A RESPONSE

First off, I would like to say that have no problem with Julian Langer. I think Langer’s quite great, a friendly sort of person with an outlook on matters that I think is lucid, well-thought out, and quite refreshing. Not to mention, rather bold (after all, Langer’s one of the few, aside from FB, and myself, who has the guts to say that “ecofascism” is effectively not real, a big lie manufactured by the communists to paint all radically dissident greens as Nazis and fascists, because let’s face it, folks like us are a threat to the socialists, and when it comes time, I’m sure I’ll be cracking their skulls with my big ol’ boots, right beside all the fascists and white power shitheels. And they write in a manner that’s very whimsical, poetic, full of ornate and engaging language, something that is often lacking in anarchist theory. Usually theory and philosophical ponderings in our milieu are dry, dull, and can be a real slog (sorry to any who my be offended by this notion, and don’t think I’m placing myself above the rest).

However, what I am here for, what this essay of mine shall be about, is that I think Langer’s got veganism (or, at least, how folks like me and FB and Ria would approach veganism) all wrong, and why I think his understanding of veganism, in relation to things like anarchy and individualism, is shallow. Let’s get into why I believe this to be the case, shall we?

While I can’t speak for many vegans (and many vegans, indeed, get on my fucking nerves for a whole host of reasons, from their support for socialism/communism (or the opposite, being conservative goons or sometimes even full-blown scumbag fascists), to championing veganism as “civilized”, to trying to de-radicalize veganism so it can be “acceptable” and brought into the fold…to the point where I wonder how “vegan” these jackasses really are…), I, myself, see the exploitation of fauna and air, water, soil, etc., as horrific beyond belief, and my idea of veganism means fighting on behalf of the ground I walk upon, the air I breathe, the trees I gaze upon in the woods, and the water that makes up the river I live near. Indeed, a good many vegans probably are just concerned with animals, and animals alone (and even then, only reformist methods that eschew “violent, terroristic extremism” in favor of reformist, populist, legalist idiocy, proving they care not at all), I, and I’m very much convinced Flower Bomb and Ria Del Montana, and a great deal of anti-civilization vegans out there, do not exclude the flora, as well as the minerals, waters, and the very gas we consume to survive. I imagine the metaphysical side of this viewpoint is neglected, but I don’t think it would be inaccurate for me, and others like FB and Ria, to view the Earth as an entire living being. Much issue would be taken, I can infer, with the liberal, Enlightenment-borne idea that Nature is just some cold, lifeless machine that keeps chugging on, here to serve us by essentially being little else but a machine composed of various components and parts that can be isolated and sectioned off for whatever short-sighted purpose we have, because that’s a mindset perpetrated by leftists, rightists, economists, techno-fetishists, etc. Of which I, FB, and Ria are most certainly not. We are of the opinion that the Earth is very much alive, and is being killed by the life-denying philosophies civilization perpetuates wholesale. Obviously, we have to eat something, don’t we? But I’ve tried to do my best (which, I’ll admit, isn’t always (or even, at times, isn’t frequently) my best) to eat more fruit (which isn’t the plant itself, per se), and obviously a good deal of the veggies I eat are moreso byproducts of the plant, rather than being the plant itself. As well as steering clear of substitutes, which I tend to think are not great anyway. It’s not the best rationalization, yeah, but any sort of harm reduction, I think, is worth it. Point being, the delusions of grandeur humanity has instilled into itself do wage war against the water, which is harmed by being filled with toxic bullshit, the minerals and dirt and sand and rocks, gouged out by digging machines, greedy hands, probing eyes, and an assortment of structures planted firmly into the ground (the Freudian in me wants to equivocate this forceful insertion of hard monuments to death with rape and sexual violation), and we turn the air into a mode of strangulation, rather than a source of life. None of this, I support in any capacity. And the meat/dairy industries are fucking guilty.
Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I am no egalitarian. That I find the idea of “equality” to be based in little else but utopian pipe dreams and a poor understanding of existence, and Nature. If things were all equal, all the same, in whatever arbitrary manner we use to define “equality” (because equality is always very open to interpretation), then things would have no individuality. Thus, they would not be free, for their egos, their unique selves, would be leveled flat. And if they were to ignore, to resist, this leveling, they would have to make themselves…unequal, I guess would be the right term. Different. Separate from the herd, from the crowd, from the many. Not to mention, egalitarianism requires enforcement to be achieved. Proudhon wasn’t right on very much (Stirner was very good at picking apart the old man’s horse shit, even if we ALL owe something to that same old man, even I do), but he was right in that any equality-obsessed society, is a society predicated upon and obsessed with surveillance. It is a fantasy, a phantom. It doesn’t exist. Ill-defined, as well, as previously said. When all is left to be as it will, organically and without interference, without disturbance, sameness shall not occur. Uniformity, rigidity, a dull, stale sort of crystallization of existence that resembles more an assembly line than life, shall not happen. Only when an outside presence comes into play, shall egalitarianism come to fruition.

