Millions of warm bodies surround me, Yet I feel so distant and cold, It doesn’t get better than this, Or at least that’s what I’m told!
But in my time spent out there, T’would appear I’ve come to disagree, Day by day, night by night, I’m Shocked by how unhinged they prove to be!
Can I really count myself As another one of you, Would I, embracing the so-called reality Of my existence, feel it to be true?
Love; it’s what I’m told to Meet you with, as one of my theoretical “own”, Freely give it out and dole, However, I find it difficult to love those Who so clearly lack a soul!
It hurts to breathe, Very well may suffocate, Damned to live and die as one of them, Bitter tears roll as a result of my bitter fate!
Condemned from birth, I feel like a walking hearse, Getting shoved into this species is a curse, “Neigh!”, screams my heart to these destroyers of Earth, So I’ll just walk away and leave you to burn, Even as you roast, I doubt you’ll learn!
I’ve been sold this drug Since time immemorial, Hopped up on empty promises And fed guarantees that my dreams won’t be spoiled!
But I’m no longer an addict, Quite the opposite; as sober as I Can be, no longer dependent upon Sweet-tasting malice!
Try to rope me in, Make me swallow a plethora Of lies (or else I’ll have sinned!), Ghosts having fled my head, no longer possessed By a haunted aura!
The alternative fills me with fear, Yet what I’ve already tried has left me in shambles, Broken and beaten, I shiver and shake right here, So towards that hated thing, I tentatively scramble, For if I keep on digging deeper, I’ll be another dead fucking dreamer!
And for whatever reason, This bitter taste is more soothing, Perhaps I’m addicted to committing ideological treason Or I have finally become conscious of what it is I’m consuming, Relinquishing myself to this harsh beating, Letting go of what was looming Where my eyes look up, my shadow and my self it was eating, Ball and chain finally severed when more of it I stopped producing!
Now I cannot go back To that place that ironically didn’t contain All that I lacked, Unable to be submerged Deep into that old funerary dirge…
Snake-tongued deceiver takes me under their wing, Whispering in my ear all that can be, Guaranteeing for sure all they say they’ll bring, Meanwhile, draining all that is left of me!
I’m lurking around in the darkest corner, Near this presence, no coat could make you warmer, An inevitability you can never escape, The fear itself makes your heart falter and your bones ache, Where shall you go and flee to?
Here I am, waiting here, Patiently standing as a conclusion draws near, A birth cannot happen without me first, For blood to flow, quenched must be my eager thirst!
I’m never going to be gotten rid of, Try as you might, I’m the below that reaches above, My hand holds the blade that cuts through all things, And my crows will peck apart what decays as they all sing, What do you think awaits you?
Eyes watch, hollow and black, Life’s containment allows me to seep through the cracks, But if things must grow, I must clear away what grows old!
Seeds must sprout Upon which is now Forgotten to time, Never again, to stand and rise!
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.
You say that the rambunctiousness And discord is little else but Pure, jumbled mania, carnage Without rhyme nor reason, thus Violent; these are all true, yet it Is the meaning of freedom, of being Unchained, living like wolves Rather than automatons…
Declare, you do, that the opposite, That foul imposition of control, Of symmetry, understandability, Congruency, sensibility, is the Real way of things, but outside of the False constructs, I find this idea to Be sorely lacking in any Validity at all…
Pipedreams are required to even gain a Mere sliver of a chance of fulfilling the End goal of this inane desire, this utopian Need for stability, boring and dull stagnation…
Outside of the idiocy of charlatans and frauds, An individual can gaze all around and find Zero trace of its alleged existence, for outsiders Balk at the idea of being steamrolled over for convenience…
Omnipotent, omniscient, Stretching as far as thy eyes Can see.
Everywhere and nowhere.
From whence hath it descended?
Out of what depths, did it crawl?
The formless, somehow manifested In the guise of a form. Ceaselessly gnawing, A mouth that goes for light years, Monstrous and yawning. Pray tell, What came first? The hate which spawned it, Or that it manifested out of its endless scorn?
