I’m aiming at the forehead,
Cutting right to the culmination
Of our ongoing misery,
Getting revenge for all those nearly dead
Via this campaign of esoteric extermination,
These shots will be the truest sounds of liberty!

Packed my shovel just for this occasion,
How long has it been since an attempt this brazen,
Deck this palace with the blood and bone
Of a trio of failures botched right from the get go!

And as the blood drains from the jugular,
Into the void go these three newcomers,
Staining their palaces, the color palette forever changed,
Justified, all of this is; how can you condemn this rage?

Let it be known, this isn’t for you,
My hands didn’t press down on the windpipe
For what you think is “right” or “true”,
Acting alone, I am; only I made the choice to decide!

Where do we go from here
Now that we no longer hear
The roaring sounds of self-righteous jeers,
Burdened no more by conjured-up fears?

Time to drink up; it tastes so good,
How I savor the taste,
Intoxicated there I stood,
Not letting it go to waste!

From these ruins, to which end
Shall my weary feet tread,
Gazing upon all of the dead,
Is there no limit, is infinity
My newfound friend?

O’, I can breathe; o’, what a relief…

And now I stare out into the void,
Chances of a new hope are destroyed,
Undone by my hands with the greatest glee,
No “calm after the storm” into which you can flee,
So don’t question me about an end goal,
Just hold on tight to your very soul…

Nights full of dreams,
Days full of delight…



If there’s one thing I cannot stand…it’s a lack of creativity, a lack of originality. And if there’s something else I cannot stand, is uniformity. Where are both found? In things concocted for the purposes of massification and machinification, which are always ruthlessly and violently imposed. Because if order isn’t there to be found, then anarchy reigns. Ergo, a lack of control, a lack of a grasp on what would otherwise organically develop without outside influence, a lack of things meddled with, corralled and coerced about as a result of some jackass having “a vision”.

Perhaps where this phenomenon of boring predictability manufactured to keep dullards happy and outcasts, dreamers of the dark and dangerous, sidelined, is most obvious (for those who are just entering the realm of what is dubbed “radical thought”, anyway) and therefore most glaring, most ripe for vicious and savage critiqur, is in regards to most of humanity’s views on gender and sexuality.

Cisgendered, heterosexual society and its standards serve to impose a bland, levelling, conformist, dull, unimaginative mode of existence upon everyone and everything, and despite what its root word, “hetero”, implying difference, may say, it in fact loathes any kind of sexuality or gendered/non-gendered feelings, practices, or experiences that lie outside of its all-too-arrogant norm, proudly proclaiming itself, in the vein of the Abrahamic father who spawned this accursed thing, to be the one truth, the one universal definition of “correct”, “just”, “righteous”, “moral”, etc. Many of those caught in the trap laid by swindlers who constructed the foundations for this disgrace long ago will balk at these notions, saying that it’s all nonsensical ramblings, that it’s really the gays that wish to make everything all the same, and that heterosexuality and being cisgendered are the norm because that is just the way things are, unable to picture much else outside of the stifling reality that has suffocated their minds and hearts from birth, too vapid to even make the attempt to break out of the mold.

Where heterosexuality and cisgendered ideals have really just one option, one supposedly “right” way to live, one possibility, queerness is infinity. It is chaos, a boundless array of possibilities. It can be everything and nothing (I mean these two in the most literal sense), as well as everything in between. It is unbound and unchained, broken loose from all of the fragile fetters that were born from the brains of those frightened by the reality of how things really are (namely, unknowable and unnamable lawlesslessness, pandemonium). Obviously, this conflicts quite heavily with this marauding monster called civilization, which parades around like an abusive, meatheaded drunkard, bashing, maiming, screaming, eating, and crushing everything that dares step in front of its path. Civilization desires, nay, requires, order. It is aroused most fervently by the squashing of dissent, of the fearsome other. Oh, how it shirks in terror at the mere prospect of an other. And so, it must root out any possibility of an other existing to begin with. For an other shows that it is failing, that it can’t ever succeed, and will remain a utopian pipedream for all time.

How dreadful this is, to Leviathan.

Of course, chaos is useless to civilization. All chaos does is seek to break it up, to wither it away, keep it from ever fulfilling its wishes. For chaos is natural, and civilization is very much not natural. Civilization can’t utilize chaos, because chaos, by definition, isn’t able to be bottled up and leashed. It’s never ending, always changing, forever thrashing around and escaping through whatever containment trying to box it in, leaking out and pouring out.