This disbelief in egalitarianism, however, has nothing to do with ideas of “supremacy”. Supremacy relies on objective value judgments such as “better” or “worse”, both of which are entirely relative and have no basis in reality beyond the inane thoughts of individuals who might be so inclined to believe in idiotic ideas like “better” or “less” than. Supremacy is also usually used to justify all kinds of actions that I have nothing but contempt for, such as imperialism, ethnic cleansing, economic exploitation (and economics in general, especially the class/caste system), slavery, ecocide, rape/misogyny, gay bashing, and a whole host of other deplorable practices. To me, there is simply difference. And difference should be allowed to thrive and exist. Without difference, there is no freedom. A friend of mine, who is also a staunch vegan, told me that Nature eludes the idea of symmetry, of sameness. To be asymmetrical, is to be in line with Nature. Doctrines of leveling conformity are completely against Nature.

As for Flower Bomb believing vegans to be some sort of “step up” from the non-vegans, as an “evolution”, as Langer seems to characterize it, from the ones who aren’t vegan and thus are “lumped in with the rest”, I’ve never really found that to be the case with anything they’ve ever said. If anything, FB’s always been critical of elitist tendencies and forcing vegan edge on people. Rightly so. We’re not hardliners (although I must profess that I like some hardline bands). Our words shouldn’t sound like Walter Bond and Sean Muttaqi. On the flipside, just because someone is passionate about veganism, doesn’t make them an “elitist” or what have you. Humanism and the Darwinian notion that Homo Sapiens is the hot shit that deserves to be king of everything that exists because of some half-baked theories built upon progress and a Christian-like end goal to history…is, if anything, the real elitism. Not to mention, if one looks at all of the ecocide the meat/dairy industries cause, and how seriously destructive and torturous they are, then I’d say being vegan is the way to go if one is, in fact, anti authoritarian and anti exploitation. Contrary to what Langer may be thinking, me, FB, and Ria are not vegan FSU here to beat up all the meat eaters (although I have zero problem hunt sab or meat sab of any kind, and if you’re a butcher or hunter, you deserve a good ass kicking, because let’s face it…they aren’t doing that out of need; I can almost guarantee it, since most hunting these days is trophy hunting done purely for money and bravado). Though I’m going to be frank…they do get on my last damn nerve. I should know; I live amongst them, and have to deal with them day-in, and day-out. We aren’t vegan Slapshot, ready to go up to random grocery shoppers and slap steaks outta their hands…not yet, anyway. I definitely wouldn’t mind spoiling the carcasses they’re going to munch on later, just so they couldn’t have ‘em on their plates. Carnists are usually macho dicks overtaken by the need to prove how tough and “manly” are, I’m sure even Langer would agree, and they need to be called on their bullshit. They need to be reminded of all the consequences of their lifestyle choices, even the ones they hadn’t considered, and be shown how truly deep meat-eating goes. What they support has a whole slew of reasons to condemn it in the strongest terms. Hunters and butchers and cow-milkers and animal breeders and all those other fucking people? As far as I’m concerned, they can go die. What they do on a daily basis is inexcusable, and if they did what they do to animals, to people? There’d be uproar on a massive scale. But because animals are the victims, we’re told to not give a damn. And yet, we vegan individualists are the supposed “elitists”. Gimme a fuckin’ break…

Let me be the first to say: I am an individualist. A passionate, deeply individualistic sort of person, alright? Collectivism? Fuck all of that. Damn all manner of collectivism that seeks to make individuals ignore their own true will…and that likely condemns most forms of collectivism, doesn’t it? If not all of them outright. Hell, sometimes I am so passionately individualist and anti-collectivist, it causes friction. Usually between me and the reds, and those sympathetic to the reds. To the point where quite a few of them likely want to challenge me to fisticuffs over it. I know one in California damn sure does. Many will rant and rave about how individualism is pure selfishness. Maybe, maybe not. It can be, no doubt. However, one could easily make the case that collectivism is wholly selfish, rabid in its hatred for any and all heterogeneity, determined to crush whatever does not conform, and absorb it instead, molding it exactly however the collectivism that is taking place demands it manifest its existence.

