Mystery of Contradictions
was in seeking resolution. Our mistake was in the acknowledgement of any
argument. In the confusion and chaos of his thoughts, he is terrified by
silence. And by silence can he be brought to obey. In his speech there
is the illusion of some grand quest, the lie that because he is himself,
therefore he is no self; the blindness of night, the deafness of the
adder, the tastelessness of stale and filthy water, the udders of the
Cat of slime; not one thing, but many things. Of course this is merely
thinly-veiled vanity. We are not confronted with the righteous esoteric,
nor a dispute of true and faithful relation. This is not the death of
ego but ego incarnate, ego in it's blandest, most obnoxious form: the
banal thug, the maladjusted man-child, the semi-educated neanderthal.
Not one thing, but many things. Woe, woe, woe, threefold to him that is
led away by talk. It is time now to be silent. Your most humble and
to God (To the Furnace Where I'll Break You) - originally by Shellac
To the one
true god above, here is my prayer. Not the first you've heard, but the
first I ever wrote. (Not the first but the others were a long time ago.)
There are two people here, and I want you to kill them. Her, she can go
quietly by disease or a blow to the base of her neck wear her necklaces
close, where her garments come together, where I used to lay my face.
That's where you ought to kill her, in that particular place. Him, just
fucking kill him. I don't care if it hurts. Yes, I do. I want it to.
Fucking kill him, but first make him cry like a women (no particular
women). Make hold out, hope that someone or other might. Then fucking
kill him, fucking kill him kill him already, kill him.
Fucking kill him, fucking kill him, kill him already, kill him. Fucking
kill him, fucking kill him, kill him already, kill him. Just fucking
kill him! Fucking kill him, fucking kill him already, kill him. Ah
Fucking kill him, fucking kill him, kill him already, kill him. Kill him
already, kill him already. Kill him, fucking kill him. Just fucking kill
him, fuckin kill him, kill him already, kill him. Fuckin kill him, kill
him, fucking kill him already, kill him. Kill him, fucking kill him,
kill him, just fucking kill him. Kill them already, kill them already,
kill him. Amen.
Take Off Your Skin and Dance in Your Bones |
sin to take off your skin and dance around in your bones.
Alchemy (with The Body from Released from Love)
steps, obedient to high thoughts. Awful ruins of the days of old.
Progeny enslaved to all its authors' flaws. Are we but warped
extensions? We have the power to begin again, untarnished world at hand.
Recognize the open horizon, a consciousness that reaches all. We have
opened the secret passage into the dream that never ends, a new reality
of our own creation, an empire without end. Released from guilt,
released from pain, released from love, released from trust: We are
anointed in the sacred power; we are enshrined in ourselves.
Meetings Hearts Beat Closer (with The Body from Released from Love)
Born from a
dream to create a reality, we are absolved of effete morality. And
through deliberate transgression is hallowed essence revealed. The
destruction of purity, the destruction of worthlessness, though mighty
and glorious and terrible, is but the pennon upon the sacred lance of
the Will. It is written in the Book of the Law that this deep,
mysterious secret is a sacrament of the Will, and to profane it is the
greatest offense. The shocking evils which we all deplore are
principally due to the perversions produced by suppressions. Ennobling
presence exposes my weakness. And we expire in boundless bliss. All and
None in One.
Wheel Weaves as the Wheel Wills (with The Body from Released from Love)
meaning. Pain has meaning. Through stripes and shame; through tears and
blood; through doubts and fears, and all that makes the difference: I
see an end.
Coward (with The Body from Released from Love) - originally by Vic Chesnutt
- The courage of the coward is greater than all others. A scaredy
cat'll scratch you if you back him in a corner. But I am a coward.
Courage born of despair and impotence. Submissive dogs can lash out in
fear and be very, very dangerous. But I am a coward.
Ode to Physical Pain (Heathen)
Oh, constant, unending Pain,
my surest, truest friend. Agony, blessed Agony, your ever-present ache
identifies unyielding vitality. That sharply labored breath is
respiration (fully) experienced. Those overwhelming burdens grant me
immune to senseless distraction, grounding me in the present. Oh,
merciless teacher. Spread your harshest wounds across the soil of my
figure. Find root in my skin and nerves and veins. Killing fields to
blanket and smother withering pleasure that waxes and wanes. Thine are
the lidless eyes of night that stare upon my tears. Thine is the
thickness of the dark that presses in my anguish. Rejoice in the
miseries of life unkind. Here, and only here, are the senses stretched
and contracted, hone them to their prime strength, to primal vigor. Seek
comfort in endurance. Be consumed by struggle. Lasting wisdom only
exists in the abandoned fields, in the dusty swamp, on the burnt out
plains, on the desolate hillside.
Orleans is a Hole (The Sacrifice)
is restrained and smothered by the strictest codes of conduct. And
you'll writhe naked upon the sands as the sun flays every inch of skin
which is then assaulted and hacked away by the scorching, barren wind of
empty breath. You wail and pray and grovel on your knees for a drop of
water, just a bit of substance. Instead, you must sustain yourself on
the scraps of idleness, or gorge yourself on the incessant corruption
and muck of indifference. Excessiveness is a virtue. Debasement is a
virtue. This is the birthplace of Saint I-Don't-Care. The patron saint
of extravagant waste and crippling depression. Enjoy the masquerade of
dark, bitter smiles of those too senseless to notice the uncanny
resemblance: uptight aristocrat, lackadaisical vagabond. Different
uniforms for the same subservient fuck.
Myself and I Want to Die (The Sacrifice) - originally by Nirvana
and runny yolk even if you have a cold still. You can cough on me again.
I still haven't had my full fill. In the someday what's that sound?
Broken heart and broken bones, thinking about some capsules of horse
pills. One more quirky cliche'd phrase. You're the one I wanna refill.
In the someday what's that sound?
Immorality Dictates (Heathen)
the domesticated scholars in their unblemished, halcyon temples,
isolated and confined in prisons of theory and vague conjecture. Tempers
violent. Passions vehement. Uncaged and unburdened, we now see clearly.
