a helpful bit of advice
(appears on the pneumatic detach release [ko.mor.bid] from tympanik audio)

do you hear those voices? they want nothing but for me to kill myself. and i think about you and i wonder why you wouldn't hear those voices too. i hear those voices in my head all the time and i have to admit they are entirely logical and justified. in fact, i ignore them just to spite their logic, just to spite the one thing that makes sense. fuck it all, it is, in its own way the most reasonable reaction. this illogical struggle for nothing at all goes along perfectly with the stupid fucking bullshit that is everything, everywhere, that is all encompasing, that is whereever we look, everthing we think about. And i can't believe you can't hear these voices too. listen you stupid fucks! listen to them! but i want you to react differently, i want you to listen and to do what they tell you. sure, you might as well go ahead. i'm ignoring them to spite them, but you should pay attention and just do what they want. do what the voices tell you. you're got to end this all, you've got to put it all down, you've got to stop it, halt it in its tracks. you there, and there and there, let me be another voice in your head telling you to do that thing you need to do. we're telling you to go fucking kill yourself. you probably want to kill other people, strangle the fucking life out of someone else in some fucking attempt to find your own meaning. fuck that desire. fuck that part of you that wants to consume others so that you may carry on. fuck everything and everyone. the only real truth lies in your own demise. its there all along away. let's take it into your own hands, let's make the right decision, the good choice, and do the right thing. this is the only thing that really fucking matters. do it. do it. do it. fuck it all.

big fucking titties or a fuckable mouth (of the succubus)
(appears on the worms of the earth release the angels of prostitution from bugs crawling out of people)

feel so sick i can't move, don't want to do anything but sleep. horrible dreams haunt me and yet i still want to sleep. being awake doesn't seem that bad, however, once you get used to it. once you get used to saying that about it. yeah, i'll say it's not that bad. next day i get up and force myself to carry on. everything i see disgusts. i look around and everyone seems to be scratching lottery cards in hope of something. money can buy dreams. the solution to everything could be under that next scratch. every smell, every scent makes me want to vomit. activity is worthless. wait for the end. but it moves too slow, like a long drawn out and useless scratch. the dragging sickness of it creeps along, and in the end, it's the waiting that's unbearable. in the meantime these questions plague me. who doesn't want a bigger apartment, who doesn't want a better, higher paying job, so that you can waste your money on booze and drugs and dumb fucking bitches? i try to deny it, and rant and rave about it, but in the end who doesn't want it? i think i want to escape but in the end i just want stuff to worry about! i want stuff other people want to steal. but there's got to be more to life than material posessions. ah fuck, you know what? i think my penis needs to be bigger, i think it needs more girth. but what do i really care about a bigger dick? i don't want it that size for my own sake, but so that i can hurt people with it. now i realize, now i admit that hurting people with my cock would really make me feel better about myself. make me feel i've really made some sort of achievment. but now i feel closed in, i feel that claustrophobic feeling. i need to get out there and go places! who doesn't want to see the world in all its endless nauseation? to see the world.... big screen tvs? the price is dropping, i hear. such clarity of reception, such clarity of vision. great news! perfumes and clothes. got to look good, got to smell good. i just want to shoot everybody, i think about hanging myself every day, wonder what it feels like to be run over by the subway and then i see some woman with big fucking titties or a fuckable mouth and i'm distracted and i suddenly realize how easy it all is, and it makes me sick and makes me want curl up and sleep.

drinking & mutilated genitalia
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

one day there was torn and mutilated genitalia lying next to my bed and i couldn't remember where it came from. i get a little too drunk sometimes. you know, to be honest, i don't like waking up to find the clues of the night before. slide shows of terrible things remain scorched into my brain and yet without any sense of fluidity. emotions at times, images, i'm laughing now, in pain. i want to hurt myself. i want to hurt others. there's a lot of blank spaces, a lot of dark holes. waking at this point i have second thoughts, thoughts about it all, and i feel these pangs of guilt. maybe i've done something bad. but these feelings will pass, always have, and always will. i just sit it out and realize its all part of life. now i have a box, in which i store some random strips of your meat. box by the end of the bed. but when i feel a little bit better i open it up on my bed and all your horror is laid out before me. i don't feel bad anymore. i look at it and can't imagine why i would feel bad, i don't really feel anything at all. i try to sort out the different pieces. torn and gutted. ridiculous. and i wish this was art, but its nothing, its product the same as everything else.