Being an individualist, however, doesn’t mean that I have to agree with someone’s thoughts on a matter. In fact, I may very well have an intense dislike of their opinions regarding a certain subject. I’d say that’s the hallmark of being an individualist. When two unique beings come into contact who feel one way or another about this or that, there is bound to be conflict. There is bound to be “friction”. Yet, the uniques go their own way, do they not? Be it on amicable or amorous terms, they will continue to travel down whatever path it is they have chosen. Hardly anyone is being “condemned” here, I don’t think. Seems more like a disagreement of opinion. And if the disagreement turns a little squirrelly, well, hey, we’re all passionate, hard-headed people. It doesn’t mean we can’t “live and let live”, despite difference of opinion. Maybe the difference of opinion causes a permanent rift. So what? That’s “policing” or “condemnation”? If you want to live how you wish, be my guest.

On the other hand…if you’re going to talk about being against speciesism, and against the engine of civilization that wages an all out war on life as we know it, yet knowingly participate in something that tramples on all other species with sadistic glee and malicious intent, then I’m sorry, but you’re going to sound like a jackass in my eyes. It’d be one thing if you’re not all aware of how deep the rabbit hole goes, and you’re just chowing down on meat because that is all you know, or were at least vegetarian, or, hell, you were of the mindset of “well, I’m getting there, but it hasn’t happened yet”, being at least sympathetic and open to veganism, then hey, I could live with that. Because at least you’re trying, and at least you recognize there is an issue to be addressed. However, to be so hostile towards veganism, and the idea of being vegan? As a self-proclaimed “anti-speciest”? That makes zero sense in my eyes at all. Meat and dairy are genocidal apparatuses of civilization, and anyone who thinks they deserve to still be standing in any capacity, supports civilization to at least some degree.

Now, I’m under no illusion that all unique individuals are worthy of care, which is a stance Langer takes (note that I do not include Langer in this category; merely making a point). I’d argue the opposite, actually. There are many, many, many individuals I think we could do without. Nazis, rapist, pedophiles, wifebeaters, fagbashers, child abusers, cops, politicians, animal abusers, hunters, butchers, rich folks, a whole cavalcade of deplorable types who I would not be sad to see go whatsoever. Do I condemn them, and what they are? Sure, I’d say I do. Perhaps my aggression towards them might be argued to be a kind of “repression”. But I see it as self-defense. The kinds of human waste I just named are likely to be against the individual (human and non-human alike) being allowed to go their own way, to live how they wish, and instead be subject to another’s will. Another’s thoughts, desires, etc. From my perspective, all of these people are authoritarians. Fascists, even. Wholly deserving of such a heavy insult. Do they deserve care? Absolutely not. Not to me, anyway. All they’d do is impede my freedom, my liberation, my desires for what I think anarchy and total unrestriction are. I understand wanting to extend that care as much as possible, however…let’s be realistic at the same time. This system, this Leviathan, is violent against us. Always has been, always will be.

From what I have gathered, many anarchists have a limited view of what individualism is. Many individualists of an anarchist variety only see humans as being capable of living as unique beings. And their concept of “living as unique beings” can often come down to a depressingly shallow economic question: how free, in (insert economic ideology here), are they able to act? It’s entirely humanistic. Based on the Cartesian-esque principals that only humans are rational agents, and all else are mere soulless automatons. Put here on Earth for our use, our pleasure, our needs and wants. Standing-reserve, auxiliary resources to be gobbled up later by the hand of “technique” and repurposed into something else. I say boulderdash to all of this. Everything that is alive, from blades of grass to giant trees, from honeybees to great whales, has a will. A will that manifests uniquely. What Crowley called a “true will”. Being is experienced in a myriad of manners by all that contains the chaotic, rambunctious, hectic, incomprehensible ways of the ol’ cosmic pulse. To deny this to other lifeforms, is to be thoroughly anti-individualist. It just so happens that things like animal agriculture and the meat industry are denying the individuality of flora, and especially fauna. Meat/dairy consumption as it is perpetrated in our society, as it is propped up and upheld and pushed and ruthlessly employed, is totalitarian in every aspect. An engine of domination, of total control and authority. How can one claim to be anti-capitalist and anti-slavery, yet say nothing or do nothing against the meat/dairy industry? How can one claim to be anti-fascist, when the slaughterhouses and the farms and the slash-and-burn teams are still at large? Contrary to what Mr. Gelderloos says, that hack, veganism, for me, isn’t just some trendy consumerist venture for me to do after seeing some liberal friends of mine partake in it. It’s born out of the same mentality I employ in regards to not having a car, not buying a bunch of useless shit, not always paying for what I obtain from stores, hanging out in Nature as much as possible, not owning pets, not paying for movies, not getting intoxicated, etc., etc.

Again, I reiterate this: I do not have a problem with Langer. Never have. And I respect quite a bit of what he’s written. I don’t mean to condemn, I just think Langer’s got, to put it vulgarly, some shit mixed up. Got the wrong idea, if you will.

