‘Senators leap up and bray for the Death Penalty with inflexible authority of virus yen…Death for dope fiends, death for sex queens (I mean fiends) death for the psychopath who offends the cowed and graceless flesh with broken animal innocence of lithe movement.’
Who are these people? The ones who drift in and out of people’s lives to warp another’s views for a lifetime. There are those who debate as to what meaning the identity of others applies to their own limited fascinations. Each unto their own wealth be it in knowledge, or of the physical matter, something limited by the almost-pointed obsession with a certain facet of ideal obstruction. The eyes have a limited sense of sight to be able to see things closely while the unknown cries out far away. They push our buttons whether it is to succeed or fail, but always in mind to advance the overall progress, the whole unlimited. I despise the ones who defy the interest of all the others in the place, who mock what it is to …
you hate me…thriving off of the rocky soil upon which you toss your seed, eye am eternally grateful to you, and you are an animal who lives off of the filth that expels from my bowels…the wasted lives taken for granted are yours to do with what you wish, but eye am here to make sure you realize what pain you inflict upon the world around you…taking your crude religio-scientific superstitions for granted, you stride into all situations certain that you, and only you, know the answers…your fear betrays your mind, and all of your true thoughts are laid bare before me…you kill without regard to the planet you seek to defecate within, eating the guts and the shreds of instinct that are placed on your plates, and you feast beyond the weary messages of poor health as it …
An essay on Satanism from the perspective of an artist, with questions into mindless puppetry, and method of religion.
out of Context;
‘those that partake obviously feel guilt from some modern slight to need the quantified lusts for death reveal a terrorized note in the cacophonous humor bringing tumors… where does the sacrifice begin inside this coached betrayal of self?…’
out of Context;
‘nights spent in fights attempt to wake the abuser user from fleeting fits of rage. the laws take query of mischief into their own hands when arresting the flow of catharsis from their streets.’
It is while in this state of decay, that I find an effervescence in a morbid fascination to stare down at that reflection that lies just on the other side, but that lives to reflect at us from the people that we know and love…
