6424,2005-06-10 19:26:00,2005-06-11 01:44:20,The Backstory And Answer To The Answer,”Obscure as I usually am. There’s been a bit of controversy here, though not visibly. A story told with words, pictures and music.
Bring the End MP3
I told you once about the Christ:
Sad dogs, whipped and starved
Towering monuments to insanity
Betraying hidden desire
Among the bones and in the shadows
We stand outside their view
There is no god to choose the few
Lament their confusion
Unable stop knowing else:
Choose between drinking bleach or gasoline
Swallowed whole by a media saviour
Promise not to get any on him
Halucinating vultures sleep near
drowning in their waste, dying in fear
The sodomizing spear brings the serpents kiss
This column of light shall detonate your heart
I see all too clearly the futility
I see the end
I will bleed all the living dead dry
I’ll bring the end
Now why should death cause a strain?
Even biting chrome drenched with bloody stain
All the fools, indeed, the liberating rules
Tear asunder all that may bring them life
Crying, bleeding, dancing across the floor
Red black, red black all alone once more
Enjoy the thrill of fear of what’s in store
In glory ride, on crimson oceans glide
1. Advisors, councilors, wise fools
confabulating tales of judgment,
encrypting providentially. 2. He
feeds on the blood of his lambs
through delicious rhapsodic osmosis.
We die for his sins. Each day we are
reborn, clamouring night after night
to be slaughtered. 3. In lust, he
swallows fire and vomits locust
swarms. 4. Otherwise, our corpses
cease their dance. Rancid in their
dies-ease, outwardly breathing their
convictions, alight with the pages
they dance bright. Bereft of wisdoms
respite and rages they never quite felt.
We are distracted, never present,
other moments dim in our recall. 5.
Father, baptize us in sanguine
streams; lead us into conflagration.
Shiver among us; reward our evil.
Bring us this moment our eternal
torment. 6. In the halls, other
places: delight in blasphemous
embraces. Submerged in unfelt
appetites, wet and enslaved by stark
delights and permitted rages flaunt
their lost souls. Infernal saints and
tacit mages, impassive tyrants
languish, precluding sages silenced
by the pulchritude of innocence. 7.
You are bereaved and blessed, for
in your death you have bound your
progeny to join you.
Lust Beyond Flesh MP3
As I stand behind the gates
All other creatures succumb to pain
And I strain to bring to mortal life
These unholy dreams:
Our fathers legacy abandoned
In the blood-stained fields
What we find behind the Veil
Could not have been expected
Fulfullment beyond desire,
Lust beyond flesh
The fight will bring me to my grave
But a hallowed seat I’ve earned
My lips will taste the sweet reward
Honey and fermented juices
Shining will: the carnal consummation
Of the holy fires kiss
Entrancing world of blood and heat
New visions upon which our eyes feast
New signs, open minds transcending pleasures pain
No craven whispers revealing strain
No more forgotten meaning
Nocturnal lives in hidden places
Burn brighter than those who claim the light
They cannot die for they dare not be born
Love lost, love scorned, love stabbed in the back
A demons physiognomy in extasis
Locked in a grim and hopeless rictus
Laughing, gibbering, all sense expired
A livid chanting greets the fatality of frost
The barren cattle call beneath the locust swarms
The end shook us awake,
raining down, Driven like snow
no lie, no mass concensus
we are no more, we are no more
on bloodied wings on past grey spires
enflames a sanguine dance
to wanton glory we aspire
caress of crimson rain
a hollow shrilling calls
through forgotten catacombs
a shriek, a lash, a crushing blow
levelling ancient lies
The end shook us awake,
raining down, Driven like snow
no lie, no mass concensus
we are no more, we are no more
now, go to sleep sweet hollow child
Love, Strength: Lies MP3
Sweet, demonic current of remorse,
yes, you are there.
Dire circumstance of convictions:
you wouldn’t dare.
I feel the warm, hollow thrill of damnation
when I follow you down
when I cover my eyes,
when I kiss the dying heat of your pulse.
Swollen toungues convulse with laughter,
apparent, yet unknown.
Fading beauty of structural divinity;
evil designs of love.
You are forever happy spectre of pathos,
always hiding your strength,
never,prayers,rife with lies.
Static void dispersing dead spirits,
always hiding your strength,
never, prayers rife with lies.
Perdurabo (magog Agog)
And as the sands of time
conspire to bury me forever.
Pathetic dance of fools
awash in deaths joyful endeavours.
Awake, it seems, sadly to be
lonely and in search of distractions.
all their squandered hours,
their unused brains conspire to erace me.
I shall endure – Perdurabo!