I’ve said my piece.

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HE CAME TO FUCKIN DIE

Antlers covered in the blood of another
Who thought they could just slaughter
In this holy place the beast and their own
Have always known to be home,
Entrails decorating sharpened bone like a crown,
Hooves trudging through the blood
That drips upon the ground,
Eager to bring back another trophy
So it could be mounted on the wall,
But now their insides are mounted
Upon a cervid’s head, the would-be killer forced to crawl…

Teeth clasp around the throat,
On the blood, the bastard chokes,
Several pairs of jaws from the pack
Dismembering while the trespasser’s on their back
Claws digging through the chest
As the fucker’s laid to rest,
Spilling guts while they eat,
Life’s liquid leaves the body and slowly depletes,
Dirt stained red,
A potential killer dead,
Jugular is leaking,
Blood junkie no longer fiending…

Beaks peck at the sockets
Of a scumbag with shells
Nestled in their pockets,
Slumped up against a trunk
With the roots growing ‘round their ankles,
Body long since having long been slumped,
Food for the little ones that nibble at the flesh,
Delighted to have food so fresh,
Flora and fauna nourished by the dripping crimson,
Having foiled another scumbag’s mission,
Branches and bark having made their incisions,
And those who don’t partake
Gaze on appreciatively, for this specimen that tried to
Walk among them was never, to them, ever great…

THE WRATH OF THIS MAN

I hate everything that you fucking stand for,
The very embodiment of everything I abhor!

Claiming to know anything about this,
Always trying to hijack it, and it makes me goddamn pissed!

Don’t come here with your bullshit rhetoric,
Laughable nonsense about “blood and soil”!

How the gays and the blacks are evil,
And how we’ll be free through endless toil!

You, too, want to wrap the ligature around Her neck,
Pull hard on her already dying throat!

Contrary to your claims of the opposite,
We all know you, too, want to see Her croak!

Despiser of all things wild and free,
Nothing in common we have, you and me!

Perpetuator of the machine that chokes life itself,
Your desire is to drag all of us into a trap that leads straight into Hell!

I’ll grab that fucking rifle of yours, because to your heart,
A fatal blow must be viciously dealt!

Enemy of freedom, deluded by ghosts that haunt your head,
Taking aim against Nature, it’d be better if you were fucking dead!

PASS THE SHOVEL

Oh, it’s hungry.

So, so…hungry…

More, more…

Never…satisfied…

It suffers from the type of hunger which never goes away. A ceaseless, agonizing, relentless, unbearable hunger that can never, ever be satiated, no matter much is shoveled into its bottomless gullet. Each hour, of each day, it roars with a horrific roar that demands an unbearable amount of material be fed to it. Sacrificed, if you will. Those who do not meet its demands are…well, never heard from again. Perhaps they became outlaws, plotting to wage war against it, hiding either in plain sight or on the outskirts beyond the reach of the monster. Maybe…maybe they just…disappeared.

Forever.

What does it hunger for? Any and all things. The soil, the water, the minerals, the air, the sky itself. And it shits out distorted, warped, twisted, mangled versions of these things. Water as black as the air it breathes out from its lungs once it has begun digesting soil and what was contained in the soil, or the rock, obscuring the blue shield of our home in the process. Does the hunger cease? Don’t be silly. The hunger…never…ceases. Even if those who work for the damned thing wanted the hunger to cease, the accursed beast would still compel them to provide nutrients, sustenance. Its influence is all-consuming, ever-expanding, never-ending. Beckoning all whoever come into contact with it to serve its tyrannical interests with a demented, insane sort of selflessness. For it considers service towards its sickening ends to be virtuous. To be one of its subjects, is to be duty-bound to it…for life. A blood pact is made with it once you join up with it. You can never leave…ever.

You think it stops there, don’t you? You think that’s the end of the line?

Oh…oh you poor thing.

We’ve only just begun.

Subjects become the prey. Whoever greases the machine, is eventually bound to become swallowed by it. Churned up and crushed, grinded into bits of meat for it to enjoy, and, maybe, make something new out of it. After all, it’s always on the cutting edge. Innovation. Progress. Always inventing. Just don’t question where all this comes from. Don’t think about it. Blind yourself to the pools of blood on your hands, my dear. Forget about the maddening screams of the wailing ghosts of all the dead that float all around and grab at your ankles from below the ground. Anyway, if it doesn’t steal your flesh, then…then it’ll just steal your soul instead. If it can’t make you dead on the outside, it’ll make you dead inside. Young, old, it does not matter. Upper, lower, you become a slave to it all the same. Fucker or breeder (because those are the only two distinctions it makes between its subjects; those who fuck, and those who breed…those who make, and those who deliver), the hammer pounds upon you all the same. The gears whir their cackling, maddening whir whether you like it or not. No consent required om your end. It’d be silly to think it ever needed it…