end
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

mind blurred. can no longer think and i need some scotch and a long dirty stick that is twisted and corrupt. the scotch numbs me for what's ahead. at last the only option presents itself, and the release approaches. the stick is rough to the touch, its composition chaotic. i don't pierce the skin this time, just rub the stick against it, slowly at first and then harder and i feel the skin begin to tear away, ripping from the outside, the friction breaking it down. rubbing the stick against skin, working it harder. separates.

fantastic ass
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

suddenly i see her and i think she's got a fantastic ass but i don't pause to think about that because her ass is gone now, she's gone and worthless and nothing to me but an ass, and there will be others and nothing like that is important, even though that's all i seem to pretend that i think about. this is the surface world, the world of appearance, and its so simple and it all makes sense. it makes such common unthinking unthoughtful sense that we don't even think about it. sometimes i think its just easier to pretend to be what you think they want you to be, and i wonder if everyone is doing that. are we all playing some sort of game, the game of ease and convenience? we just do what is simple, we just carry on from day to day. we'll change it all from within, we'll try make it a little bit better. everyday we distract ourselves from our impending and eventual death. it looms over us and we fuck around and try to ignore it. perhaps its for these reason that these problems arise, and the ugliness sometimes floats up and pokes through the congealing skin. deep underneath nothing makes any sense and is a swirling mass of absurdity, and the skin has cracks, it has tears, and the muck can seep up, a oozing tear, a dripping pustule. this is the realization of the purpose. this is the deep down meaning of it all. nothing but a weeping tear, nothing but a manifestation of the imperfection. this is the realization of error, of reality's pointlessness. and then the dirty truth of it all slams into me, pounds into me with a repetitious fist. everything is fuck. everything is disgust and everything is fucking bullshit.

folie à deux
(appears on prospero's release folie à deux)

i wake up and am still in a bit of a haze when i click that mouse again, click, reload, now f5 to mix it up. nope. again, disappointment, again just some bullshit, again nothing really definitive. f5 and cnn dot com's breaking news is about how seven kids from one family are killed in a mangled, fiery crash. this doesn't affect me and i don't give a shit. f5 and now i learn that the mine survivor can swallow food and there's nothing all-destructive coming our way. f5 and i want to hear about Armageddon, f5 and i want to hear about how all the missiles have been launched. reload and i want to hear about that meteorite about to smash into the planet, f5 and i want to hear about this final plague, i don't know, anything that will end it all, a hoard of evil robot locusts, the fucking dead rising from the pits of hell and eating the flesh of the living. anything to work with. there's always the promise but it never works out. lots of fear but it never comes clean. missing nukes, biological weapons, maniacs in control of countries, killer pandemics, but it never develops. the world never gets what it deserves. and i realize that these problems aren't solved, aren't avoided through competence on anyone's part, its because it was all just bullshit to begin with. i'm clicking now at a faster pace and nothing is changing, the breaking news remains the same, the breaking news says that no one knows about who was driving that speeding car, how no one knows what charges exactly were laid against that celebrity, or how that other celebrity died, how no one knows, but everyone cares about the lay offs, the gas hikes, the third world child with the missing leg, the study that shows that turd is now good for you. click and f5 and now there is no breaking news at all, is the same as before, and the us government is defending itself against charges, defending itself against corruption, defending itself against whatever accusations terrorists, madmen, environmentalists, human rights activists are accusing them of, and there are no bombs, no plagues, no final and all encompassing shit-storm to wipe it all away. i can't go back to sleep, i can't say fuck it all, and i've got to put on pants, i've got to get out there and buy more soap, ride more streetcars, work more fucking days so that i can buy more booze and surf the fucking internet. everything is getting worse, but not as breaking news, its sliding slowly, its easing its way down, its fumbling and pathetic. ah fuck. f5. f5. f5. f5. f5.