Such answers, are lost to us.
Mysteries of a kind man Was not meant to know.
Unless he craved his utter ruin.
And thus, the folly Of man. Craving Even what is Detrimental to his existence.
Lacking in care and foresight, Blissfully unaware there would be Opportunistic horrors ready, Salivating at the opening of The floodgate, Welcoming whatever Comes through with open Arms.
Man, o’, man, Arrogant and idiotic, You unknowingly opened thy wrists, Holding it up eagerly For thirsty mouths, Presenting thy blood, precious Liquid spilling down their throats.
You let it enter; let go of your hope…
It walks amidst us, Stalking, always in the shadows, Peering from the corners Of our vision. The blurred outer regions Where reality and fantasy Start to meld together into an unrecognizable mess.
That sound you heard…
Was it the wind?
You tell yourself it is, And yet, you’re not so sure…
Hairs stand up Along thy spine. Uncertainty pervades your mind, Feeling uncountable eyes staring. The gaze refuses to avert. It makes you Whimper and whine.
Enchanted whispers caress the outer Recesses of your ears.
A wide, mad grin promises Endless delights (To itself), Whilst the uncanny sight Confirms your worst fears.
Still, standing, waiting…
Yet, there is a less Nefarious Aspect of it.
More shadowy than when It stays hidden away, cloaked in a Shroud of pitch black, Observing as we rush Eagerly to our doom.
Dressed so dapper, Seeming to be the type That chomps thick cigars And rents out struggling flappers, Having made a home Of his fancy new roller, Debauchery behind closed doors, Smiles and kind words For the ignorant public all over.
Did I say less nefarious?
A charming grin, Coupled with a Deranged look In his eyes. Hear him Whisper the words you want To hear as the world Slowly dies. Surely, he shall Reward thou, graciously, With what thy asked for, In all manner of exactness. Of course, Costing a fair price. Little do we Realize how expensive it is, And it becomes too late; we must Now roll the dice.
Innocuous at first, But then the whole Thing becomes boring, So he starts to…spice things up.
Can’t help but seek amusement from the Primitive apes squabbling beneath his gaze.
For you see, the world is his altar.
And he is the idol that shall be praised for all time.
Yes, their god, their…savior.
More and more insane he starts to become.
He’s at the helm now, oh yes, But he’s not intending to Pilot the train responsibly Along its course.
Nay, his desire is to crash it, Then watch it burn away whatever was left.
Brother against brother, Son against father, Daughter against mother.
Loud bangs ring out in the night Out of the barrels of firearms, Yells erupt from throats, Frigid steel piercing warm flesh, Wrists and throats ripped wide open So that walls may be painted a decrepit crimson color, Lines of sight falling Upon what should’ve never Been bared witness to, thus Responsible untold amounts Of synapses breaking, Manic laughter bursting out in Erratic, unnerving bursts, causing witnesses To gaze in horror, Canines and molars sinking into the Skin of their neighbors, friends, and family, Relishing in the taste of the most Forbidden of delicacies, and In the background, there are Those overtaken by Perverse desires and strange lusts, Captained by twisted souls Stuck within rotten bodies, Rutting against whatever and whoever Happens to be available, grunts and Growls of a most inhuman variety Leaving their lips.
There he is, standing there, With that same wicked grin, Sporting that unmistakable gleam In his void-like eyes.
Hadn’t took any effort at all.
For something like him, it was…child’s play.
Smiling as he thought of his all-encompassing, blind-idiot father.
Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.
Look at it; so wonderful.
Quite pleased by the sight of gore Messily strewn all about.
Price, price, he kept mentioning that word.
Continuously mentioning that it’d get higher, That the toll would increase.
Kooky, they must’ve Perceived his warnings to Be, craving their wants More and more.
Such passionate givers they were.
Gave everything, Even…
No matter; their blood, their souls, Yes, they’d all be his in the end…
Pieces of a decorative nature for this altar of his…
Alas, the seeds of decay and ruin have been planted.