Only amidst the sea of refuse shall we find enlightenment pure. To be
righteous we must be consumed by the most profane. And so we shall
descend into the very bowels of physical consumption. Desperately
searching eyes are blinded by the wild joys of boundless pleasure,
writhing in the excrement of unfettered appetite. We revel in ecstasy of
gratification, the union of opposites, the union of sames. Mask kissing
mask, image caressing image, in the sty of self-absorbed enchantment. We
are unruly beasts driven by desire. And we delight in our filth. We
glory in the visceral, wholly-felt, wholly-witnessed. We relish
unfeeling, all-feeling detachment. And you know that I love you. Here
and now, not forever. I can give you the present. I don't know about the
of your mortality. Accept the blueprint for non-achievement, the
well-tread path of capitulation. Bury the suffering and ecstasies. When
will the old gods be avenged? Extol a life of compromise. Resigned to
quiet submission. When will the old gods be avenged? Welcome boredom and
banal normality. Farewell to joy and laughter and trust. Welcome fear,
suspicion, and hatred. There is the stench of the gathering of flies.
You have the look of a strangled child. You have the look of a hollow
shell. You have the look of a rotting corpse. Entombed under intolerable
weight, in the delusions of wish fulfillment. Escape the standards of
youth. Find sanctuary in a cringing half-life. It's called moving on.
It's called growing up. It's called giving up. Lurking in the shadow of
your past, lurking in the blackness of acquiescence, pathetic
meet vacant eyes meet vacant eyes meet vacant eyes. Can there be more?
There must be more. Reach inside. Deep inside. Fingers run over the
lying tongue, down the throat, probing deeper and deeper and deeper.
Grasp the writhing truth. Purged. Insubstantial blame. Purged.
Inconsequential anger. Purposeless discourse. And now a promise of
benevolent malice. A promise of impending violence to you, my friend.
This is a promise to you, my friend.
Foot of Mount Driskill (Heathen)
We are but
antlings, vain in our assumptions. We would presume to grasp at the
unfathomable. We would presume to dress it as man, to give it names, to
speak its intention. Yet we are humbled beneath the shadow of true
Now the earth crest rises to meet our gaze. We are but fleas. We are but
lice. We are nothing. Insignificant. Dust motes blown away by the breath
of time. Vague memories of no consequence. Vanquished are the fires in the
eyes of the friends I knew. Just as they are deafened to my wasted
breath. Each one more wasted than the others you can bet. Now I
see through the illusion of permanence. I am diminished in the presence of
vastness. Useless are my tools of science, of religion. There is no understanding of limitless power. We are at peace in our minor,
subordinate role. Accept our frail, short lives.
Defiance of the Sages (Heathen)
the esoteric falsehoods, the endless ponderings and useless theories of
the mystic inane. Their heads nod, and from their mouths issue lies: an
answer for every question, illuminating all the mysteries. Only action
is real. The past is lost, the future unknowable. Only the present can
be truly experienced, can be truly known. Deny the ecological
soothsayers. Deny those self-styled radicals. Reformers! Conformers!
Smash the lens of rotting history. Lay your torches on every museum,
filled with dead monstrosities, the superstitious veneration. No more heritage. Destroy the past completely along with its
abortive children: unauthentic present and rust-encrusted future. Now,
we will create ruins. And after—something new and unimagined.
are we led into mired existence, entrapped and sinking in the truest
bogs and quicksand of urbanity. But the city lies barren and riddled
with disease. No more are we sustained by its lifeless concrete and
structure and utility. Flee the dying fortress of civilization, besieged
on all sides by wild nature. Hope and contentment will not be found in
its manicured lawns and cultivated fields. We were weaned from the
nourishment of Nature’s breast and abandoned to the cruel orphanage of
modern society. We must return to the womb, to the heart of vitality,
wherein lies the strength, the marrow, the pulsating blood. Watch as the
Mother’s breath is exhaled, that sweetest incense, night thoughts of the
Earth. Find your path amidst the winding contours, that secret passage
in the wild.
Excuses - originally by Alice in Chains
alright. There comes a time. Got no patience to search for peace for
mind. Laying low, want to take it slow. No more hiding or disguising
truths I've sold. Everyday something hits me all so cold. You find
me sitting by myself, no excuses then I know. It's ok. Had a bad
day. Hands are bruised from breaking rocks all day. Drained and
blue, I bleed for you. You think it's funny, well, you're drowning
in it too. Everyday something hits me all so cold. You find me
sitting by myself, no excuses then I know. Yeah, it's fine. I'll
walk down the line. Leave our rain, a cold trade for warm sunshine.
You my friend, I will defend. And if we change, well, I'll love you
anyway. Everyday something hits me all so cold. You find me sitting
by myself, no excuses then I know.
unrepressed, untamed, uncontrollable, unknown. No longer cowering
beneath the roles hewn to our beings, we shall reclaim our vital energy,
unique and unpredictable. Backs bent no more in the mad race of resource
production and consumption. That web of domination, that web of
mediation. Of limited experience and clearly defined boundaries. We
rebuke this overgrown wasteland, teeming with the repulsiveness of
pavement and cement. A concrete wilderness? No. An everlasting shrine to
submission and death. A false wilderness prostrate and conforming to the
will of man. Those vines and shrubs that would bend the knee, a
caricature of freedom, an affront to life. We seek that which can only
be found in the unmappable, the unknown, the unknowable. And from this
venture we can never retreat. We have been recruited in blood. And the
- Open your eyes and exalt--Exalt! in this fragile world, in this knowing flesh,
in this very moment.
We have forsaken the delusions of Comprehension as we are born into the
certainty of the Sensual. We are the stone that starts the avalanche. We are the cough that
spreads the plague. We are the spark that lights the
inferno. Relinquish those wretched controls of knowledge and experience,
those conditions which hinder Desire's progress. Cut away esoteric
corruption and seek unfettered fulfillment. In defiance of the sages. In
defiance of the intelligentsia. Useless philosophy, theory, and poetry
must be heaped upon the cairn. See them consumed in Action--sweet,
reckless Action. Join our sad tears and dance on the blackened bones of
gods. Beyond the shadow of the citadel, there is no such thing as time,
there is no such thing as negation. There is only this tangible,
perceptible world. There is only this moment, this very moment.