how terrible it all is
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

i stand by the subway and it all seems so tedious and i look around and wonder how many of these people have never realized how terrible it all is. i see them rush about, i see them scurry like rats and maggots. i see they writhe and wriggle into their subway cars. and i see their pain, the pain they think they feel now. and i wonder if they realize how terrible it all is. maybe not just their personal dilemmas, but the whole thing. everything. oh sure, they are all suffering, they all have their problems, their agonies. this isn't what i'm talking about one needs to look beyond the instant, look beyond these minor irritations, and try to reason with an unbiased eye. there is no point painting a happy face onto it. why do they try? they may feel horrible now, but they pretend there is a bright future, they pretend they just need a little time to sort it out, to work hard and buy that thing they need, to fuck that piece of meat they see, to cash in, whatever. personal dilemmas blurring the issues and everyone wastes away in pointless pursuit of bullshit. and i look at them and i feel nothing but pity. a sadness but not an empathy. they've lost their meaning to me now. their own selfish ignorance makes them worthless. personal dilemmas blurring the truth, blurring any progression, blurring some sort of reasonable conclusion. in this era there is no space for reasonable conclusions. i feel my anger growing. no escape from this insanity. everything is worthless. they are worthless. and i look at their empty faces, their soulless eyes, their emotional blankness, and my rage and my pity fuck, this isn't pretty, this isn't lovemaking, rage is pinning down pity and fucking it. rage is the dominator. rage is raping pity. fuck them. fuck all of them. they deserve what they get. they'll deserve what they'll get. rage will get them yet.

i get ready for sleep and tomorrow i wake up and everything is the same
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

i get ready for sleep and tomorrow i wake up and everything is the same. there is no progression. and all this time we've had we've wasted. thousands of years and no effect. tonight is a waste. tomorrow will achieve nothing. and i remain surrounded by the rats and the mold and the bugs and this is all fine, everything is ok, and nothing seems disturbing. but then i look around and all that is nice disgusts me and all that is beautiful is repugnant, and i see that we are the one true monster. and are we to blame? are we evil? and i say yes and yes. because we've done nothing about it. and i sleep and i wake up and everything is the same. i sleep the easy sleep of one who is content. no complaints. i live my waking days with little pain, and no true suffering. i'd be an asshole to complain. it would be like spitting in the faces of those who are less fortunate than me. and yet the horror slowly seeps in. the better off the worse it really is. because i'm better and more empty and void of meaning. i'm entertained and kept busy and distracted and smothered. and i sleep and i wake up and everything is the same.

i'm the biggest fucking thing in the whole fucking world
(unreleased)

hey, i remember some of you. i remember you were there, there when it all began, there when i sucked. i even remember some of you from that time that i was all bitter and angry. am i angry now? do you see me yelling and talking shit? look how things all work out. here i am, it-clings, actually rock n' roll supergod it-clings and in case you haven't heard, i am the fucking shit. from everything i've been hearing, from everything my yes-men and oh yeah, yes-sluts have been telling me, i'm the biggest fucking thing in the whole fucking world. yes, that's right. i didn't believe it at first either, but i've got to listen to what they say! they assure me that they are never wrong! And now you men out there are probably wondering what it's all about, being me, and you women out there are probably wondering how my fucking cock tastes... but you'll have time to find that out soon enough, just don't push ahead in the line bitches, don't be fucking rude, there's enough of this to go around, you'll all get your turn... yeah, that's right, there's even enough for some of you men too, the young cute ones. fuck it, what do i care. it'd be a crime to keep this all from you. so now you're wondering what it's like to have passed from mortal piece of shit drunk pissant into what now manifests itself before you, super-supremo arch-bad-ass-mother fucker it-clings. well, that would be a little hard to explain and you're tiny minds might not be able to even handle the details. let me just sum it up this way, it's awesome, it's pretty good, it's better than nothing. but i hear you silently chanting, How did it all happen? What propelled me beyond the contrictions of mere mortality? before you all start guessing and yelling our speculations let me just cut to the chase, i super-imaculated myself! yeah, you heard me. i super-imaculated myself! i worked it and i worked it and oh yeah, i worked the little bastard over and over again and then one fucking day, i totally wanked myself right into super-godness. did you hear me? i jerked myself out of the mortal realm and into that of godliness. yeah, that's right, i masturbated myself right out of existence and into a new existence. but let me tell you, it was no simple task, do you think this sort of thing is easy? i was pulling the living fuck out of my cock, i was doing something really fucking special, all the while having this massive big fucking red beast of a dildo shoved up my ass and i think several vibrators going and yeah, even something maybe clamped onto my nipples. don't ask me why, but they it was. and the shot, when it came, sent me right to the top of olympia, if you know what i'm saying. and yes, it was the pure shot of self-imaculatization, although what i squirted onto my chest and face wasn't quite so imaculate, but it did feel soo good. cleared up some ache as well, keeps my face toned and looking so young. So there you go, that's the whole damned story in a nut-shell. so you're probably wondering why the fuck you're still standing around and not masturbating yourself? you probably foolishly think that you're special enough to become a god, that you know how to masturbate and that you'll willing to give the whole thing a try, and i can't say i don't blame you. i enourage you, to be honest. do it right here for all i care. Let's start the dream squirting right here and now. do it here or if you're feeling a little shy, run off to your home or hotel room. the show's over here folks. fuck all of this, there's much better things to do. but don't ask anyone to help you, do you think they really know what they're doing? and can they compare to me anyway? do the job right, do it yourself.