Passionate, romantic, An affront to The stoic brute, that Unfeeling brute. Connected to the Source of life, a stern distinction from the Nihilist of all nihilists.
Embodiment of the Dionysian Principle, she stands as an Affront to the Apollonian creeds Of the desert-walkers and their Fetid tulpa. Manifesting the Chaotic, orgiastic, wild and uninhibited Inclinations of Life (for Life is no Tamed beast, but a wild series of Outbursts springing free, Unrestrained and unchained), Foul curses are thrown her way.
Associated with the demonic, She is; perhaps not inaccurate, Considering she has more in common With that ever present essence Beyond the range of the Maniacal and tyrannical demiurge, The false God. By the whims of the Unimaginative and skulking, Lashed and eviscerated she Has been throughout history.
Chaos lives inside her…
Via her walls, Enthusiasm and Luscious ecstasy, love, That boundless, ceaseless thing, Reign supreme…
Blurring the lines between Death and birth…
A wordless knowing, She feels, with Existence, and its truths…
Logic, cold rationality, Icy and frigid wisdom, That is foreign to her…
Pure soul, that is what she is…
The revolt of the spirit Seals her death, Eager to place her in a tomb…
Her whole existence Is an art, a creative endeavor…
Perhaps it strikes a Chord of resentment Within that counterpart of hers…
Heretic, she was always deemed, Damned by that atheistic God Born in the minds of tyrants, Run amok in slaves who enslave Each other. There is no soul Nestled within the confines of The terrible trinity. Show me One of their followers; I shall Be looking upon a miserable, empty Shell, a bastard.
She is the bearer Of fertile fields, Harbinger of that Which goes beyond Discord and order, Love and hate, Creation and destruction.
For she is no system, Not something to be understood.
Contradiction and complication Aplenty. Without intentions, Since this runs contrary to the soul.
Best left to the poverty of the mind…
And there it is, isn’t it?
God’s second mistake, She is; Man was his first, for Man rebelled; some of Man, That is; a brave few, most exemplified By the Green Man, who watered the ground With the first droplets, bled from his Slain brother.
And so shall she hang Jehovah, the Mad Arab, the Nazarene; so shall she partake Of the blood of their slit throats, Relishing in the taste of their Deaths, becoming drunk on The obscene tortures they shall Endure when they are dragged away Into the pits of Sitra Achra.
It is true, Jehovah Fears her deeply, for He knows her might, That connection she has, In relation to the night side, And he knows…by her, he’ll be eclipsed.
Flowers grow through skulls left behind from long-deceased peoples. The towering giant of yesterday now lies dead within the dirt, wretched and botched creature that it was, now only sustenance for the green things it loved to mercilessly cut down. Bone dust grows the trees that burst through the ruins of spiritual and physical decay crafted by a lousy, bipedal mishap. Up and above the fossils of Homo Sapiens, bloom the signs of a spring that has come once again. Marrow feeds the new kingdom of flora that shall once again restore color and beauty to the face of the planet, allowing this wondrous home to no longer be barren and deserted. All the thanks to the sacrifice given, if unwillingly, and maybe even unknowingly, so long ago, by that cosmic mishap.
Nations now bear fruit that was once thought to be extinct. Without boundaries, without the limits imposed by Homo Sapiens, without the constant breeding for the mere purpose of worthless, soulless, disgusting hedonism, gorging their overweight bodies on laboratory creations for the sake of endless indulgence. Quite hilarious, for Nature got the last laugh. All of these wonderful treasures are open to all other creatures who are so inclined, except the one that, thanks to their incessant revolt, tasted the consequences of their insatiable murder and vivisection.