Millstone (Big City)
- Chattering, nagging, Black Speech, incessant, irrelevant, irrational.
Pettiness always on your tongue. Your fetid breath crawling down the back
of my neck. Your cold, dead hands clutching, crushing my soul. My
needs, my desires cats paw to your whims. And when you've finally,
painfully excised every last ounce of my patience, all the doors will be opened,
and I will be resolved--I will be absolved--to leave the curse behind.
View of a Burning City (Big City)
- Fiery spires raised to pierce the veil of hermetic, nourishing night.
Concrete standards to proclaim the tyranny of industry's might. The
heralds that announce the imminence of cancerous disease, unending plague.
Nauseous. The bodies piled high. Maggots rule and birth swarms of
flies. The black cloud descends. And gold is all. And we
welcome thee with open arms, with blinded eyes. Hail, our corporate
overlords. Hail, self destructive greed. Hail, our burial grounds.
- Fourth of July (July) - originally by Soundgarden
- Shower in the dark day. Clean sparks driving down. Cool in the
waterway where the baptized drowned. Naked in the cold sun, breathing life
like fire. Thought I was the only one, but that was just a lie.
Cause I heard it in the wind, and I saw it in the sky, and I thought it was the
end. I thought it was the Fourth of July. Pale in the flare light,
the scared light cracks and disappears and leads the scorched ones here.
And everywhere, no one cares. The fire is spreading. No one wants to
speak about it. Down in the hole, Jesus tries to crack a smile. Now
I'm in control. Now I'm in the fallout. Once asleep, but now I
stand. And I still remember your sweet everything. Light a Roman
candle, and hold it in your hands.
How Lonely Sits the City (Big City)
- Strangled in a vice grip. Lash out. This is the place where sadness
breeds, the desolation in everyone. This is a wasteland full of nameless,
faceless, soulless mounds of flesh, mewling, writhing in and out of existence.
Long for communion. Nothing. The wailing moans, the gnashing of
teeth. The deafening, endless, complete isolation. Long for an end,
a day of reckoning. Into my bones, let it descend. The holy stones
lay scattered at the head of every street. Urban scars wiped clean.
- Ordinary People (Resurrection Bay)
- Gaze into the empty eyes of the rank and file, and you will know defeat.
Knees break, bent before the altar of indifference, of conformity. Lips
purse, to kiss upon the ring of submission, of abdication. Servitude
personified. Mediocrity's champions. Is this life?
Get Me Out (Big City) -
originally by Cower
- One more second fucking wasted, put this bullet in my brain. One more
second, one more minute, one more hour--I'm a wreck. If one more second
goes uncounted, put this rope around my neck. Bury myself into the bottle.
Cough up glass for a week. Searching for strength in a liquid that takes
the death grip on me.
Cold World (The Archer and the Owle) - originally by Pygmy Lush
- It's a cold world to walk alone in. You
need some side to start belonging. There's always open arms in the war.
The out crowd is laughing at you. A man with a badge appears, saying,
"It's warm. Come inside." Kid, you got no real agendas. All
the good you've done been's forgotten. There's always open arms in the
There There (The Archer and the Owle) - originally by Pygmy Lush
- All as if you were alone. Nobody left
you, but you're always not better. It's unmistakable. I'm only
here for understanding. You better. Hey, there there. You're
not the least of us. Don't look at me like a defect. I'm just
unlearning. Don't worry. Hey, there there. When in the
sharpest hole, look for the rope that isn't burning: start climbing.
Into the dark night of the soul: emotional balance restored; self-limiting
beliefs forsaken; cultivate the Shadow Self; spirituality made visceral.
We have healed the religious wounds of a stifling upbringing. We have
absolved ourselves of shame and guilt. We have communed with our true
ancestors. We have raised the Great Crossroads. We now see the third
face of God. In defiance of binary gender, we are made whole and surrender
to the unity of synchronicity. And in life, outward reflection. The
power of resonance. Like vibrates like. Like amplifies like.
In true greatness.
Helen Hill Will Have Her Revenge on New Orleans (To the Chaos Wizard Youth)
It's coming for us through the trees. This is a message from the River.
This is a sermon from Nature. To see us weep and moan, to see us float or
drown. This is a blighted land, infected with the virus of human greed,
corruption chokes every breath as we exalt the culture of excess. Inhaled
to the depths of our oaken roots. Exhaled as billowing refinery pollution.
Indifference subsists in our bones. This is our unspoken history, a
bestial temperament obscured by social constraints. And that brief moment
when Nature's wrath released us from Modernity's restraints has offered us a
glimpse of what boils beneath our skin. But do not confuse causality and
cataclysm. This is systemic violence, and we are all guilty. Some
day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets. She'll
come back as fire and burn all the liars, leave a blanket of ash on the ground.
Skinwalker (To the Chaos Wizard Youth)
And at once I realize that the hand I hold is black with corruption, that the
gilded rhetoric is a sibilant mantra meant to stifle guilt, that the staunch
discipline of tradition is merely the coward's path, and that this descent into
compromise is the death of friendship. I've witnessed you slit the throat
of the young idealist and impale empathy to the hilt of your sword. You
wear a stranger's face. Your eyes hold no recognition. Conceal the
vastness of self-betrayal beneath the scientist's cloak, beneath the scholar's
mantle, beneath the hedon's frock. Drink the blood of this perverse
deception. Escape in inebriation. Bonds consecrated in our most
private moments. Loyalty sacrificed in the blaze of denial. My
emptiness has built your altar. And I worshipped myself in you forever.
The Witch Cunt (To the Chaos Wizard Youth)
This woman is Athena. This woman is Medusa. No longer the vehicle of
her male counterpart, she is armed and militant--yet in no way a reflection of
the stolid directness, the frank simplicity, the violent impotence of the
masculine savage. Compulsion recast as understanding. Constraint recast as protection.
This woman is Goldman. This woman is Constantine. Water poured over
thick black lines. Stay here. Breathe here. One shape is no
shape. A mist to obscure the lines you've drawn. Stay here.
Breathe here. Flow out. Moist breath on hot tissue. Flow out.
Breathe here. Flow out.
- Aneurysm - originally
- Come on over and do the twist. Overdo it and have a fit.
