Piscean Punk Poetiks From The Lake Of Fire

 Just like you told me I've kept my window open since you took me away every night since you came all over my heart all over my dreams please dont leave all the spilled seed all the dead babies all you can eat YWHE's broken name ADAM's broken ribs SATAN'S broken heart anything for you your misfit majesty our queen of the damned all you can eat anything for you god is bored and alone adam is lost to the dust satan cant keep up the church is on fire and our your children are safe because we sleep awake you and my third eye together in holy heresy strangled by seduction kissed by snake bites anointed with disease in Hell as on Earth so carry me down wont you carry me down your wings are so big and youre not my mummy so carry me down by the horns and you know my window is still open... Try not to overdo it on the hashishins again, theres leftover wet dreams in the fridge if you're still hungry when you get home. lust always in ...

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 ...

at the end of the day as in the end of days youd let them take my childhood away so dont try now the lost and found we're something new come back around ~ Audz

Quantim says "Write more words! Audry's drinking "Lost the herd!" Tommy's dancing "I've got cones!" Pistol's laughing "I'm in the zone!"

you are you are you are you are you are infinite my friend you cant stop the growing this life is without end i am rimbaud a hustler and a pirate i've come to free your tongue i was the control machine i''ve come to eat your young i was randy pan goat boy i fucked your hairy thigh now i am in goldfish bowl the wals are getting high I am kurt cobain and i am modern man when i still a living thing they sold me in a can when i was john the bapist was me who took your head now i am st paul the bastard and all your slaves are dead i am the creator and i am god i am the fire in me my drugs are body mods we are not divided death is not the end and if you're meeting satan you're meeting me again we are always growing no destiny no end we are the spiral outwards we are infinite my friends

So I recently promoted myself to the position of Intelligence Officer with ASIO's Infernal Affairs Division. I chose to bypass the normal recruitment process due to concerns that my horns might have blown my cover. Ironic, when you consider that my extensive experience in politics, diplomacy and lies, would have immediately positioned me as an ideal candidate for employment. Turns our the salary package is non-existent but I'm not in it for the money. Even at this early stage, I've been outfitted with detailed dossiers on a number of targets for surveillance and placed in charge of my own field office in AdelHades. I get to choose my own stationary, tell lies about my neighbours and have even replaced the fluoros in my office with black candles. After years spent pretending to push paper at Centrelink, and even longer arresting invisible criminals for the Federal Police, I have my own office at Infernal Affairs. I'm writing this with a government issue laptop, a bag of ...

Determined to discover their parent’s special recipe, curious disgruntled officials fell in lust with the divine computer in the sky. While empires stepped on their workers calloused hands, a murderer named superstition nominated six for the committee of the damned. All the positions to be had are connected, and we create more to avoid becoming neglected. The universe is still mostly ending one minute at a time but we are changing. Welcome to a life at disconnect. Fear is the mind killer and symbolic violence has always painted the thumb bearing down on our backs. The seemingly ever-present monumental mirror image of a direct threat forms a fundamental dimension of power, and this starving hostage situation tends to increase in importance over time. We are taught that all societies make necessary progress in the establishing of various institutional limits to the arbitrary exercise of physical violence. A nation of citizens afraid are more easily carved out of wood and shaped i...

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 

"I saw the sun setting over empire and was illuminated, yet still, the resulting darkness almost swallowed me whole. Saving myself, I painted my face and embraced the apocalypse, soon discovering that this was not a controlled collapse...Love hates "free trade". The force-fed illusion of necessary constant competition is one of the company's standard issue defence mechanisms. If you think about it, the walls are paper thin. Cut and paste. Stir and taste. Put down the sickle and tend the grass roots. Your love is a given. Your anger is a gift. Open your hands and make a fist... ...Sweating the bitter soul juice and overcome by reason and familiarity, you’ll fall over trying to see past the activist right...So hyperational they cannot be bored. They’ll fix your head ‘till you’re stiff as a board. They’re selling you out because they don’t love whores and they’ll avert their eyes when you’re broken and sore. Have the proponents of ...

"The most important thing to remember about drunks is that drunks are far more intelligent than non-drunks- they spend a lot of time talking in pubs, unlike workaholics who concentrate on their careers and ambitions, who never develop their higher spiritual values, who never explore the insides of their head like a drunk does." ~ Shane McGowan

"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

MOLOCH! Did you see a poor soldier lamenting? MOLOCH! Go fuck yourself with production! Don't tell me, with this-that-them theory with your pre-written history "That painted poetry song thats protest against our established aesthetic in craft." when its your institution and it dont feed me nothing but ghosts! You're in my eyes! Cant you see I know your place? You who maintain the filter that pollutes the rivers! Words weep what how when I need to signposts collide with senses visionary now carved, not evolution art mimicry of my mother/father poets birds bats babes of the abyss bricks of the pantheon together cats too and mother dingo we conspire, blood singing and tearing our clothes off consuming our self, this self also spitting out flesh of patron saints. HOLY! HOLY! HOLY! Is our visionary poetry! So go fuck yourself with your sensible traditions of work and death and hero (who is martyr you need for routine) and progressive style-theories of silence! ~ Audry ...

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”)

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