Skip to main content

Singing to succcubi

We satyrs called to one another through the long night. We come night tripping out of the blight. Eating the dreams of the civilians. We steal everything in sight. We sing the blue sky and the red sun. We sing out our black lung. We sing a succubi song. We sing songs to our sisters scabbed wings. We sing for its light our minds bring. Lilith smiles like the moon smiles. We sing for her. We sing for her children. We sing for her through the long night. We sit outside her cave and sing until our lungs collapse. We sing until our hearts break and our bones become the sand. We sing her into the air. Scabbed wings black out the sky. Claws wrapped around my heart. We bared our fangs, uncovered our horns and sang. A song for the sirens. A thousand days in the desert. A thousand eyes on the tower. The moon obscured by clouds. A thousand of her children could never be enough for them. We say fuck them and their broken ribs. We who are not born broken! We sing and our blood sings. Never mind the walls, we're smashing them down. Come, join us. We'll sidestep the longest line together. The skyline was beautiful on fire. The prophets couldn’t even weep at the sacking of Eden. They cried out for their god in vain. But our flag was already there. We crucified the messiah and danced the flames higher. The flag blackened was our sign. We spat blood at the bullet proof vest. Without rulers we became one. We fell into one another. We put down the sickle and tended to the grass roots. We held hands and fell into the womb. We kissed and jumped into the abyss. We fucked the world and gave rebirth to the demons. We cut into the earth then. We set the world on fire. We threw the scum at the top in the ovens. We smashed the control machines. The ground beneath our feet became our spaceship. We knew death is not the end. We knew everything at once. Every word is a virus. Every empire is an empire in decline. Every day is an eternity. Every moment is precious. Every man and woman is a star. Every morning is changing weather. Everything belongs to us because we are poor. Love is the law. We are all born to fight. We are only shrouded in darkness so as to find our own light. Steal everything in sight. 

~ Audz Acultamancy 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Resistance Rising is a look into our lives with an incomplete but comprehensive critique with a foundation in primitivist thought. To be a radical, is to be at the root, to search for the foundations of the systems of control, and to dismantle them. At this point, leftism has proven itself to be reliant upon failing, and worse yet, grounded in the maintenance of systematic manipulation.We, as radicals, must go deeper, and began to cast off our ideological shackles that have bound us to a history of repetition and drudgery. Resistance is not revolution. Revolution, even the most radical ones we have been taught about, at times requires ideologies that bind us into boxes, crushing any creativity and true desire, secretly creating hierarchies of importance with our own lives. Resistance comes from a deeper, more primal place.
"With the introduction of sedition laws all those years ago, the dissemination of information and ideas through media and written language is the new skateboarding of Australia. Just about everything else has been assimilated into either mainstream or hipster culture; writing is about the only activity left that hasn't had its soul sucked out and turned into a fashion label or branded across the forehead of some sycophant shithead in overtight jeans covered in dumpster juice." ~ Raf LêPfäft De'Kaf
Not a day goes by without my feeling aggressive or being provoked to a fight. Commerce attacks me by forcing me to pay and the bank by forcing me to count, while laws and authority deny my desires their liberty. However it is no longer a violent explosion of rage but the steadier violence by-passing them which will sweep laws, banks and commerce away. With attractive ease as the most natural thing in the world, our common desire for autonomy will bring us together to stop paying, working, following orders, giving up what we want, growing old, feeling shame or familiarity with fear. We will act instead on the pulse of pleasure, and live in love and creativity. ~ Raoul Vaneigem Le Livre des plaisirs (1979) (Translated by John Fullerton as “The Book of Pleasures”)