Love you so much it makes me sick. Come on over and do the twist.
Beat me out of me. Come on over and do the twist. Overdo it
and have a fit. Love you so much it makes me sick. Come on
over and shoot the shit. Beat me out of me. She keeps it pumping
straight to my heart.
Summit Reprise (Summit)
Another World is Inevitable (Summit)
I'm ashamed of running away from nothing at all. I just can't deal with
these feelings any more. But when I look around at the fiends who would
needle away my resolve, who would recreate me in their image, I recognize their
insignificance. And so the winds of history disperse the fog of mysticism.
The weeds of technology, those vast mechanical growths, release their
stranglehold on culture. We call to the blackest sun to wither away.
And I seek an end. If I could but see it. And by the actions of my
own hands, it is revealed. This new epoch when mastery has turned to
fellowship, when those with a hatred for life have seen an end to their own:
these intellectuals who replaces facts with their mythologies, these tiresome
brutes who violently sustain might makes right pedagogy. A new world
springs from the corpse of the old. Our most ephemeral desires and our
most treasured dreams lay the foundation for a brilliant new reality.
Social interaction is no longer defined by dutiful sadism. The death of
the system, the system of death. This will be the day.
- Grissecon (Summit)
Behold! this ancient ritual, this divine act. The one clear way to
transcend the boundaries of the corporeal plane is to merge our flesh. The
co-mingling of our physical beings opens the doorways to the ethers, to vivid
truth. I consume you and, in turn, I am consumed by you. Love is the
law, love under will. The purest connection, the strongest bond. All
of the struggles, the weaknesses and faults, slip away. All of the masks,
the anger and secrecy, slip away. Essence unveiled. The universe
The Butcher's Bill (A Faire Quarrell)
We're always crying that we want to be free. But when the shadow of danger
looms, and when the mob scents fear: we collectively gasp; we shut our eyes; we
abandon our convictions; we grovel and crawl before the Great Seal; we prostrate
ourselves before the all-seeing eye of the God of Greed and Poverty and
Ownership. Ideology abandoned. Culture abolished. Families destroyed. Psychoses
intensified. Consumerist freedom! Limbs and organs decimated. Lives ruined.
Spread our disease.
Bonnet Carré (The Archer and
Heads shake at self inflicted misfortune. Hands wrung of responsibility.
Ears covered from the ringing trumpets of fact. Father created from the
black froth swept off the rim of the cauldron of creation. We are maggots,
and we are worms writhing in the marshes of refuse. Flee! Flee!
Sink to hands and knees. Crawl through the muck, shrunken genitalia
beating against bellies and thighs. Wretched, disgusting beasts.
That tree which no man knows has been hewn to it's roots and set ablaze.
Our faces are bleached in its ashes.
- Milk It (In Utero tribute compilation) - originally by Nirvana
I am my own parasite. I don't need a host to live. We feed off of
each other. We can share our endorphins. Doll steak. Test
meat. Look on the bright side, suicide. Lost eye sight. I'm on
your side. Angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. Lack of iron
and / or sleeping. I have my own pet virus. I get to pet and name
her. Her milk is my shit. My shit is her milk. Test meat.
Doll steak. Look on the bright side, suicide. Lost eye sight.
I'm on your side. Angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. Lack of
iron and / or sleeping. Protector of the kennel. Ectoplasma,
exoskeletal. Obituary, birthday. Your scent is still here in my
place of recovery.
Voices in the Wilderness (The Archer and the Owle)
The death throes of daylight set the sky ablaze. Silent pyres are heaped
with the bodies of the meek. A twilight inferno: prelude to utter
blackness, the Erlking's only boon. In the shadow which offers no relief
we explore the caverns of thought and pluck stars from the sky, striving.
But armour wrought from rhetoric and axes blunt by willful ignorance offer no
protection--only shackles and an early demise. Excise guilt. Abolish
doubt. Is there no escape from Ahimsa's snare? Natures face be
stained red by claw and tooth. But even rusty tools--misshapen and vile--have their uses. There
can be no life for the weak.
- Prometheus (Summit)
The exhortations of traditionalism ring hollow: the echoing footsteps of
cross-bearing martyrs, the rejection of free will, the inability to meet the
challenge of critical thought and individualism. Heads bowed and eyes
closed to the joys of today. Three things only do slaves require: work,
food, and their religion. Those callous-kneed ringer-kissers. The
eyes of providence are blinded to the suffering that surrounds. True compassion
is drowned by the baying and shuffle of the flock, bleating through a
self-constructed hell. The fire in your heart is out. That once blazing
light wreathed in the gloom of depravity, that unwavering standard to rally
behind, that intellectual harvest--it's now barren and wasted, strangled by
weeds of complacency, frozen and bloodless in passion's tomb. I must
escape sentimentality; clear away these dusty, maudlin affections; turn my back
on the corpse of the past; learn to accept the death of ideals. Everything
has changed. Nothing has changed.
By Endurance We Conquer (Summit)
Waves crash down, unrelenting, unending. We are stone shaped by the force
of its abuse; colossal mountain ranges eroded to jagged shorelines; aged cliff tops, decrepit and helpless;
earthen cadavers now ripe for
mining to the very core of our souls. Or so we would have you think.
Magic is willpower. Willpower is magic. Self-knowledge is the
key to the perfect control of the will. After destroying the decades of our
youth, after being crushed under the pillars of heaven--the bonds we make and
the bonds we break ever come crashing down.
(Our Enemy Civilization)
Paroled in '54 (Dwell in the Darkness of Thought and Drink the Poison of
Life) - originally by Agents of Oblivion
blood for fighting dogs. Mardi Gras nineteen fifty-four. Oh
no, he never liked Lincoln at all, my child. I always thought the
sun was just some hole in the sky till now. As we float this
corpse ashore. Paroled in '54. The four whores of the
apocalypse laugh. Houses burning full of yellowed
photographs. Of our children in fear disappearing from the
ledge. Is god just an echo I hear in my head? As we float
this corpse ashore. Paroled in '54. Summer blood for
fighting dogs. I been everywhere on the same side of some road
with you. The way that I remember being born was like waking from
a dream. I bet your mother never ever heard you SING that song
for me. Somewhere we can't see from here.