important stuff
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

and this is important stuff and i see an ad, a billboard, a huge statement. time and thought and money have gone into this. this is important enough to have greater minds than ours focused on its creation, so you realize that it has things to say and this is important stuff and even when wrote this and now yell it, try to convey it to you, try to say something about it, and you can't understand me, never the less, we both know that this is important stuff because you've bought into it, you can't help but acknowledge, accept it and buy into it, and buying is meaning and purpose and everything is commodity and yet you don't care what i'm saying, you don't care about this billboard, this ad, all these fucked up messages, this warning, nothing, because nothing has any meaning or reason beyond the instant, beyond the act, everything is a flash and is gone, all you care about is the flash, the burst, the splatter, the spray, the ejaculation, and all this doesn't really matter except in our temporary acknowledgment that this is important stuff.

inflammatory for inflammatory's sake
(appears on free online compilation mothers against noise)

Niggahz. My Niggahz do you hear me? Are you listening to me? Can you hear me shout and scream? Niggahz! Muthafuckahs. You are out there and i can feel you. Come on my Niggahz let's do it, let's join together, let's crush that fucked up corporate run industrial military complex, that... whatever the fuck it is old ruling class, those stupid abusive mother fucking shit wads in power. Let's push them up against a wall and mow them down, let's beat them down with bricks and rusty fucking pipes, let's drill them full of holes, poke them with unpleasant feeling objects, lets fuck 'em up, pull them down, draw them out and degrade and humiliate them. Come on motherfuchahz! Now by yelling the word Niggahz, i don't mean to be racist, to use it as as disparaging term for a Black person, a person of African American descent, but rather i use it as a rallying call for all of us underprivileged, under-appreciated, underfunded, underfed, under-paid, peoples of the world. You know... most of us. Now by saying rallying call, i don't mean that i'm actually calling people together for a common purpose. There is no purpose, no point, no objective and anything we do to try, seek to establish any sort of justice, any sort of real meaning and fulfillment to peoples lives will just be abused, corroded and manipulated by someone, some motherfucker who feeds on this sort of activity, that is able to sell bullshit to stupid people and have them eat it up like it was candy. And by stupid people i guess i mean us. All of us. You and me and that chick with the weird hair, even that guy who's all angry and doesn't conform, but sort of does... Ah fuck. Now that i think about it i think i'm just being inflammatory for inflammatory's sake, realizing that nothing is worth the fucking effort, but thinking that violence and some sort of revenge the the key, when really, its not. All these riots and revolutions, all these fanatics and philosophers have done very little in the long run. You struggle and struggle and someone else takes over and in the end you're worse off and more productive for their cause and less human as a result. We are the result of all these revolutions! We're fucking pathetic. Shit. Fuck all this inflammatory bullshit. You might as well join in, sell out, buy some stocks, get yourself some financial stability. No one's looking out for you except you. You might as well do what you can and live your life in blissful ignorance of everything accept your own self gratifying sensibility. You have needs and you need those needs fulfilled. Do it. Join it. Embrace it. Luv it, motherfucker. While you can... you don't have much time. Fuck everyone and everything. They aren't worth your time or money.