Though only through a torturous opium – dream.
I did not survive the abyss,
but I hope to leave this world alive.
As smiling I place my bloody hand on the lever,
it has come to this; happily I ride the white horse of dreams.
The Crowned And Conquering Child.
I am his flawed and sad herald.
Seeing me, even Magog is agog.
I awaken to a world of great lustre.
I feel the earthen pulse of all breathing.
I hear the voices just beyond hearing.
I know the thoughts just beyond comprehension.
Red permeates the dying grass.
Red lies beneath the drying leaves.
Life shall elude me no more.
Death plays not the role it had before.
This land I’ve Never seen before,
nor these people standing all around.
Though this land seems so familiar,
I do not know how to get back from here.
My sanguinary dream.
My crimson awakening.
Demons Play mp3
Feeling the fine caress of blades
through fires that entomb.
Wounded devils stand tall,
loudly calling us from our wombs.
And hellish voices surround us
like the embrace of a dead lover.
Bathed in the glow of dancing lights,
we look up at a vast demonc cathedral.
We cannot bear to touch.
We fear the day.
It is all so much.Much too much.
Unpredictably he Demons play.
We are impenetrable,
lost in obsession and rituals.
Change terrifies us,so we cause it,
a preemptive strike against the demons whims.
Emaciated ghosts fade from view
now that we have arrived back in Eden.
Serpents writhe the brutal dance of God
as wishes fulfilled become our greatest fear.
)+( )+( )+(
Intransigent, insouciant umbilical noose
Writhing in my grave, all my Demons let loose
Unearthly endeavours in seething death flight
All alone on the pavement, vile dreams to incite
And blown on the winds taunting chill
The rabid elementals moving me towards the hollow hills
A stumbling golem let loose in the pallid,
Dancing moonlight; the frost rips me like talons.
And the grave, the long, cold sleep, the end
It does not want me, but to live, Hades forefend
The raging howl into the cold vast night rises
Raises from sepulchers living souls in slumbering guises
Hot pulse and fiery breath
We are, yes, we are.”,public,0,,
5667,2005-06-03 17:47:00,2005-06-03 22:08:46,Ontological Anarchism,”The end came and nobody noticed. No bangs or whimpers; not a ripple. The souls of the faithful were swept up to their reward, leaving a mass of aimless, fearful husks behind. They too did not notice what had happened. Their essence was shredded and consumed by the ghost they’d created over generations. To the faithless, the shells of the faithful seemed to be much the same, perhaps there was a bit more of an air of desperation, but it was hard to quantify.
The wrecks could be seen, though nobody ever noticed them, their vehicles, perfect in their shine, cell phones always at their ear, or seemingly talking to themselves with their earpieces in. They are but characters in a nightmare being experienced by a drunk lying on a street in a parallel universe. He wonders in his sleep who could possibly want to listen to these vile, empty vessels for hours on end.
A poison in his gut twists at his insides, so he shifts in his stupor. A wave engulfs a small nation. A war drags on in an arid and hot part of the globe. Death-squads wander through the surrounding streets. They know who he is and wish to separate this pole axed creator and the world he’s dreamt up. If they can bring it into a separate existence they can colonize it, for it already contains a population of perfect slaves.
The light was going out of both worlds, fading into entropic languor. The end became boring centuries before it saw fit to happen. As usual the promised spectacle failed to entrance. Audience participation was necessary to pull off the trick, but the illusion could not be agreed on.
Gods were created, and though formed fully in the minds of humans, ruled in unquestioned tyranny. Every one was dead by the end, though they had never lived. They had been brought into existence by human thought and feeling, but had also pre-dated them. They survive the end and predate the beginning. None of them were real.
The death-squad smelled blood. They didn’t know the reason for their hunt, nor question it. They’d play. They’d move. This set them apart. Blind rage was a tool to hide the futility of the search for meaning. They wanted the drunk for his self induced psychosis. Many were outside the fence, but didn’t matter any more than the billions of clones within the set limits. It was because he stopped participating, stopped talking about it and started to dream it. He would bring it all with him as he breathed his last.
People in the world being dreamed could sense their origin. Some fell into despair, some joined the stupefied creator in his habits, and others remade him in their parent’s image. Most had work to do and couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to nonsense. If the world was to end, they needed to redouble their efforts to get the project completed, the war won, the perfect partner found, the dog washed, the trash taken out. The quickening injected each action with a new urgency for a while, and then this urgency turned into despair, violence, hatred and finally apathy.
The dreamer coughs and a million press releases go out to announce the death of culture in the form of hundreds of talent-deprived young droids. Money shifts its tides in their direction. Perfect shiny vehicles blast the news, rattling windows, killing conversation. A thousand college students die of alcohol poisoning.