Screaming at a Wall (Degradation of Human Life) - originally by Minor Threat
- I'm gonna knock it down any way that
I can. I'm gonna scream. I'm gonna yell. But I don't want
to have to use my hands. It's like screaming at a wall. Someday
it's gonna fall. You've built this wall up around you. And now
you can't see out. And you can't hear my words no matter how hard I
shout. It's like screaming at a wall. Someday it's gonna
fall. You're safe inside, and you know it because I can't get to
you. And you know I resent it. And my anger grows. You
better reinforce those walls until you don't have room to stand.
Because someday those walls are gonna fall. Someday I'm gonna use my
Fed Fuck (Clone compilation Volume Two) - originally by Born Against
- Are you a good team player?
Remember the boss is your best friend. Kill your head.
Loneliness Dances in the Gorgon's Stare (Tears That Soak a Callous
- Those tools which freed us from otherworldly jailors have betrayed
us to a pantheon of technology. What use is limitless knowledge if
it cripples us to action? What use is logic if it drapes us in
cruelty? Soul and intellect remain in a perpetual state of war.
Moral atrophy: The heart grows frigid and distant; the skin becomes
scaled and hard as rock; our kings are crowned in their dependence; our
only inklings of nature are clouded and obscured. How we clutch to
our breasts philosophies of violence. How we cling to these
meaningless sides. We are as one suicidal force careening towards
a unified end. Hopes and prayers cannot save us. But neither
can your careful research. Neither can your complex statistics.
Neither can your precious analyses. All of your science and
reasoning is for naught.
Shorties With MP40s, The Personal is the Political (The Degradation
of Human Life)
sisterhood is a vast and powerful ocean, a deep well of true meaning
sustaining consistent and conflicting emotions and giving life value,
while the constant flow of the tides caress the sides of impassive rock
and create the contours of interaction that touch every layer of
society. We are free! Free of your necrophilic hatred of life.
Free of your all-in-my-head self doubt. Endless is our journey through
trackless void, shapeless is our movement, assuming any and all forms,
elemental is our force gaining wisdom in the face of desolation, and
joyful is the sound of Medusa's laughter ringing in our ears.
Although we have been exploited as passive pawns in the mad dash to
domination, not even the heaviest most painful nor the most subtle and
gilded manacles will keep us imprisoned in the home or racked with
guilt over self realization and self control, neither can we be
constrained beneath a glass ceiling in the rat race of your job world.
Patriarchy ends here. Wisdom is attained in the face of utter
destruction. And the joyful sound of Medusa's laughter rings in our
The Eyes of the World are Upon You (Dwell in the Darkness of Thought
and Drink the Poison of Life)
- Enter panoptic nightmare: Freedom ignored; hopes of privacy
abandoned. Jeremy--your visions have been realized.
Samuel--the world is now a prison. An omniscient presence
permeates all. The cold gaze of our superiors spies on us from
cyclopean eyes, eavesdropping from a universe away. All our
movements are tracked and recorded. Blackest night no longer
conceals. Emphasize normalization and observation producing only
social fragmentation. Bureaucrats cling to their paperwork and
technocrats cling to their data. Certificates authenticate life.
Individuals defined in nine digits. Transparent society: This is
not the answer. Secrets must be exchanged. Intimacy demands
haven. But in the light of days nothing is sacred.
I am the Leviathan (The Degradation of Human Life)
- Ten thousand years and what do we have: schools replaced with
factories. Psychic vampires consume our moans, and houses are
replaced with cubicles. For too long have we been dwarfed by
monuments to ourselves, toiling in the shadow of collective self worth.
Dialogue has been replaced by the ravings of mind gangsters. But soon
this will all be swept under Lotan's tide. The rubble of the past
creates the walls of the future. Holdouts of civilization tremble.
Nationalistic pride crumbles. The protracted murder of the planet
ends. Forsake your barren half life. Unchain the chthonic
Vote (The Degradation of Human Life)
- Every four years the two-headed monster rises from its pit, and we
have a choice between this head or that. Their party line
separation is a phantasm haunting reason. It's a choice between
this diseased hand or that diseased hand. We are criminals who
defy law. They are criminals who defy freedom. Endless heads
of a bureaucratic hydra, and so the smiling wounds we draw across each
neck. While they lounge in the decadence of their capitols and
dream up new rules of social conduct, we shall sink a knife in every
Caesar, we shall aim our rifles and fire at every president, every
senator, every statesman. Wake up. There won't be any change.
In the sewer of capitalism, only the scum will rise.
Out of the Mouth of a Fool (Baton Rouge, You Have Much to Answer For)
- In the place where apathy reigns supreme, in the land of empty stares,
in the land of walking corpses--animated wastes of time. This is our home.
Drenched in a torrent of dissension, raining down poisoned arrows,
scarring the landscape, infecting us all. Neighborhoods separated by vast gulfs of personality.
Action discouraged. Decadence praised. Drink from the swollen wineskin, so full of pus.
Bathe amongst the refuse and scum. Don the cloak of deceit.
Take baleful curses to your lips. Death to passion. Death to innovation.
Long live assimilation.
By Every Hand Betrayed (Baton Rouge, You Have Much to Answer For)
- Through a boggy haven was cut a swath three miles long. Into
it you dumped tar and concrete, hate and fear. Standing so tall,
even Death would tremble to take you. Running shoulder to shoulder
with lions and wolves. But you're nothing. A pack of liars.
Fakers. Cowards. Trapped now forever in this ghost town.
Shambling spectres haunting these streets. Boundaries not set by
concrete and bars--boundaries are set by neighborhoods and bars.
You are paralyzed by apathy and cloaked in jaded elitism. Your
wasted potential surrounds me, binds me, suffocates me. I yearn to
retreat from your fortresses of bloated excess. My ears fall deaf
to your stammering quips and shrill complaints. We stand eternal
on the cusp of something great destined to always fall short.
Decimation may be our only saving grace. Or will we stand eternal?
Fleurs de Mal (Tears That Soak a Callous Heart)
demonic seed of European imperialists has swollen with ripeness.
