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…
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.
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.
One that is at the cusp of a grandiose collapse in which humanity may never be able to recover, condemned to the wastebasket of history, left to rot there for the rest of eternity. Forgotten by its own home, let alone the infinite multitude of stars, planets, and astral dust. Humanity wants to deny life? Very well, it shall. It would appear Homo Sapiens has a suicidal impulse. I say, let it live out its wish.
And who is to blame? Why, humanity itself. The human race is the root cause of the wretched happenings that have plagued the more recent millennia, especially in the past 1 to 2 thousand years. Humanity has helped foster an unlivable, inhospitable, lethal environment for life on this great, wonderful world that we found ourselves on. One that is hostile to life, to the ones who came before us. The flora, the fauna, and their homes. In all of arrogance, as we are, at heart, Homo Hubris, we have deemed it our birthright to rape and pillage and demolish this place, with the utmost hatred and glee.
Therefore, I reject the world of humanity. And I reach out to the others who feel the same way, wherever they may be. I know some are out there. Despairing at the sins of man that lie all around us, fist fucking the planet until it finally keels over and fades into cosmic vapor. Reject humanity, I say; the time has come to no longer count ourselves amongst the legions of man.
Cast aside all of the things that humanity has made for itself, and used to spur on a nihilistic impulse to deny life, to say no to life, to destroy life itself, or at the very least, make it not something chaotic, wonderful, ecstatic, exuberant, violently passionate, but regimented, harrowing, grey, soulless, and suffocating…all of it. Its grotesque civilizations, its masses, its movementarian menaces, its “normalcy”, its need to build new worlds (because, oh so desperately, it cannot stand to live in this one; this one is not good enough, so it must leave it behind, for the demonic Messiah pumped their lethargic minds and hearts with the most inane propaganda), its desperate need to fling itself into the future with reckless abandon (whatever the fuck the “future” means), its rampage of conquest and bitter, foul revenge against Nature, overcome by the Promethean urge to master and dominate our Mother, to usurp Her, and Her children, its rabid concoctions of a miserable, abstract design, which crumble into ash when the first strike hits it, and it is forced to confront the very fragile essence of what it is.
Beware, it shall all try to tempt you back into the fold, even though you want out, eager to break free. Sedate you with narcotics mind-numbing and brain-destroying, rotting you away from the inside out, until your corpse is a bastion of synthetic poison. Too riddled with disgusting products to even touch. Dull your connection to the natural world, by making you feast upon the critters in droves, seeing them not as “pure soul”, as Klages thought them to be, but soulless, as the bastard Descartes would have it; therefore, consuming them without guilt. Purchasing them for your own amusement, even (a most horrid slave trade). Demanding you regard the plants as little else but inanimate objects, novelty items that must be cleared away for more and more (of what? I cannot make heads or tails of it, only that I am repulsed by what may take their place), destroyed when deemed inconvenient, and gobbled up with reckless abandon when the utilitarian mindset deems them worth of their attention (a most grim fate, indeed). Warping your brain into looking at Nature, not as alive, as a living, breathing, thinking, feeling organism that, in all of its vastness, is beautiful and terrifying, wild and peaceful, bloody and tranquil, mesmerizing and macabre, but simply a mechanism, a machine, a system of turning gears and conveyor belts that produces things for the dullards to make use of. Perhaps it shall try to placate, “accept”, in the most shallow and superficial of ways. But do not be seduced by the false tongues, by the promises of windbags and liars. It is only for the mere sake of economic production, anyway. To ramp it up and increase it to new, dizzying heights. And they will lie, saying that one must rely on them, that this monstrosity is needed. Essential, even. A fixture that must be maintained and upheld, fanatically, with the devotion of a cult. Listen not, for it is hogwash.
I invite those who have been deemed “inhuman” by humanity, to stop pining for humanity’s eventual good graces, and leave them to perish in their wake, to fall into obscurity; they shall never come, so why bother? The freaks and queers, harlots and hedonists, incarnations of Lilith and Dionysus, radical, militant ones who remember/live the old pagan ways, and cackling, howling individuals of a satanic inclination, the savage and undomesticated, the vagabonds and homeless, you proud and brave few have been cast aside by man…and so be it. You didn’t need them anyway. Decadent, deviant, degenerate? By their standards, surely. All that can be responded with is, “yes”.
Maintain that individuality which causes friction between you and the monolith, Leviathan. It deems you an enemy? Very well; as Schmitt knew so well, once the distinction has been made, then you have no choice but to decimate that which deems you a threat, an enemy. For to call a detriment to your life a “friend” is a mistake, cowardly, reminiscent of the pitiful Nazarene. Do you want total war? Yes, you want total war. To smite and kill, and show this world your iron will.
Destroy them, destroy them all. We will dance on the ruins whilst rapture overtakes their sacred idols. Not now, not anytime soon, but one day, perhaps. All of these instruments of butchery have expiration dates, and therefore cannot last forever. But this is not a call to rebuild once the wheel has come down to grind us down into a paste. No, we must burn the wheel and hop off of it once and for all.
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…”