even believable, I SERIOUSLY doubt that would ever happen. Why would he hide his horns but expose the tail? It's an inconsistency in your story, but your support of the idea is still repulsive. I'm faithful to God, and I REFUSE to support someone who would boast about making a deal with the devil. I pray that you would find God, and not boast about making a deal with Satan."
P.S.S. Here is some of the handiwork I did while working for "Satey":
Pssst! Since you made it this far, the "eye hand" is known as a "hamsa". The Wikipedia says this about it: "The hamsa is a palm-shaped amulet popular throughout the Middle East and North Africa. The hamsa is often incorporated in jewelry and wall hangings, as a defense against the evil eye. It is believed to originate in ancient practices associated with the Phoenicians of Carthage. Ahimsa: Nonviolence. Abstinence from injury, harmlessness, the not causing of pain to any living creature in thought, word, or deed at any time. This is the "main" yama. The other nine are there in support of its accomplishment."