Its blossoms signal moral decay, salivating to conquer. A
diseased concept of unalienable rights. A distorted view of
sexuality. A plague upon evolution. Industrialists and
aristocrats--rotting in your fancy suits, burning like cigars hung
between weak lips, choking beneath the smokestacks of progress.
Protectors and providers--teachers of self loathing, sentinels of the
abattoirs, guardians of status quo. May you choke on your own
masochistic sermons and be ground beneath the heels of
conformity. My dearest comrades and young rebels--We're just more
of the same. Bourgeois shackles of pacifism and inaction enabling
oppression. We are accessories to slavery. Bound together
by invisible reins. Pulsing through the veins. The same
tumultuous, glorious blood.
The Song of Illuminate Darkness (Our Enemy Civilization)
The behaviors imposed by society are but a veneer surrounding the
darkness, a saving illusion hollow at the core. The darkness is
the truth. It stands in silent righteousness, the background that
reveals the foreground. And no human fabrication can supplant it
with the dustbin of progress. Actualize industrial
collapse. We've stolen fire from the gods to raze their concrete
tombs. We've cried our sorrows to the wind and the earth.
And the pines stretch upwards, Nature's fingers straining towards
the sky. They will reach out and pull down every ivory tower,
destroying the elite, and returning arcane knowledge and lore to
all. Now we can remove our masks and seek out vengeance, a
saboteur in every occupation and a wrench in every machine.
Remove your masks and find vengeance. Outside the walls of
civilization lies a wilderness beyond belief and without end.
The Defeatist's Lament (We Pass Like Night, From Land to Land)
- Homme mort ne fait guerre et je suis mort.
Unmasked (We Pass Like Night, From Land to Land)
Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos (Reincarnation Prayer)
- It began as simple subversion of politics by just a handful of
proactive liberals: support from the outside to petty thieves,
criminal masterminds, and seething malcontents. While we
re-educated ourselves in confinement, our allies began infiltrating
the positions of repressive power. Many years it would
take. But soon we held all the keys. And all doors were
opened. The destruction of oppression birthed baptismal flames
of a bright, new future. No more prisons.
Burning Black Coals and Dark Memories (Peasant)
mistakes light up the sky, a horde of blazing stars through night's
black curtain. They guide me safely along an endless passage over
dangerous waters. From the summit of a towering mountain, leaping
at once to a jagged shoreline, flesh and muscle impaled. I have
destroyed that bridge, but the gift of strength and defiance can never
be damaged. If my haven is but a weight chaining me to
stagnation, then I must call to the thunder to break these bonds,
escape into the chaos of the burning sands, and surround myself in self
destruction. And surround myself in deconstruction. So it
is the consequence of exploration and expansion. Alone--self
discovery. Recognition of power. Isolate
intelligence. I am the emissary. I am the balance. I
am the beginning. I am the end.x
The Work Ethic Myth (Peasant)
- We have paved the roads that have led to our own oppression.
Fear of the unknown, of rejection, has put brutes and
villains in power. The fetters that restrict our arms and
throats were cast by our own hands, just as we have set our own guards
at the door. We drag boulders a thousand leagues to erect their
palaces. We have established a system of education that
celebrates sacrifice and creates generations of slaves. Hold
hands in a ritual of deception. Hold hands in a ritual of
desolation. Hold hands in a ritual of self destruction. We
are the accomplice class: footstools for our masters, spineless
An Age Imprisoned (Peasant)
- One thousand shattered mirrors could never erase this grotesque image from my mind.
The chains of one million addictions can never ease the discomfort of my consciousness.
Every waking thought centered on this weak, despicable, hideous shell.
In stance and walk and all movement--secrets are laid bare.
Nothing left, but our eyes cannot meet.
Clearly, repugnance dances across your face as you silently laugh at the misshapen husk
shambling before you.
Trapped in this decaying tomb, trapped in this wretched
prison--confined to flesh.
Belt of Fire to Guide Me, Cloak of Night to Hide Me (Peasant)
- Red am I in battle. Red the ravens at my heels. I will keep no
terms with my enemies. Always on the point
of perishing, always in danger--but to give an inch, to make any compromise, a
single concession--is defeat. Burn away these eyes that seek
weakness. May their quests lead them
to the wolves-- to fang, to claw, to axe, to sword.--tearing, ripping, cleaving, left by the
wayside of man. Red am I in
battle. Red the ravens at my heels.
Road of Many Names (Peasant)
- Pale-skinned, marsh dwellers, emerge from your murky caves.
Wanderlust takes hold. The way stands clear, a gaping maw set to
swallow the future. We travel across the burning sands to an
open coast, greeted with waves of indifference. Northward--over
mountains which rise like spears offering twisted paths, crooked
smiles at the abysmal nothingness above. Oh, these sour
times. We return covered in rags and our filth, dissension
in our ranks like our closest friend. Home has been sacrificed in the harvest of experience.
Stretch Out Their Hands (Peasant)
- The fire's light casts shadows across the faces of abandoned gods.
Looming stone monoliths stand silently as a pantheon of superstition burns:
emotional immolation. The thorned crown of self sacrifice, the horns and fur of immature rebellion,
the false personification of nature--gives way to this passionate holocaust,
to a reawakening of reason, to the triumph of the will. The stars'
dull shine offers not approval nor any earthly feeling.
It only illuminates our naked forms. Throw your frail bodies down.
Throw your white bodies down. Throw your skinny bodies
down. Throw your pale bodies down.
Rouge, Louisiana (Baton Rouge, You Have Much to Answer For)
Black Sabbath (Through the Empires of Eternal Void) - originally
by Black Sabbath
- What is this that stands before me?
Figure in black which points at me. Turn around quick, and start to
run. Find out I'm the chosen one. Oh no. Big black shape
with eyes of fire, telling people their desire. Satan's sitting there,
he's smiling, watches those flames get higher and higher. Oh no, no,
please, God help me. Is it the end, my friend? Satan's coming
'round the bend. People running 'cause they're scared. The
people better go and beware. No, no, please, no .
Lord of This World (Through the Empires of Eternal Void) - originally
by Black Sabbath
- You've searching for your mind don't know where to start. Can't find
the key to fit the lock on your heart. You think you know but you are
never quite sure. Your soul is ill but you will not find cure.