Not to mention, all of the…victims, subjected to its insatiable whims. Packed in dozens deep. Cramped into conditions so squalid and miserable, that it makes those of the subjects seem like paradise. Never seeing the sun. Never seeing the sky. But, wait, the sun is blocked out by thick clouds of hateful, acrid smoke, and the sky is now tinged with a dingy, decrepit, dull color that makes one’s nose bleed and eyes burn. Whole families. Fathers conditioned to force themselves on what could’ve been mates, lovers, all for the sake of creating children who will later be turned into meals for the subjects, who know not where all of this comes from, and how it got onto their plates. Cut up, beaten, burned, tortured, flogged, raped…eaten. And those who partake in all this, well…they are the dead flesh walking. Zombies that talk and breathe. Their hearts stopped beating long ago…and the blood is now in their veins. Frosty, like fresh snow during a blizzard. The pupils of their eyes disappearing as they brutalize the victims in ways that are simply too tragic to describe. And…and those with roots…who come from the ground…just slaughtered en masse. Gotten rid of. Later repurposed, stoically and precisely, with chilling precision, into…into…well, useless things that will eventually be gotten rid of immediately. Their lives worth about minutes, perhaps even seconds, of attention, at most. Deprived of lives, of a chance to exist. Trampled underfoot by the marching of the iron heel. So rhythmic, so perfect…so, so disturbing…

The world becomes warped to how it desires existence itself to be. All shall be constructed as a large, concrete rectangle. This shall be the template of the future. Built upon the holy shape of the square, with constantly observed innards kept up with by frightened, starving, weary wastrels who see no other alternative to this den of putridity and nastiness. All hail the grid, all hail the foreman and the cameras he employs to make sure you keep his god alive (it is a god, it is a god, and we must kill the god…but how can we kill the god; is it even able to be killed…can we?). But the god doesn’t need us, does it? Even without our help, it’ll never be a broken god. It won’t allow itself to fall into disrepair, allow itself to go unmaintained and lose its power. See, the god is slowly gaining more and more of a foothold, and soon, the god will be here to stay. It won’t need us, or anything made of flesh, bone, blood, chlorophyll, wood, or leaves anymore. Not to keep it going. Feast? Oh, it shall definitely still feast. But it’ll invent new ways of making sure it survives, and thrives. Becoming autonomous in the process. A free machine. An unbound deity of nightmarish proportions.

Escape? Is that an option? Maybe now. Here and now, potentially. Hopefully (gah, hope, such a funny…funny thing…heh…). While it’s not entirely too late. But the window is closing, fast. Evade, outwit, distract. Get out while you still can. Or fight, fight however possible. No matter how small, no matter how fruitless. Buck against it, swing your fist, scream at it, damage it. Just do it, in whichever way you come across or think about, even. You will weaken the grip it has on you, loosen the mental and maybe even physical chains that bind you. Refuse, resist. Nothing will change, but freedom, liberation, will start to become known to you. Do what thou wilt, because that is the opposite of its law. Not its law. Never was. Do what it wills, yes.

This…

Ah, this…

It’s all thanks to you.

What? This is what you wanted…right?

Pay your dues to the devil you have created.

Yes, penance is not cheap…is it?

Can you hear it groaning for more? Aching for more? More, more it needs…

Wants…more…

Give it more…

Everything…even you, yes, you…

Now…

Do your duty…

Be good…be…

Good…

THE HATE CAMPAIGN

You came from out of nowhere,
Spreading the disease of your
Kin back home, poisoned by the
Same wretched ideals, the same
Urges for domination and devastation,
Determined to beat it unto us
Like you beat it into them!

Yet we weren’t having it, and
We instead decided to resist!

Rage built inside your heartless
Vessels, and you showed us how
Much you were angered and pissed!

Grabbing the spirit of our home
By the throat, and ripping it out
Of its rightful place, your only
Aim left was to rape and pillage
Until there was nothing left
But smoldering ash and dust!

Extinguish the life from the land we knew
And roamed since before time
Had come to be!

The sounds of your jackbooted thugs
Go marching on upon the mass graves,
Your empire built upon those that you made bleed!

I NEED REMINDERS OF THE LOVE I HAVE

Cold, dark, soulless, murky…the room reeks of death, decay, and deviance. Your eyes dart around the room worriedly, crammed into a steel prison, that threatens to squeeze the very life out of you. Choke you. Suffocate you. Every time you move, you’re reminded of the hell you’re stuck in. Day by day, night by night (though you can’t even tell which it is anymore, and it wouldn’t matter), your hope diminishes. And so do the hope of those who are trapped here as well. There’s no escape.