Pale ghosts ran inside and barred the doors as the death-squad approached. They knew they weren’t being sought, but they also knew what it would mean to get in their way. The pale spirits vision would start to float and fray at the edges and dissolution unquestionably begin. The members of the squad could feel this too. They knew the dreamer was about to either wake up from his soul shredding trance or die, causing both worlds to be swept back into the nothingness from which it had come.
The light took on a grainy quality that could be felt, like a weak electric current, as the squad approached an alley shouting garbled curses. The buildings leaned in to get a better look and laughed. They could feel themselves melt into the pavement as they reached the corner, beyond which they’d never see.”,public,0,Rain,awake
6099,2005-06-04 12:00:00,2005-06-04 16:47:40,,”Ontological Anarchism
I was blinded submerged in shade
Stained fearless by my unsound rage
I’m unbounded by the hills around my valley
Sea of misery deluged my shelter and raised my valley
It swam me to mauled in distress
It avoided the formless faith in restraint
Flooded with the presence of tempests near-term
Forestalling control of unstable doubt and disquiet
Lament in the pandemic, rooted in instance and position
Heavens and Shock in the air decay in derision
The agitation has eased and the risk abated
And those faith-adorned have uprooted its identity
Brave retractions have betrayed my collapse
Possession has seared you to the Body of abandon
Formless danced the conflict procurers
Rapturous sighs of ecstasy and the chaos of dawn
Confidence flowed to create the storm
Triumph flourishes, extinction unobserved
Viral fury and the horror of us, of you
Choronzon burns up the Human frenzy
Contrasting illusive rides on the current
It shrills in the intention of illusory crisis
Process of Conditioning
At arms length, laughing, disowning
Languid in comfort: all is left without
Liquid astonishment stings within
The entire transpires officially authorized
Nobody comes near time in false witness
Changes of scene and attitude
We lie alone, love scorned, fear praised
Insanity ratified by poison comities
Wary of others abuse, excited over their crimes
All come down like hail on us
Never, always invoking never in our actions
And desire, directed by associations
Paying the penance in a dream of genocide
Implicit retraction of self/ non-self
Mind/ no-mind reconciled in fire
Forged into blasphemous manipulations
Anarchy reiterates blame
A systematic loop of approach and imprisonment
Feeling as a concept of self definition
Expression in language and art
Declaration of I am and we are
We deviate from the path, lose sight
Why is the answer received you should not be
We’re drawn out by desire, chained by want
Our emergence exposes our vulnerability
A matter of trust, not to be killed
A formless oppressor rides lost shamans
In our lusts, do we disintegrate dying?
Mortality’s figurative oratory fades away
The Machine in Repose
Silence of weird mercy, its grinding stilled
In that one-time incarnation as a wolf I ravened
CRYPTIC revulsion authority augments the FLESH
I am at one with the Machine
It consumes me to induce submission
The science of being; a dissection of nothingness
An inhuman presence in the Fiendish morass
Bless this Breathless Cry in the radiance of our curse
I move nations with the Machine
And glory in its cold embrace
My path is black
I am sinking exultantly
In the throat of exclusion
Motiveless escalation exalted
Salient verses lobbing the curses
Dried and subversive
Meekly discursive decree
A disfigurement on my unfamiliar skin
This lies beyond my hope
I am the last thing
This is the last act
I am the last thing that shouts into the void
Human Rites (Schizoanalysis)
Ride the lifeless Vision of silence soaring
So consumed, the empire being no longer stated
Pouring out compulsion, elevated through our fall
Flailing through chaos, I run once more
The surface unchanged, the population rearranged
The plan of the chart; symbols of the all
Abase yourself with dilemmas achingly strange
The representation has become the object as fated
Leave unravelled all we have done
Disconnect and reconnect masses and surroundings
Banish with laughter the enchantment of absurdity
Consciousness excess faithless from want of stimulus
Assemble abstract technology that decays in sleep
Excessive evidence of us unfolded on all sides
All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong All you know is wrong is we know to this you real this wrong sentenced wrong is here lie is are this we wrong condemnation help know nothing all wrong a is lie all real is nothing we help is are is lie is all know here all permitted are this wrong condemnation is real this you to is all you know permitted is this we you lie real know to know we is lie all permitted real sentence is are you help nothing a you sentenced is we wrong sentience is help you permitted lie are here permitted a real permitted you is you here you help here know real to permitted is all a are to this help is here you is a we permitted all you are lie here all is nothing is to all wrong intercede a all you wrong sentences is to is all lie we all nothing is all you a are you is real nothing all know all help here is help is nothing”,public,0,,
6177,2005-06-07 12:36:00,2005-06-07 17:13:45,,” Anything and anyone can be neutralized by being commodified. They knew they would never lose control over the population when they had realized this.