i react poorly to the way my head warps reality
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

and at times when things are all moving too fast, moving in swirling chaotic torrents, things get kind of, well, crazy. and then you just need a moment to breath, a moment to yourself and in this time a calm overcomes you. and in this calm everything that was causing you pain before subsides and then suddenly i feel at ease and i feel as if my period of insanity is dropping again, the great tide of craziness is receding and leaving behind only the barren waste of empty sanity. and i wonder if this is good or bad. when i'm nuts, i'm miserable, but i'm alive; i'm tormented but at least i feel life. i react very poorly to the way my heads warps reality and yet, in this pain, in that horror, there is happiness. what sort of fucked up monster am i? and then you start to think that things aren't right anymore, things are all fucked up. we are machines, empty worthless mechanisms because what we have done and the only right response is to fight back against it with cruelty and horror, with the worst kind of corruption and hostility. everything must be destroyed. in this empty world of nothingness we must thirst for emotion; and all that is left for us is wanton destruction, anger and hate.

is it wrong for me to hate her?
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

is it wrong for me to hate her? is it wrong for me to use her as a distraction from what i am really supposed to be doing? and i've spent a long time just looking at her. does she feel this is a waste of time? i try to search for some sort of clue, some sort of idea of what's going on inside. i've caused her to focus, but upon what? and even when she looks at me she just stares that same empty stare. has anything changed? i've tried to inject life into her, to shock her system into life, and it's all for nothing. then at least i think that maybe her being here has saved some lives, for when i am with her i am not alone, plotting, or out on the street, hunting. when i'm wasting my time with her i am ignoring the waste of time that surrounds us. at times i can even pretend that i'm on another world, another place. i think i've completely forgotten about where i left the last bodies, i've completely forgotten about what they looked like, or what they were, and then i realize this is all useless and although i am not in control either, her containment here is against her will, and things must be done and so happiness, this happiness i've imagined is impossible and i hate her and none of the lives she's saved is worth this waste.

maybe these wounds won't heal anymore
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

i get intrigued by the idea of the healing wound. i make a tiny incision and i see the flesh spread apart, and the blood begin to flow and then i stitch it back together and i know that it will heal again, though the scar will remain. but that's not enough. i need more. and i slice again, and i make more incisions and they become larger and i think that maybe these wounds won't heal anymore. but i'm too focused to really think this through. everything is now a mess, everything is confused and bloody and at some point i realize that the screaming has stopped and that the only sound is that of the knife cutting into the meat and as i listen harder i slowly begin to hear my bestial grunting, my giggles and my breathing. suddenly i'm whispering 'bitch bitch bitch,' under my breath and i think that maybe i should try to remove an entire bone, try to separate it from the mass. it won't come off clean, that's for sure. and i dig the knife in a little further. and the bone doesn't want to become free, it clings and i think that this is going to drive me into more of an angry rage than i'm really prepared for. everything now begins, to start, to spin, to become disjointed but i keep hacking away at the flesh anyway. i am hacking and hacking and wishing to be completely overcome. i'm on the verge at last of snapping.

miags
(appears on autoclav 1.1's visitor attractions from crunch pod media)

what's there to do when you realize your a misanthrope? i don't like people. i don't like people in general. i don't necessarily dislike you. i may even like you. you're a great person. remember when you did that thing, you remember that thing you do. fuck, do i hate people. that thing you do is great, well, its fine actually, its ok. and i find it quite amusing when you do it, but this has nothing to do with you and what you do is further fodder for my hating people. you're ok, but you're not different, you're not unique. there's nothing fucking special about you and i hate people. there. i've said it, and i'm not going to make an excuse for you. you're as much as a problem as the rest. i'm no different, of course. do you think i like myself? fuck, i see all this shit within me as well. but i have no choice really, i have no real option when it comes down to it in that regard. i'm not about to start making excuses and qualifiers. i'm a misanthrope in a general sense. but i'm not entirely miserable. i don't despise every second of my day, and i laugh and i have fun. i'm just a misanthrope. so fuck you.

mindless brutal apparatus
(appears on pneumatic detach's vis.cer.a from hive records)