You pray for death, for an end to the horror and agony. But…you’ve seen what death looks like. The screams haunt you to your core. The stench of torched, rotting, maimed flesh. Of spattered blood and harsh, heartless cackles. Seeing corpses of your potential brothers and sisters carted off into dumpster bins. Your skin flayed and beaten upon cold, steel tables, gutted with cold, steel tools. Occasionally you get glimpses of the terrifying malice in the eyes in your captors. How they show you nothing but pure hate. It haunts your dreams. You’re next. Soon.

If there is a God, then surely he cares nothing for you. He wanted you here, and others like you here as well. To suffer needlessly. To be mercilessly slaughtered and viciously cut up.

The entrance to this hall of nightmares begins to give away, after many jingles of the door knob, which is finally smashed open.

Oh no…

Usually close up by now. Have they decided to up the amount of torture to 24 hours? Round the clock? Sleeping in shifts so it can never end? Shall there be no more reprieve?

Everything only becomes more grave when a slew of bipedal scourges come walking in. But…they seem different. Not dressed in lab coats and masks and other such articles of clothing that have now come to signify only death. Instead, they come in wearing all black. Faces obscured. Dressed in outfits that look much less formal, much less menacing. But the most striking thing…is their eyes. Their eyes show no malice or contempt. A desire for your end, for your life to cease, and drag the process out as much as possible, seems to be strangely absent. It’s a different emotion. One of…compassion. Care. Love…

Is there hope after all?

Hurriedly, they break out devices, tools, that are made to sever the locks on the cages that keep you enslaved and always on edge. And with gentle, warm, non-threatening hands…they embrace. Whispering words of words of reassurance. All of your kin, everyone in there, are also freed from this terrible, terrible den of misery and suffering. They, too, receive the same treatment.

All of you are rushed out of the building, carefully yet quickly, with these mysterious strangers whispering to each other about what sounds like further plans. Plans of finding you and everyone else a home. A better home. A good home. One not of pain, but of affection. One where you are all adored, rather than despised. Where cruelty does not exist. It all seems so surreal, like a dream. Is this really happening?

Yes, it really is.

For the first time, you feel something so…unfamiliar. Something you thought yourself never capable of experiencing.

Hope.

KINGDOM AGAINST KINGDOM

Demons walk among us,
I assure you they’re real.

Flesh they gnaw upon,
By their hands, skin is peeled.

A sadistic gleam takes over their eyes.

Within their presence, all life shall die.

Everyday they remind me how much I can’t
Ever give mankind a second fucking chance.

Stand up, those who would bare
Their teeth in revolt.

Resist those gaping maws
That shovel down
More products from the death cult.

Descartes has driven us
To murder and rape.

Hunt the hunters,
Or there’ll be no escape.

Forever rotten, forever damned,
Walking graves we’ve become,
Us monsters called Man.

LUTHER’S ARMY

And so, he comes back home.

Or, well, what’s left of it.

On the map, it says it’s home. By all accounts, the unease stirring in his gullet shouldn’t make sense. Signs point in various direction, all saying they lead here. A most sacred patch, near and dear to his heart. This is where he belongs, his sanctuary. This is his, wholly his. Isn’t it?

But…it’s changed. A lot. Too much. Much too much. Not by its own volition, in the ways it is prone to; through artificial means. The kind that “doomsayers”, as the ignorant deem them, liked to warn about. Vicious, cruel, savage things he’d been cautioned to keep at bay, even dismantle, in various enlightening texts he’s absorbed.

Eyes peeled wide open, face steeped deep in concentration, searching, gazing, for something, arms folded, he peers, straining himself to find…something.

What was he looking for?

Something…recognizable.

That’s it.

Recognizable.

But, hmm, where was it?

He…he could’ve sworn it had been right here.

No, instead, it was a truly grotesque sight. A small plaza, fitted with everything a modern man and woman needs. Shops decked with neon lights, conjoined together like Siamese twins, until all of them merged into one giant monument of concrete, windows plastered with papers advertising this or that, saying the food was fresh (liars), or that you couldn’t get this cheaper than anywhere else (everyone says that), maybe a for-hire sign (debase myself? Ha, you were wrong). Mounted atop a huge asphalt slab, packed with motor vehicles, faceless and soulless decadents clamoring out of them. Why? Who knows. Who cares. Nothing worth mentioning. Nothing worth noting. Hardly anything anyone ever does is so. Billboards erected, like giant, permanently erect phalluses, the eternal hard-on that draws in the lustful stragglers, always eager and needy for…something. What are they searching for? It’s unknown, both by them, and those who are not them. The top, the head, ever climaxing, so bright in comparison to the dullness of the shaft. Always trying to assuage each other. Unfortunately, both pits are so deep, so bottomless. How long have they been there, those pits? Ever since the lurking biped started roaming the landscape.

