Though I’m a non-believer and all-that, if Lucifer existed I think his general mood would be one of spite with an underlying layer of confusion. I figure, when you’re kicked out of paradise by someone you love your first couple moods include all the many states of confusion, sadness, and heartbreak; and then you’d slowly descend into that revengeful sort of hatred called spite. But underneath that spite you’d still have a couple unanswered questions rattling around in your noggin, like “Is this great and supposed good being who kicked me out of Heaven just like that actually good?”
And that question would rattle and rattle till’ you have no choice but to try answering it. So you’d get up from your hellish throne, guise yourself as a human male, and take a stroll on Earth to see for yourself whether His actions can be labelled good or not. But after a couple centuries of strolling with your question still unanswered, you’d find yourself demoralized and spent. And in your weariness you’d notice a not-too-shabby park bench, and you’d tell yourself that you’re just going to sit down and rest, just for a moment.
While sitting down, you’d see this hippie-sort of girl inch towards you bit-by-bit until she’s right in your face, sitting beside you on the bench, and asking, “Are you alright?” And for some strange reason you’d spill your guts. You’d tell her about your travels, about how you looked at everything going on in the world, about how you can’t make up your mind as to whether that guy upstairs is good, evil, or just conceited, about how you’re saddened by how he treats people that love him, and about how it all angers you to no-end but eventually just leaves you tired with nothing to show for it at the end of day.
And this hippie-sort of girl who’d inched towards you bit-by-bit would lean back on the not-too-shabby park bench, look up at the sky and say, “I feel that way too sometimes, a lot actually. And I haven’t travelled a lot, like you have, but I don’t think me, you, and Katzenjammer are the only people who feel like this.” And perplexed by the sudden injection of a new element you’d ask her, “Who’s Katzenjammer?” And she’d smile like the cat who ate the canary, shift her weight, fish her iPod and white earphones out of her back right-pocket, twiddle with them for a couple seconds, lean closer, and while pushing the earphones closer to your eardrums she’d say, “It’s a female band. Trust me, they understand. Here, listen.” And she’d press play: