Piscean Punk Poetiks From The Lake Of Fire

Thou shalt fight conformism Thou shalt be the messenger of freedoms Thou shalt make use of sex Thou shalt reinvent life Thou shalt create artificial art Thou shalt have a sense of purpose Thou shalt not know exactly what thou dost, but thou shalt do it Thou shalt give thy love Thou shalt grab the soul Thou shalt give something back - The Ten Commandments for Gilbert and George, 1995

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.

“Theory means getting off on immobilization... What gives you theoreticians a hard on and puts you on the level with our gang is the coldness of the clear and the distinct; of the distinct alone, in fact; the opposable , because the clear is but a dubious redundancy of the distinct, expressed via a philosophy of the subject. Stop raising the bar, you say! Escaping pathos — that's your pathos.” ~Jean-François Lyotard ( Libidinal Economy , 1975)

-------------------------------- Indentured to a fault line a symptom of the fall is our lifeline to colour eyes. This censure of grass on our skirts is a mere apparition, an effect of the classified photobooks we leave behind. Even though the moon burned brighter in the swamp so i could touch it with my fingertips in the sacred long grass... We build upwards as far as our budgets allow. Still the penthouse is further from our footprints. When you kissed us we fed you an eternity, still you called it a half truth. -------------------------------- Our mob lined the stadium saw plastic seats. A million strong vibrating thick as thieves. Trampling fire ants in their tracks, dancing a chorus line, empires crumbling waxing, huddled around the water tower. Solar systems you never knew awakened by your courtesy. When they burnt the paper trail still costumes couldnt let go. -------------------------------- ~ Audry Nachos Antipodea (Darwin,

The city smiles bathed in its own precious light. Beyond the agency, rock outposts eclipsed, we can watch the clumsy machinations of popular addiction. Wholesales! We've gone public with our candidate. His shoulders are heavy pockets full of shining brand new badges. A new face on the same old nest of blood sucking, long distance relative friends. Aspiring henchmen shaking hands with a notoriously fake smile and new lunchbox brimming with fake smiles all wrapped up for the starving masses. A security safety system blown apart by mile high ectoplasmic pyramid schism. "Smile upon your brothers..." Sympathetic fallout precautions personal emergencies written out. Crowned captain by kangaroo courts, we leapt into the winds guiding hands. Shaking fists at the falling sky screaming for change. The drones drifted apart in our wake. Their eyes settling with glass window dust, they shook the change in their pockets and became the display. Inside

“Am I to write a fictional life story as other’s have done to prove who I am? I never knew my father and even my mother is in doubt. So just see me as a mongrel and forget any other labels.” ~ Mudrooroo

Question: In bed between Ballard and Burroughs. Burroughs is smoking; Ballard has teeth for eyes. The floor is awash with moonshine. You defenestrate a typewriter after tearing out its ribbon to use as bondage tape. Ink is everywhere; what do you write on the wall? Answer: There’s a yellow moon leering drenched ham fisted love of the fairy is cheaper than shoe-shine boys river couldn't save my western ass baby teeth thank god … Swallow of broken tree, with the familiar sound of television a thick green your mush, kiss static. The audience shimmers in shadows your running blood swept plain that's against the wall... Subterranean, randy, rancid and bored with inattention I cant scratch my drunk eyes cause it ain't worth the waste of bone skin hair and i'm in love already. Who the fuck fuck fuck are you gimme shelter? Kiss me (spaceship hum) garden of blues, this spread, these cheeses, this love this love, kiss me you're beautiful and bash me to sleep never mind the w

[Melvin] Life on a mattress in a room- in a room full of emptiness [Fat Mike] Knowledge has much better uses than self-pity and superiority [Melvin] Maybe you are or could be the next Hoffman, Mahatma, or Chomsky, But no one will ever know. [Fat Mike] Are you saying that music can't have a positive influence on society? [Melvin] Not with shitty melodies it won't The sum of your parts are not gonna change any hearts, not with hate in your eyes. [Fat Mike] In order to lead by example you have to show a path to a better world, not a cell ~ NOFX

" The mandated necessary attire, required by law, will be available for purchase from state sanctioned outlets. Citizens, particularly those acting in a suspicious manner, will be subject to random label scans and approved pop-cultural interrogation techniques." ~ Audry Autonomy

"When you're ripe you'll bleed out of control you'll bleed out of control you like attention it's proof to you you're alive stop parading your angles confused? you'll know when you're ripe when you're ripe you'll bleed out of control you'll bleed out of control you're pregnant with all this space thick with honey but I lost my taste you're into depression cause it matches your eyes stop this faux to be famous confused? you'll know when you're ripe..." ~ Chino Moreno (Deftones)

simple rhymes only last just a little so many times whats left in your life? is it only now time? the phoney labeled Sony gold marriage black pony finding marriage too lonely? all your savage reactions, damaging actions, tired reflections? foresaw broadsheet dimensions your famous name a mention in a sentence whited out without a doubt found letters to your foul comrades reports to your betters of kissing the lord of the bored and all for naught with no one to blame zero sum you felt shame so now grow some feel pain burn pages make flames... audry