Surely, he must look so odd.

Given the stares and gazes of uncertainty, perhaps even scorn, his suspicions are concerned.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a strong urge to decimate them wells up within his gullet. A bestial, animalistic need to rend them apart. Tear them to pieces. Tear “their property” to pieces. Come to think of it, they’d probably be worried more about the latter, than the former. And this is the free world. So free, it can’t even picture the ball-and-chain attached to its neck. Clench and unclench, clench and unclench. Hands balling into tight fists, then unfurling again like frightened armadillos. Or geysers struck with pitch black gold. The only outward expression of that rage. Otherwise, his fury was tranquil. Well-hidden. Stuffed deep down inside. We are civilized, better than that dingy, mangy world. Don’t give in to the impulses, nay, for then you shall rediscover yourself. What you are. And what you are, we cannot leash. Or cloak.

Oh, the stench. The stench. It was awful. Reeked of foul waste and industrial dross. Discarded material from choking, dark, unholy mills. Dens of depravity spewing forth garbage.

Ugly, too. Absolutely offensive to his sight. Corrupt beyond repair. They twisted and mangled perfectly fine land for this? For this? This…this is their monument of greatness? Aye, it is true. So accomplished, they think themselves to be. Why? Because of this. This…thing.

Would such an outburst change much? Hell no.

Yet, would it bring him much satisfaction? Absolutely.

Perhaps a lifetime’s worth. So, so invigorating.

The man had to wonder, did that old hero that stayed out in Montana…did he feel the same fire, the same embers licking at his soul, sparking a rush of primal excitement to course through his veins, as he made his stand?

A sane Satan against a gibbering Jehova.

Rejoicing in turning these churches into heaping husks.

That poor old German fellow. Yahweh, Christ, was sadly not dead.

Some kind of diabolical shapeshifting had occurred, that’s all.

God’s a sorry excuse for a deity if He lets this slide. Then again, this is God. Transferred into them, via the wretched Luther (thank you, o wise German spirits). The talking, breathing, blood-and-bone machines, that, from what he hears, is God. And, also, though not as explicitly proclaimed, the…eyesores, as he designates these constructions that hefty, cigar-chomping, genetic failures call upon drunken philistines to manifest, via a green hypnotism…these are also known to be God. Even if it is not outright said…

Fools, all of them. In all of their stupidity, what would they know of God? In all of their idolatry, all of their massacring of God itself (herself, actually), quite literally…raping her (proudly, angrily, arrogantly, they got off on it, lived for it, in the most literal manner)…how could they know?

Aha, see, there it was. Yes, they knew not God, but their concocted demiurge. Foul, fiendish creature that is known as Marduk.

He knew God intimately.

God was encountered whenever he laid in the grass, gazed at the stars, leaned against an old, sturdy tree, saw a coyote chasing a rabbit, a duck raising its young, witnessing the sprouting of roses, getting lost in the clear waters of a pristine lake, as well as the fish swimming around in it, basking in the flow of the sun, and feeling and tasting the pitter-patter of rain drops upon his skin. He knew God to be beautiful, sublime, a grand artist with a taste for beauty, creator of a colorful, vibrant, lush world, filled with wondrous beings, and places where these beings dwelled.

God…God didn’t have a hand in this drab, dull, nightmarish, conformist shit heap. She couldn’t have. Nay, this was not her handiwork. Square monoliths, with rotting interiors, a sterilized, soulless den, that nevertheless, was always dirty. You walk in, and feel the need to shower once you’ve gotten out.

It’d be perfectly fair, he thought.

Desecration for desecration.

Ruin their god. Ruin the god that they have been told they are.

Blood for blood, Ruth for Ruth,
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.

Sighing, he realized he’d been here for too long. Made himself more of a stranger than he’d already felt. Stepping forth, across the street, past the plaza, resisting the urge to look at the other human beings, ducking and lowering his eyes or head whenever an individual’s field of vision fixated on him. Barely anything came out of his mouth. If a greeting came his way, he merely nodded, gave an awkward smile, and kept on his way. Plodding along the highway. One foot after the other, making continuous contact with the concrete.