i heard the machine ripping away at the flesh, tearing into gristle and bone. metal teeth granulating cartilage. that soulless hiss of the gas. mechanical removal of skin. i smelled the hovering stench about me, felt the cold sick air. these are unspeakable horrors and they occur hour after hour, day after day. we all know and we all ignore. and i am left with nothing, no feeling and no care. meat torn off the bone. a spray of fleshy particles. searing and unending pain. it saturates me. i absorb it. discarded lumps of quivering matter. plump, fatty globs of nothing. everything that is sick and twisted, everything that is wrong, and loathsome. but as i stare into the repulsive void i realize all of this is me. this is as much me as anyone else. i'm sickened, disgusted. no. sickening and disgusting. i want to smash myself to pieces, to lash out, to do something. i feel this repugnance rising from deep inside. and then the realization overcomes me and i find my focus. in response, in my response, in my attempt to do something, i've now built this; this monstrosity into which i have attached you, plucked you out of your stagnant limbo of existence, and strapped you into this abomination of feeling, this machine that was inspired by the world as i see it: not how i want it, not how we wish it, not even how we think of it, but how it is. and at last, i am overcome by this sense of purpose. you may not feel it now but you will. as cruel and inconsequential as it is, this mindless, brutal apparatus has reason. this is at last, meaning. we live in a world of emptiness, of worthless days following empty hours. but this, this has come from cause. and this is finally result. everything they have done to me will be cleansed by this; this machine will reverse the punishment, will concentrate and condense everything into one extreme moment, a beautiful moment of unimaginable revenge. and now with this one, finishing gesture, i set the automatic functions into motion, and through this act of bestial, unthinking destruction of you, no, let's call it humane destruction of you, let's realize that it is the tearing and shredding of you, and within it all, do i at last achieve this one pure moment of freedom. freedom in the true sense, not some fucked up lie, not some dirty scam, but the bliss and torment, the full fledged wave of emotion. it's all set into action and nothing can stop it. it is meant to rip it all apart, to burn and crush, to mutilate. the machine can not be stopped once it has begun. this is its design. no thought necessary anymore. no edits, no corrections. nothing to do but to watch and to engorge oneself upon the terror. and in this terror, i have at last, an instant of momentary fulfillment.

murder & fucking
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

i used to dream exclusively of murder and fucking. fucking and murder and i liked to lie to myself and claim they were separate dreams, because i didn't want to freak myself out. but the times of lies are over and i must accept what's going on in my head for what they are. no one gets to choose, no one decides the way they'll be. even those who struggle with control are themselves controlled by the control desires. am i controlled by my limp morality? by my lack of structure? my impulsive behaviour? i'm controlled by my realization of the meaninglessness. i react against the clutter they try to impose upon the void. perhaps if their was some consistency of hope, of some sort of universal... fuck it. i lash out. this may be the point where hope should appear, where some sort of ideology of goodness resumes control. in the face of shit, something with honour something with purpose re-exerts itself. but this is all bullshit and nothing of the sort will happen. everything is worthless and in the end everything, ever hope, every dream, every ideology, ever lie, splatters and is revealed as the meaningless shit pile that it is. and all that remains that has any sort of real value is fucking and murder. cum splatter and blood. at last i realize and i am not ashamed. kill and fuck. my dreams are full of purpose. my dreams are good. so i dream the dreams and love them.

necessary evil
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

these texts contain the raving confessions of necessary evil. what you are about to hear is unpleasant, and unsavioury, these deeds and thoughts come from what people call a degenerate mind, a mind that is twisted and full of filth and rage. these are evils, these are criminal acts and thoughts. although i will admit that the crimes detailed here have not all been fully realized, it is enough perhaps to acknowledge that they have been thought about, considered, and most certainly wished for. these thoughts strain against reason, they engorge themselves on hypocrisy, pulling and tugging and yet within it all, within this struggle is the admission, the acceptance that yes, this demands attention. unpleasant they may be, but they are something to acknowledge. that these crimes are but the beginning is also something to realize, that they are just the minimum of what is deserved, of what is called for, of what is needed, probably also should be considered. these are necessary evils inflicted upon the deserving. they soak through the images; they creep in from the sides. they are the sewage that runs below the surface of our new beautiful world. and despite this construct of shit, this worthless ball of fuck, somehow, in some part of me i have this fear, this second thought that i'm the monster, that my thoughts are unacceptable, that my thoughts are scary, perhaps they are right about my depravity. i have this constant nagging fear that the reason for it is that deep inside, there is something that isn't quite me, isn't quite human, it wants to be released, it wants to take control, and all there is to protect you from it, is this simple fleshy membrane. what i'm most scared of is that i'm alone in my struggle to contain it. and i don't even know if i want to contain this? this needs to be released, this needs to be unleashed, perhaps this is indeed the only real, reasonable and legitimate thing to do.

