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…

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CAN YOU SEE THE WORLD BURNING?

My jaws of death
Encircle your throat,
The fangs in my jaw
Here to steal your last breath; the
Only wish I have left
Is to see you croak.

Nothing personal, it’s just war,
Something you and your kin had started.

But make no mistake, I
Do not apologize for being so cold-hearted.

You came to my home,
Where I gleefully wander and roam,
And yet are surprised when I
Bare my teeth in revolt.

Would you grant me mercy
If I committed the same transgression?

Killed my family for sport and shallow trophies,
Laying lead into us like Japs
Gunning down bogeys.

Gaze into my eyes
Because now I deem you
Must be torn apart, made to die,
Feel my fucking aggression.

Point your gun,
This war’s not done,
And I won’t be another
Decoration you have won.

I’ll dig in your entrails,
Frail, pink-fleshed beast of burden,
Pulling you apart with tooth and nail.

Not your world, not your land,
It never was, and never will be.

As long as I live, the Yukon will never be yours,
You’ll just have to go ahead and fucking kill me.

NO ONE IS SAFE

Does it make you feel
Like a man? To know by your
Hands, a disadvantaged
Creature dies? Does it
Make you hard, you fucking
Scumbag, that you got to show
This miracle of creation how much,
By you, it is despised? I bet you
Were aroused as you stared coldly
Into its frightened eyes.

Walk among us, you get to, without
Any consequence. Taking you out with
Shotgun justice, that would be deemed
Terroristic dissidence. But fuck it,
If that’s what it takes, then it is
You that’ll be slain. Day by day, your
Numbers will drop; their deaths shall not
Have been in vain. Upon those racks you’ll be
Placed, and you’ll get your own
Doses of pain. Let’s see how you will
Like to have been driven completely insane.

Grab you by your legs,
I’d like to do. Slam you into
Pavement over and over again
Until you’re black, dead, and blue.
You’re one of the dregs,
And hope someone
Someday fucking kills you. Psychopathic
Monster, I hope your contaminated
Innards are twisted and construed.

No love in your heart,
Just possessed by only hate.

Boy, oh boy, I bet, to you,
It feels so fucking great.

Do you think of doing
The same to your
Wife and kids? Nay, I don’t
Imagine you think
Of doing it, but actually
Act, bashing them against the
Hard surface when you’re pissed.

Pray and hope, I do, that no one
Would ever wish to mate with a
Machine such as yourself. May chains
Bound you ever so tightly as armies
Of wicked things drag you off
Right into Hell. Where you must
Abandon and all hope, and every time
You die, once again, you must
Face the goddamn rope.

Can you feel?

Not a chance; I hope your skin
Is slowly peeled.

And it still wouldn’t be enough
For all the babies’ lives you steal.

The families you butcher and maim,
Because to you, it’s just a sick, demented game.

Once you started, your feat was forever sealed.

Violently stop their beating hearts,
And let the beatings start.

Dig into their chest, tear open their
Ribcage, and make sure they’re torn apart.

“There is a practice in the meat industry. PAC, it is called. Which stands for…pound against concrete. You may ask yourself, with uncertainty and terror welling up in your heart: what does “pound against concrete” entail, exactly? To pound against concrete means to take a pig that isn’t viable for consumption by the masses (the fucking masses…), typically a baby, a piglet…grab it by its hind legs, like some kind of metal chain, and whack it against the cold, hard ground repeatedly. Over and over. Until it is dead.

Now, I don’t know about you…but these don’t sound like beings that are alive, to me. Nay, these sound like what I’ve once referred to as…dead flesh walking. “Dead flesh walking” are those bastards who have no soul. Their blood is just liquid ice in their veins, and their hearts do not beat. Matter of a fact, if you were to cut them open (which you absolutely should…), they might not even possess a heart. Famous examples include Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Ed Kemper, Gary Ridgeway, Richard Ramirez, John Wayne Gacy, and many others. What did they all have in common? A distinct knack for the bludgeoning, burning, dissection, beating, torturing, psychologically tormenting, and general murdering…of animals. Of course, those who practice the sadistic art of pounding little piggies against concrete are not regarded as serial killers, or, at least, adjacent to them. Why’s that? Because it serves an economic function. It feeds the ever-gluttonous population of human scum that has overfilled planet Earth. It’s useful, it’s utilitarian. I bet many consider them heroes. Probably revered in their local communities.

I bet they get off on it. I bet it makes them absolutely tickled, these pieces of shit. I bet they can’t wait to tell their fucking family and friends. Hell, I bet it isn’t just pigs they do it to. Why do you think they get so good at it? It starts with critters…and then next thing you know, kids go missing. Entrails drag out, with the evidence of unspeakable acts having been committed against them.

A part of me…a large part of me…would like to, in the name of those poor bovids, get some revenge. Place their teeth against the nearest street curb. Like that infamous scene in the movie American History X, where Derek Vineyard loses his shit, shortly before going to prison. Pound their skulls against concrete with the heel of my boot.

The law has always protected those who least deserve it.

So, I’ll end this with a quote from an Irish playwright I greatly admire…

Whilst we, the conventional…were wasting our time on education, agitation, and organization, some independent genius has taken the matter in hand…”

Pure terror.

All they know, and all they understand.

Why not give them something in return?”

LES 150 PASSIONS MEUTRIÉRES

Is this what you wanted,
Do you feel superior?

That forbidden lust of yours,
Quenched, art thou murderous
Passions? Or doth thy throbbing
Not cease to be just yet?

Sickening, spiteful bastard,
O’, how I wish to
Cleave you in two.

Butcher and skewer you in
Much the same manner as those
Trophies hanging from meat-hooks,
Probably to arouse thy fiendish
Cravings.

Insatiable, you cannot seem to
Get enough of the sensation.

“Unholy forefathers of man,
Deliver me unto temptation”,
You giddily sing.

But your ancestors are nor
Here tonight; but I am,
I’ve come; it is your
Neck I wish to wring.