Now, you may ask, what does this have to do with queerness? Dear reader, it’s very simple: queerness, being chaotic, is not at all able to be reconciled with the squarely utilitarian, efficiency-minded mentality of civilization and its supporters. Cisgendered, heterosexual norms serve to keep civilization going, to keep it upright, instead of causing it to fall apart. These two things maintain order and growth, more so when they are actively propagated. Fostering progress, advancement, linear, upward development, and bolster economic activity, property, the circulation and continuation of money, etc. Queerness, if anything, actively rebels against growth and order, especially since (forgive me for stressing this part so much and repeating it) it is chaotic. Makes sense as to why civilization, since its very incarnation, has always been against the queers.

And if the pinnacle of civilization is to be found in the teachings of Jehovah/Yahweh/Allah, which is also, coincidentally (or maybe not coincidentally), a deity that champions heterosexuality and being cis, as well as law and order, progress (called millenarianism/the end of history), mercantilism, economic absurdities, and all kinds of nonsense, then it becomes all too apparent in my eyes why being queer is associated with Lucifer/Satan, the devil, deviancy and insurrection against Jesus and the cop-angels of Heaven.

Something I think queers should actively embrace.

Does it sound conspiratorially minded? A bit kooky, a bit strange? Yeah, I wouldn’t disagree.

But if one really thinks about it…

Am I wrong?


Knock, knock…

You hear the faint
Rapping on a door,
Don’t you?

Oh, it is there.

No one else
Can detect that
Maddening sound
But you, and even then,
It is only within your
Interior; obscured away
From all others.

That sound, that
Continuous collision
Of bone against wood…

For the first time
In your brief span
Upon this dying world,
You are presented with
What it is like to
Be truly, and utterly

There it is,
Fear and trembling.

Part of you
Vainly clings to the
Notion of facing that old
Cloaked reaper with a stoic dignity.

But who would you impress?

Certainly not it, for
Greater men have
Withered in its presence.

Your eyes dart around,
And the knocking keeps
Reminding you that there’s
No one else.

Just you…

So, you give in
To the inevitable loss
Of you, yourself,
Deciding that,
Since the void, eternity,
Is staring so intensely at you
With two vacant eyes,
It’d be best to give in to the inevitable chaos,
A most intense negation and madness.

What else could you have done?


In the background, She stands
Tall, shadowed
And silhouetted,
Robed, concealed,
Beautiful and grotesque,
Wonderful and wretched,
All at once
Whenever the veil covering her,
The thin veneer that hides her away,
Is, away, peeled.

Bony, pale, and gaunt,
Clearly looking the
Part of an exhumed cadaver,
Eyes as dark as voids,
Minds She cannot help but haunt.

Taciturn, aloof,
Born from the Most High,
Our Mother herself,
Without need or want.

Yet peculiarly splendid and striking,
Endlessly charming and beautiful
Despite the uncanny image
Which meets thine eyes,
Mixing the most gorgeous and ghastly visage,
Demanding the undivided
Attention of one’s gaze,
Mystifying and alluring, seductive, even,
As She draws you into a kind of daze.

Terrifying, but also a
Strange sense of comfort and
Even warmth is drawn
From Her aura; you cannot
Quite place it, but you know
It’s there, and you feel compelled
Towards it, drawn to it,
For it always lurks, in all that
Lays claim to this thing called “life”.

You know Her, and yet you
Do not; both distinctly foreign
And oddly familiar.

Marked upon Her brow
Is a curious brand. A warning sign
To the clay-born
Offspring of wretched man.

In the grip of Her left hand
Standeth the eldest of deadly
Tools meant for the slaying
Of man. Sower of seeds, tiller of
Ground, harvester of the fruit
Bared by the forbidden gardens,
Cause of the first blood to be shed
Upon the fresh, newborn land.

Hire instrument,
Faithful and stinging,
To Her, always clinging,
Is this tilling thing, by the tip,
Dripping with blood. Eternally
Spilling from the blade
And nestling into the soil,
Feebly crying out
Whilst descending into the mud.

Auras of a chilliest kind
Surround Her essence,
Curses falling upon the land
Thanks to Her looming presence.

Deep in the crimson river,
She stands and wades.

Behind riseth the mountain
Of men, young and old, rich and poor, alike,
Souls stripped from their flesh
By both bullets and blades.

On Earth She was first known
When She gave way
To a most fearsome son.

From Her, His mark was received,
And by His hands, the first
Of the holy murders was done.