Piscean Punk Poetiks From The Lake Of Fire

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