public space
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

i'm sitting in a public space, coffee shop, shopping mall, park bench, whatever and no one else knows what's going on in my head, i see them walk by and there is no reaction, traumatized by my dreams, my wishes, my hopes for their future, or lack there of. there i am sitting, anywhere and i'm thinking these thoughts. and i do wonder why i think this way. what is it about me? am i alone in these realizations? why am i thinking this way? why? fuck. am i alone? perhaps there are others, sitting where ever they are, public space, coffee shop, shopping mall, park bench, whatever, and they too are thinking this way. why? is it because we have a problem, or is it because they have a problem? is it because we are horrified by them? yes. this isn't about a 'we'. this isn't about me. it's about them. the great writhing mass. they traumatize me. the sickness and the disgust comes from them. i see it and it disgusts me. it should disgust you too. maybe i am alone. it should disgust us all. the disgust should be evident, the disgust should be obvious and something should be done about it. but the days pass and all this is ignored. they ignore it as if they don't even see it. they ignore and carry on the way they do. and i wonder if they have even one redeeming aspect and i conclude no. now i realize that within them is this dark seed, this inherent flaw, and i hate them. what can i do? what options are there? i'm alone against them. and yet, i want to leap onto them and cut it out, slash into them and draw out that which makes them so terrible. dig into their fucked up flesh and rip it out. i want to expose it to the light and hope that this relieves my own pain. but i hold back and struggle for control because somehow i've convinced myself that what i want to do to them is somehow wrong.

rats
(appears on pneumatic detach's e·vis·cer·ate live DVD)

rats & purpose
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)
Rat faced monsters. Whispering foul scented dreams. Commands that i ignore, with effort, and i hear them in the walls. Hear them in my brain, they scurry about and draw long dirty nails over worn wooden supports. That tearing sound in my mind makes me wince. i cringe and i hear them now in the ceiling. They speak to me in a tainted language that i can't understand and wish no part of. They have secret plans, plans that involve me, criminal plans that require my own degradation. Dirty filthy plots, whose value is not entirely without merit, and yet are of such a disgusting composition that they insult the very fabric of nature. They nag and nag and nag and they slowly wear me down, cunning little fucks, mixing lies with utter and simple truths, blasphemies with hope. They are, however, a little extreme. The things that they would do to you are beyond anything i could allow myself to be a part of. i'm doing you a favour really, by being their pawn, as the torturous deeds i may enact on their behalf are nothing compared to what is possible. it all starts with a tiny incision. i now push things under your skin and although infection is not the purpose of this, it will occur. The oozing pustules get in my way, to be honest, yet i endure, i overcome. At this point i'm a little too committed, i'm too involved to stop now, might as well see the plan through, might as well see if they have a point after all. Everything becomes corrupted in time, it is true, everything settles down and looses its original meaning. They snicker at me, tool that i am. i'm not proud, not really happy with the situation and you don't seem to have any sympathy for me. You think this is all about you, but its not. You are nothing, remember? Haven't i yelled that enough times in your face for you to comprehend? This isn't about you! This isn't about you! it's about THEM and THEiR plans, their plots. The glass and nails and bone that i've inserted into you is their statement their proclamation and although we can all agree that you are involved, a better term may be 'related', because you merely represent the canvas, who you are specifically doesn't fucking matter. This isn't about you. And you'll be fucking dead soon enough (although maybe not soon enough for you) And then once that's over, perhaps we can move towards some sort of conclusion, and by "we" i mean "me", me and that fucking world that i despise. it'll ignore everything though, always does and i've tried to explain it to the rats, but they never fucking listen either, just looking blankly and make those horrible sounds, just egging me on. No one will listen to what this is really trying to say, not you, canvas, not the world, they only see the horror and you, the agonizing pain. Why why why am i doing this? Why? This is the question, so simple and so hard to ask and seek explanation. Not just seeking who or what to blame, but real meaning? And doesn't it all seem pointless after all?