Tinged with red are the innards of bark, grass, shrubs, leaves, the fertile soil, flowers, stems, and such anatomical parts of the rooted kin. Stained crimson from inside are these plant friends, nourished on the most forbidden of drinks. Which thus makes it the strongest, the most powerful, of elixirs to partake of. In the ashes of the hominid empire, they stand proud and tall. From the smallest, most minute blade of grass, to the tallest, proudest, sturdiest conifer, all were watered on the life-giving liquid of that rotten, corrupt species that was deemed to be, by a most ignorant specimen, the pinnacle of biological evolution. If that were true, then why did they, while the inferiors are continuously grown on their remains? Cadavers served their purposes as fertilizer, and are remembered no longer. At best, a mere blink in the eyes of history and time. For it was born fast, and it died fast. Better off, all is, without the silhouette, the dingy form, lurking in every corner, of every acre. Those who may’ve come into contact with them, who may’ve known what they were, and what they looked like, are long gone. Not that there was anything worth knowing. Best left to be forgotten.
So ironic, isn’t it? Before, all of this, this artistic creation of a mind incomprehensible, with each of its occupants inhabiting unique points in time and space, unlike any others, each with wills of their own, and no will exactly identical to any other, striving with, rather than against, as it was meant to be, simply…Being…because that is the way of the soul, the heart, and not the mind, was simply seen as auxiliary material. Condemned to be fed to the beasts. Leviathans. Was there multiple? Or just one hulking, homeless abomination? Hmm, maybe it shall never be known. Perhaps it is best left that way.
Oh, how the tables hath turned. Now it is these destroyers of life, who made war upon it, day in and day out, except for those few, those precious, largely unacknowledged, heroic few (t’is always but a few, isn’t it?), who did their best to go back to the ways of the Mother, knowing, even if just a little bit, with either faint or large inklings, that this was the way to Truth, these things called “people” are now “standing reserve”. For eternity. Plant feed, for the splendid garden, which houses and also gives nutrients to many of the slowly returning fauna that was nearly rendered extinct, who also provide meals for many of the other fauna, who are not given to consuming that which sprouts from the ground.
Sadly, very sadly, those courageous few, they were condemned, killed, ridiculed, shunned, banished, tormented, threatened, slandered, and eventually purged from the memory of the whole, dismissed as crazy, decadent, degenerate, corrupt, idolatrous, kooky, inane. But, nay, it was that stupid majority, that bafflingly braindead mass, the overconfident and over-praised all too human, congregating into numbers deemed “many-too-many”, that was…hopelessly, and miserably, lacking in any intelligence, or spirit.
In the dirt, flesh has dissolved into it. Human meat became a part of the dirt, laced with the earthy, brown skin of the dear planet. Probably the only useful thing it could’ve ever done. As humanity was composted, the garden of Eden, which was once pure and undisturbed, began to grow back again, into its thriving state. No longer under the threat of constant siege. Hacked and chopped away by whirring blades and trampled by vomiting, belching, motorized monstrosities? Never again. Able to grow as big and strong as Nature will allow. Interfered with by the arbitrary and destructive accident that was Adam’s clay-born sons, they no longer are.
Over by the distant horizon, with great mountains in the background, standing peacefully in the vast field, which leads into a great, dense forest, are two figures. Male, and female. Each bearing tall scythes, resting upon their shoulders, hands firmly grasped on their handles (fashioned out of blackthorn). Their free hands held together, fingers laced. Looking off into the direction of the ever present sun.
The Green Man, and the Mistress Of Blood. Heads adorned by crowns of poisonous thorns. Eyes as black as coal, with otherworldly, acausal blood flowing in their veins. Born from the domain of dark, unknowable gods, who were abandoned by that hairless ape for their demiurges, their tulpas, abstractions and ideations with no basis in actuality or meaning of any sort.
Standing side by side, as blood drips evermore from the tips of the scythes. And behind them, always, do miracles of foliage and vegetation flourish, which leads to all else flourishing as well.
Here on out, ahalt the Earth be regarded as a cheap whore?
Asketh the Green Man and Mistress Of Earth, Bringers of both death and rebirth.
With smiles on their faces, both shall say, “nevermore”.