Your world was made for you by someone above. But you choose evil ways
instead of love. You made me master of the world where you
exist. The soul I took from you was not even missed. Lord of
this world: Evil possessor. Lord of this world: He's your confessor
now. You think you're innocent you've nothing to fear. You don't
know me, you say, but isn't it clear? You turn to me in all your
worldly greed and pride. But will you turn to me when it's your turn
Into the Void (Through the Empires of Eternal Void) - originally
by Black Sabbath
- Rocket engines burning fuel so fast,
up into the night sky they blast. Through the universe the engines
whine. Could it be the end of man and time? Back on earth the
flame of life burns low. Everywhere is misery and woe. Pollution
kills the air, the land and sea. Man prepares to meet his
destiny. Rocket engines burning fuel so fast, up into the night sky so
vast. Burning metal through the atmosphere. Earth remains in
worry, hate and fear. With the hateful battles raging on, rockets
flying to the glowing sun. Through the empires of eternal void,
freedom from the final suicide. Freedom fighters sent out to the sun
escape from brainwashed minds and pollution. Leave the earth to all
its sin and hate and find another world where freedom waits. Past the
stars in fields of ancient void, through the shields of darkness where they
find love upon a land, a world unknown where the sons of freedom make their
home. Leave the earth to Satan and his slaves. Leave them to
their future in the grave. Make a home where love is there to stay.
Peace and happiness in every day.
Sweet Leaf (Through the Empires of Eternal Void) - originally
by Black Sabbath
- Alright now. Won't you
listen? When I first met you, didn't realize. I can't forget
you, for your surprise. You introduced me, to my mind, and left me
wanting, you and your kind. I love you. Oh you know it. My
life was empty, forever down. Until you took me, showed me
around. My life is free now. My life is clear. I love you,
sweet leaf, though you can't hear. Come on now, try it out.
Straight people don't know, what you're about. They put you down and
shut you out. You gave to me a new belief. And soon the world
will love you, sweet leaf.
Sifting (Baton Rouge, You Have Much to Answer For) - originally
- Afraid to grade. Wouldn't it be fun. Cross, self loss.
Wouldn't it be fun. Wet your bed. Wouldn't it be fun. Some
feel none. Wouldn't it be fun. Your eyes, teacher said. Preacher said.
nothing for you. Spell the smell. Wouldn't
it be fun. Search for church. Wouldn't it be fun. Wet your
bed. Wouldn't it be fun. Cold and coals. Wouldn't it be
fun. Your eyes, teacher said. Preacher said. Don't have nothing for
Rats and Mice and Swarms of Lice (We Pass Like Night, From Land to
- It's not my fault. I'm a victim of stolen youth, born a
villain. This life impoverished, this mind untrained--where else can I
turn but to violence, to the power of intimidation, to attack and
abuse? Forever searching for advantage, any advantage. It's not
my fault. I'm just following orders. Maintaining these sacred
laws, ever obedient. Forever searching for any sign of crime, of
deception. Unless crime would serve my own ends, then I attack and
abuse. It's never my fault. I'm a victim of unwarranted
abuse. Born to privilege, always on top, but always on guard, forever
searching for any sign of threat. We are not safe.
Here I Stand Head in Hand (We Pass Like Night, From Land to Land)
- That stained light of truth I abhor, that unflinching glimmer of
experience... The world has turned its back and left me with
shit. Nothing inside, only void: vacant eyes, vacant mind,
vacant hope. Summon the strength. I was not wrong to be afraid. The cup of life is
forever poisoned. But if all in this time lies beyond my grasp, then
this one final act will be fully in my control. One brief moment, and
I am freed of everything, liberated from this painful existence.
Severed Genitals of Every Rapist Hang Bleeding From These Trees
(Malfeasance / Retribution)
- These open hands that once would have offered forgiveness and even
rehabilitation are now closed fists bludgeoning flesh. A knife across
your throat opens a wide, red mouth forever mute to taunts, to insults, to
threats. You are nothing, empty, worthless. If only it was
enough to lock you away in the deepest, darkest hole. Swallow the
bitterness of my tongue. Absorb the nectar of my discharge. Feel
my hatred crashing down on you like a hammer--caving in your skull, spilling
to the floor all that empty rhetoric about art, betrayal, and desire.
Oh, to string up your naked body like the soulless devil that you are.
To stab and dismember your hanging form. Let the blood rain down and
wash away this pointless shame, this unnecessary guilt, this unbearable
violation. And now decorate the trees with the corpse of past
transgression--adornments of vengeance, a forest of abatement, a monument to
suffering. You are nothing, empty, worthless, a black hole.
Their Hooves Carve Craters in the Earth (The Evolution
of a Group Under a Bad Influence) (Malfeasance / Retribution)
- The memories of revolution disappear as the wind shifts. But a mighty,
reckless, shameless, conscienceless, proud crime--it rumbles in distant
thunder. And do you not see how the sky grows presciently silent and
dark? Propaganda must be by deed: insurrection, assassination,
bombing. Resignation is death. Revolt is life. I will never
willingly wear the chains of your sacred concepts: Natural Law, Common
Humanity, Reason, Justice, The People. There is no hope in conditioned
morality. I deny everything and affirm only myself. We can all enter
this bitter class struggle. We are all ordinary workers, natives. We must rise in revolt
if we will rise in this world. Resignation is
death. Revolt is life.
Smoke Pigs (Thrive & Decay) (one, explanation,
- Please calm down with all the violent rhetoric. Some people who put on a badge are
just trying to help people--just trying to do some good. My dad, mom, uncle, aunt, brother, sister, son, daughter
is a cop. I don't want
to hear another word about bribery. I don't want to hear about racial
profiling, broken bones, or prison rape--or another unarmed kid filled from head to toe with fifty
government-issued bullets. There is
a fundamental flaw in your desire. There is a psychological deficiency in
policing others. Those who maintain a structure of unjust laws,
those who bow to the province of the few, those who would coerce others
under the implicit threat of violent subjugation--your reign is at an
end. When they attack in the name of the law, we will retaliate in the
name of liberty.