They would give them the floor to pull out their teeth.
“There’s a revolution going on. Our generation shall not be silenced!”
“We will not be ignored!”
Like infants, all they desired was attention.
“We brought the war to an end with our voices.”
“Here, have this job, this car. Take the mike. Tell us your story.”
They offer the would-be dissenters a defilement of a kind they could be in love with. Allow the leader; the alpha activist, to be the Righter of Wrongs, dealer in shock, assistance free of charge is presented outside the usual circles of penny counting organizers. They all have a weakness for poverty.
When an attack was launched, they took hold of its manifestations and ran with them. Previously they had hunted dissenters down, making them disappear, making their public personas repudiate any effective ideas they had previously advocated.
“I’m fighting the battle from the inside.”
“We will be more successful changing the system from within.”
Of course, from time to time someone had to disappear. They achieved this by making the most dangerous ones famous.
Group communication was carried out in code. We had plans. Meetings were never announced. Imperative operations were of necessity secret. We would carry out surgical strikes on the dominant culture, and then repair to a safe location to compare notes. We would spike trees, plaster subtly altered posters over advertisements in the subways to make people question what they were seeing. Congratulations all around. It was beautiful. We would make them see for the first time in their lives. Once they could see their world, their safety and identity for what it was, they would join us in tearing down the tyrannical structure.
Aesthetic Shock Tactics.
Freedom was palpable, a promise sure to be delivered, delivered by us, for which History would be forever grateful to us. Our sex was for liberation. Our dress was a form of political statement. Our couplings, triplings, quadruplings and toinfinituplings were revolutionary acts, challenging the whole structure the tribes, families, schools, nations had been based.
There was a tremendous energy in those days. We began to feel a need to take it further. We wanted to identify ourselves, declare our presence, stand up and add our voice to the general discourse. Plans were made, with an eye to add these public statements to the activities we were already carrying out.
“Release your psyche.”
The first step was the publication of flyers, then a magazine. Artists among us, of course, we were all artists, found alternative spaces to show. We hosted events that brought out police, the press, motley crowds of deviants, feeling at home in the world for the first time. Identities and behaviors that had previously been kept hidden for fear of imprisonment and death emerged into the light of day. Latex queens, new primitives, rivetheads, poets, sex heretics, nudists, pagans, post-everything artists, madmen, lefties, potheads, homeless prophets of a new tribe. We were the future.
Venom, God love them, venom was sold as a means for their emancipation. Devices, mental, chemical and philosophical, that would expand the mind had to be replaced with the tools for their destruction, so we could offer the hand of help, tell them the manacles were ornaments. If they could feel their Anarchy, that was usually enough. Needed things being illicit, this illegality made it easy to identify harmful things with the same creative revolt.
They were flooded with their own desires.
They were beautiful in the bloom of their first stirrings.
The music was the easiest to assimilate. The machine was in place, the attention of young people was already riveted to its icons. In the past they had tried to shut the artists that were opposed to them out. This brought the artists more power. Insurrections seemed impervious to the resistance of the greatest power that had ever been held. Subversion was indeed unstoppable.
Expressions were polemical; we were powerful in our unrelenting self-expression, angry in our protest. Crowds at our events were growing. Our images were flying through the air on the vibrations of electrons, penetrating homes, and flying through bodies of the populace. He gained a name. That name became a shibboleth of gargantuan proportions.
Fury bloomed on the road to our destruction, the science of being; that dissection of nothingness, seeming such a vital intellectual approach at the time. At first we noticed a dispersion of our frame of mind: the damage to the consequence. The celebration killed us. Our triumph was a skin; pulsating and growing larger, the glaze started to be slowly sucked away in eagerness for our image as grotesques; media outlets diminishingly resisted our disguise. We had arrived as inhuman presences in the fiendish morass of normalcy. Acceptance was seductive. We were beautiful. More than ever, we were beautiful.
Are we now the present?”,public,0,,
5629,2005-06-02 08:32:00,2005-06-02 13:08:26,”Busy Writing, Have No Time”,”
Nick Cave… dark and creepy. You’re a bi-polar
genius, with equal passion for the most
degrading aspects of humanity, as well as the
beauty & wonder of Dog and Heavin’.
Which fucked-up genius composter are you?
brought to you by Quidproquozilla, Slime Swilla, Product Shilla, Drinkin’ Vanilla“,public,0,Choronzon- Panic Pandemic,predatory