Voices speak of things he couldn’t even care to remember. He wished, oh he wished, to grasp their throats. Shut them up. T’was hardly worthy of recollection. Half-baked humorous remarks told amidst testosterone-riddled youths. Mates trying to woo one another. Conversations on devices, a beggar or two lingering, hoping for reprieve, brats annoying their tired mothers, and tired mothers annoying insolent, petulant brats. Silly, inane arguments. Some of them spoke fondly, in relation to the words of the…preachers, who gladly enslaved themselves and brought to life this new god. Others prattled on about their lives. The chit-chat blurred together into one singular story. Indistinguishable. Lost in a sea of perfect sameness. Who were they? He didn’t know. And neither did they, for that matter. Eyes vacant, devoid of emotion. Breathe, talk, walk, yes, they did all that…well enough. Yet, did they truly live? Were they even capable?

Of course, the peace wouldn’t come, even if their windpipes were shut. Oh no.

Because there was another menace, hurtling right past him, multiples every second. Practically blinding his eyes as the sun began to set (what little he could see of it, anyway; blot out the sun, why don’t ya!). Did the roads ever rest? Did the pavement ever sleep? It certainly should. For his sake, not for the pavement’s. Fuck the pavement.

Hurtling towards death, he liked to think of this travel. Humanity loved death, craved it. Mankind wanted to die. Wanted to kill itself. Come on; what was all this for, if not to satisfy that suicidal drive? In a literal sense, they were hurtling towards death, yes. Or, at least, the risk of it. On the other hand, there was a subtler meaning to such a statement. Faster and faster, towards their own demise, at the hands of progress, of wanting, no, needing…to go forward, always. Ceaselessly. Endlessly.

Well, if they wanted bloodshed and carnage, bloodshed and carnage they could have. Pleading, begging, crying, for their blood to be spilled, flowing out of their veins, onto the ground. Someday, their wishes would be granted. Thy death they demanded? Thy death they’d receive, in full. No questions asked. Might take some time, but soon, the end, their dream, their ideal, on a silver platter, fresh and steaming hot, would it be served.

Besides, they hated the Mother? Good, the mother hated them back. Soon, they’d know it. Maybe not now (although a sizeable chunk are starting to suspect this may be the case; and the children, the brave outlaws that are still authentically connected to her, and wish to be, revolt, as best as they can, every day), but in the near future, it’d be burned into their skulls. Stamped with the label: “HATED”. Rejected, because they chose to reject first. Abandoned, because they chose to abandon first. Sever the connection, and you shall no longer be a child of the Mother. You decided you didn’t want her. It should be unsurprising she no longer wants you.

Treading along the way, his eyes would focus on a corpse. Animal, not human. Humans are worth more, he’s always been told. Yeah? Worth more than what? The creatures they senselessly murder, so they can get to their jobs they hate, or their homes they spend more time out of, than inside? Feed their ever-growing numbers, and ever-growing bodies? Rape the Mother, God, more and more? Tie her up? Drill her real good, over and over? Be blind to Truth, intoxicated instead by lies? Kill each other, for reasons so baffling, he wanted to laugh in their faces? Prostrate at the alter of an Israeli communist agitator, who, if he were around today, should deserve to be strapped to the hood of a truck, and paraded around like a war trophy, whilst lashed endlessly? Did that prove their worth? What were they worth more than? Shit, they weren’t the bullets spent every day in their never ending quest to kill themselves.

A sigh left his throat, though it wasn’t heard. Stopping for a moment, tilting his head as his eyes fixated on it. Splayed out, tongue lolling out, eyes bulging, limbs flung in every which way, maggots digging around in what was no doubt a fresh body.

Sweet thing, you didn’t deserve this. You deserved better.

Time to get a move on. Don’t mourn the dead, or you’ll be deemed crazy. Sent to an asylum, locked away, shocked, beaten, poked, prodded, mentally rearranged to their liking.

He wasn’t crazy. All of them were. Not him. He was sane. A sane Satan.

Fuck. It was hard to think. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t. Needed to hear his own thoughts. Too many distractions. All this noise. Noise, noise, noise. That’s all there was. Just noise. Goddamnit, he’d need some sort of Zen-like concentration to tune out, to turn it into blank, white static. Or someplace like home. That reminded him of home.

Hmm…

Oh…

There it was.

Familiar territory.

Snarling, growling, like some kind enraged beast, he ran deep into a large patch of woods. A dense, thick forest on the side of the highway.

Tears blinded his vision, but not tears of pain. Jagged edges and thorns and other such things tore at him, made his skin bleed. Lesser folks would’ve been annoyed, angered. Him? Never. He took this as a welcoming back. Yes, he cried tears of joy. He was home. Hurrah, hurrah. He was home, free at last.

Collapsing to the ground in a heap, having founded a large, open patch, breathing and shaking from all of the adrenaline, a smile finally began to creep onto his face.

Think. He could finally…think.