What Blood Still Flows From These Veins (The Retaliation of the
Immutable Force of Nature)
- Twenty-six years of self-imposed exile. Now I stagger from the
desert, both eyes blind, without hands. But I still see. And I
must act. Is there nothing left to do but dissolve my
conscience? What good is sympathy, what good is approval, when
everyday I put on this hood and cleave the guilty limb from limb?
Guilty of what? Of being subordinates to a race of egotistical
misanthropes. We breed them without limbs and then rip them from their
mother's womb. We pack their bodies together as tight as we can, stand
them amongst urine and feces. Inject them with chemicals, livestock
hacked apart piece by piece until the eyes we spray with poison just barely
make out their impending doom. But screams can't come from throats
covered in cancer. And there is no willpower left in a heart we
infected with AIDs. Our axes are sharp, but we still cut them
slow. They must feel every agonizing second of pain. They must
know who's in charge. Ignorance and sloth rule the land. But an
army rises from the ashes of despair. You can see a forest of black
banners on the horizon. Marching ever so closer. Marching.
With a Cold, Life Extinguishing Elegance (Tyrant)
- What do you want me to say? What would you have me do? Must I rip
out my own tongue and deafen these ears, stop an uncomfortable conversation
before it starts? Must I tear out my own eyes, so I don't have to watch
this constant self mutilation? Excuses. Lies. I swallowed them
whole. Must I bite my lip so hard that a river of blood will choke back
the criticism you're sure to hear in my voice? You cannot stop. I
will not stop. Excuses and lies, I swallowed them whole. Oh, godless
day with no sun to see that I've gone. And the night will not miss the
breath from my lungs. It just moves on.
- The enchantment is broken forever. The bonds are severed. Now
brush away these puppet strings. No more will I dance to the steady
beat of lies. Get this through your head: We are done. The
future in your eyes is washed away in reality's tide. My blind faith
is washed away in reality's tide. Infallibility is washed away in
reality's tide. The ebb and flow that once drew me back has ground me
to shore while you're lost at sea. Wave after wave after wave after
wave, the truth finally revealed. Patience worn away. Sympathy
worn away. How long did we drag this out? I you had let me,
would I have let it go on forever? How many times did you look me in
the eye and lie right to my face? Were you just laughing away the
whole time? Or did you just look at me in pity and disgust? Now
we have escaped from beneath the shadow of Ouroboros. Misery
perpetual. Now I've turned my back on emotional wreckage. Now
I've paid respects to the corpse of hopeful dreams. Now silence
surrounds. Silence can be broken by reminiscence, by self
recriminations. You were right. You're not a
good person. And you're not worth my time. You were right.
- We're slaves to conditioning. Hidden eyes judge us from the heavens,
unseen fingers choking free will back down our throats. You can never escape the foul presence of
christianity. And to ignore the divine contradictions, and to reject a
fictitious morality, and to scorn superstitions, and to put your faith in
logic--this is the path to your damnation. And you shall know
them by the fruit they bear: intolerance, manipulation,
genocide. All in the name of a god conjured in the imaginations and
machinations of men. How dejected and unfulfilled.
Look to me
in hate, pity or indifference--but don't expect longing or acceptance
in these eyes, or in these words--not for your pompous egotism, boisterous moral
posturing, righteous indignation, or resignation to constant
suffering. I would
rather burn in hell than cling to man-made falsehoods. I would rather live in constant doubt and fear,
expecting an unfeeling abyss than embrace false hope or extravagant fairy tales.
There is no great shaper in the heavens. Nothingness
I Was Ignored. And Judged. And Cast Down. (Tyrant)
- Fire made flesh. Renounce the throne. Screams split the
sky. Fall to the sea. My heart has been reshaped in flames of
treachery, bent beneath the hammering blows of alienation. It's now a
dark thing of iron resolve and unyielding hatred. Grinding my teeth in
contempt... Free will made flesh. Renounce the divine.
With black sword in hand, my steps carry me back to my tormentors. I
realize all the grim sternness of my own cold building with its wealth of
breathing misery and my own desolate heart to endure it all. But it is
the curse of greatness that it must step over dead bodies to create new
life. And now there is change. The serpent has turned its head to
strike its master. Those suffocating under dominion have broken their
chains. Privilege destroyed. Wealth ground to dust. Power
laid to waste. Grinding teeth in contempt, with black swords in hand,
stepping over dead bodies, and creating new life.
Fucking Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean (Tyrant)
- This freezing chamber is inescapable. These ashen walls are
insurmountable. Empty sockets see nothing but black, black, black
abyss. Endless gloom. Endless solitude. A lifeless
form. Twilight eternal. The current sweeps their bodies to
shore. The last reminder of the death they endured. Of the oceans
depths, they are now sure. No escape. Reaper, join us.
Father of death, return to us. Empty sockets see nothing but black,
black, black abyss. We are all lost between hell and the sea.
The surface is shimmering--just beyond our reach. Why? Why
have we been abandoned? Shadows grasp at the ghosts of
memories. There is no release. There is no end in sight.
Tomorrow will never come. I cannot let go. I can never let go.
(The Retaliation of the Immutable Force of Nature)
No Longer With Us
(Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead)
Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead
(Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead)
(Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead)
Kill With Science
(Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead)
Visible From Space
(Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead)
- Heathen DLP (Howling Mine), CD (Gilead Media), and CS (Robotic
- The Sacrifice 12" EP and CS (Robotic Empire)
- Released from Love 12" EP (Vinyl Rites) and CD and CS (At a Loss)
- Ceremonies of Humiliation 3LP (Vitriol / Bloated Veins / Deadtank) and 2CD (Gilead
- To the Furnace Where I'll Break You (Hell Comes Home)
- Tyrant cassette (Perpetual
- Peasant cassette (Perpetual
Motion Machine /
- Summit CS (Perpetual
- Algiers Singles CS
- Rendon Singles CS
- Oakland Singles CS
- Curmudgeon EP / Pygmy Lush split
- You'll Know That You're Right 12" EP
- A Compilation Like No Other compilation
- Tyrant + Retaliation of the Immutable Force of Nature DLP repress
- Peasant + To Carry a Stone + Malfeasance / Retribution DLP remaster
/ repress (Robotic
Empire / React with Protest)
- Nirvana - In Utero tribute compilation (Robotic