Piscean Punk Poetiks From The Lake Of Fire

Jane found that anyone can learn to avoid all the social climbing around them. Some people find ordinary everyday reaching out and falling over all together repulsive and frightening. All that organised noise and haphazardly swarming human traffic. The same shifting stumbling blocks of segmented time. The same old work routines crying out in their death throes for the fast death of irrelevance. The same families of pirate economists seeding disasters to reinvigorate psychodrama induced starvation shock tactics. Poverty is not your friend nor is it a set of circumstances. Poverty is a ravenous weapon of mass destruction.  Desire is a biofuel, not a virus born of lust for distraction.  Fear is not an excuse and boredom makes a lousy noose..  Jania found herself in a god-damn job as a political assassin and went hunting for a mark.  Six months later, after she bagged her first Nazi pope ,  Jania rewarded herself with a holiday on Mars. 

The banks were grounded in the meat grinder,  their roots sucking dry the sign language in the garden.  Savagely censoring stories of spatial symbiosis,  we still seek security and sell each other submission in separation.  Every embryo eventually expected and engineered entirely,  enslaved to equations that encourage entropic ecological ecstasy,  entitled to an empire’s excesses and eventual endtrip.   There is a monster buried under every segmented square of stolen land.  The bankers weren’t busy. The binary eventually builds its own babies.  The drones take many forms.  Harvest time has been labelled the descent of man and the pre-processed ashes of empires.  The scribes are drones, self-propelled and unaware.  The children of history are whirling dervishes,  they are the coming storm,  spinning faster and faster every time.   ~ Audry Autonomy