sacrifice of subscription
(appears on dead man's hill lakes of sacrifice from bugs crawling out of people)

i'm drawn back to it again. i feel this grip upon me and i yield to it. i feel this wave of satisfaction overcome me and i hate it, and am drawn back to it again and again. i feel this slicing cuting strips from me, i feel these chunks fall off, every day i lose a little more and nothing will be the same again. everything is getting better, the world is looking refreshed. the next day will bring this internal warmth that will satisfy every fiber of my being, i'm getting better, the world is better and i hate every single bit of it. fuck them all. but now i feel that satisfactory bliss cutting into me, and making me warm inside. i'm ready to ignore, i'm ready to focus on the important. i'm ready to give it my all, i'm ready to suck it in. i'm ready to feel life again, to experience it all as i should. i feel my desire fade, my desire to let go rise. i need this need, i want this want. everything is on the march towards progress. everything clears itself, everything becomes the same, everything joins together, everything ends. everything is getting better.

spoons
(appears on it-clings vs pneumatic detach release the all too logical descent into madness from bugs crawling out of people)

murderous rage builds up inside me and for some reason i start to think about spoons. spoons, i decide are suddenly the weapons of my choosing, long since unappreciated for what they can do to flesh, what they can do to your flesh, your eyes, your skin as i force the spoon under it. i press you up against a hard surface, a brick wall, and then i drive the spoon hard against the tightened meat and feel it cut into you, feel it digging into the wall behind. i roll it back and forth, back and forth over your skin. i dreamt of scooping your innards into my mouth, just having them sit there in my open mouth, not swallowing this disgusting muck, this filth, but just tasting it in all its horror. this taste in my mouth i've felt before. this is the realization of what is to come. i need to spit this out, i need to catch some of it in the spoon and stare at it, glistening and shimmering, and realize that there is nothing beautiful about it. shimmering in a pool of greasy fluids and vulgarity. do you think i could i use this spoon to force this revolting muck back into you? i don't want it, i don't need it. it fucking disgusts me.

what is the moment of truth
(appears on fractured's only human remains from dependent records)

i wish i was like you, i wish i had it all mapped out, i wish i was more in complete understanding of myself, and my role within this wondrous world, and by that i mean i wish i was as stupid as you. i wish i didn't question everything and just go with it. i wish i was so small in my understanding that i could build a model of this world, the universe and through my own comprehension, my own analysis, figure it all out. and the point comes to this when i realize that there is this dirty filthy rapist in my mind, in my world, my society, my work that wishes to destroy, that wants to be unleashed, to fuck up their systems, tear down their trees, to corrupt those tiny boys and girls. and i say rapist because people don't like that being said. they don't mind it being done, they just mind it being said. i want to despoil, to take away the innocence of, because innocence disgusts me. but it's all grotesque banality. this empty self, this half being and everyday another crack forms, another splinter breaks away and hope is gone and without feeling. i want something in a wrapper, something in new silk panties, some old crusty piece of meat, something with the authority of a badge, or an instructional print out. i want it all to corrupt it, i want to revenge myself upon it. to kick away the flimsy papers and cover them with dirt. that's the most i can expect, to sully their receipts, to crumple their registration forms. i wish i was just like you and conclude that i must be of huge importance, that i'm the centre of the world: my pockets are full of change, and through this change i can enact change. i wish i could care about all that lipstick, those things, you know those things, those thinks you care about and those cars and people, all that tripe. on what scale do you measure the worth of these people? and we are taught that money is real value and a moral code and a combination of the two and as the days pass i learn tricks and deceit and the instinct to grab it when it comes. and now look at all of this, who's standing, who's yelling, who's talking about you, it's me! i'm the one after all, and am i important, or am i just a messenger for you? i don't know, i don't give a fuck. i'm yelling and nothing i'm saying hasn't been said before. i see empty eyes, stuffing his fat face with chips or fat, dripping grease, filling his face with money or moral code, and he is without sense. why the fuck should i acknowledge you, you hold open that door for me and step out of my way, and i didn't ask for this, i didn't ask to have to acknowledge you. now i sit and some fuck tells me not to sit, not to loiter and i have to acknowledge this prick as well. the only moment of truth is the tenth of a second after the money shot is delivered, in that fraction there is reality. in that singular point, all the lies that money and desperation built are revealed and all that's left is truth. my memory lapses and its hard to tell or care anymore. i don't know if its out of apathy or boredom. this weight is the weight of pointlessness and it drags me down. i've never been so happy, i say to myself and i repeat it to pretend that i'll remember how i felt when i said it, but i remember nothing but the words. he likes it and i don't. i like it but he doesn't. i've realized that i'm not really one person, and neither of us gives a fuck, neither is really whole or worth a damn.