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i am the dissident poetician...i tear down fences with sardonic sardines and metaphysical cucumbers

Wednesday, September 27, 2006


fungus footbal faggot formaldehyde
umbrella underwear uncle undress
camera circus cancer cannibal
knowledge kingpin kinetic kamkaze

cleanliness convention conspiracy conundrum
uxorious undertow user-pays umpire
newspaper neanderthal nipple nephritis
taxonomy tendrils tonsillitus tabernacle

specialisation semen spectacle supernova
histamine histrionic hermaphrodite history
intense intuition insanity ice-age
therapy theosophy thoroughbred technology

patriarchy petroleum polysyllabic plebiscite
island industry irreversible individualisation
sandpaper semantics sandgroper sedition
Stalin semiotics sweepstake synthesis

frzzl flzzl frzzl flzzl
undllr undrza undllr undrza
clazzl clozzl clazzl clozzl
klazzl klozzl klazzl klozzl

fun udder cadaver kleptomania
ford utopia communism  Kropotkin
funky undersized cleverness ku klux klan
factory ugliness consumer kinky

famous underneath calamity kangaroo
flippant unconscionable candy karaoke
fire uaccountable chinese kingdom
fraternity uncertainty curry kinship

fozzl fuzzl fozzl fuzzl
ugllr ugrza ugllr ugrza
clzzl crzzl clzzl crzzl
klzzl krzzl klzzl krzzl

Friday, September 01, 2006


Fuck what they say!
This is what they will not say:
Join us in our merry parade,
Celebrating the state of our money.
So we can buy more bourgeois items.
We will destroy your KKKorrupt KKKapitalist KKKulture!
Then we will destroy everything
Because we all need more whiteworld-slavetrade products!
We will destroy your banKKKrupt imperiali$t vulture$!
And the meanings of your rational world are the meanings we shall destroy.
Will Darth Vader come to destroy or perhaps save us from ourselves?
No, we will anihilate everything before mohammed h. jesus gets here.
No, this isn't a war on Islam or a war against an abstract noun.
Its not even a war for OIL or a war to AID corporations.
Its a war on every front, a war on the common person:
The man who works his fingers to the bone, struggling just to SURVIVE.
The woman who watches her children cry in fear as sonic booms steal away the night.
They call it collective punishment when you target everyone because they are the other.
Reminders and the legacy of the tormented,
Tormentors torment and maim the satellites of innocence.
The tormented become tormentors, rabbits transmutate into dingos.
I liberated a coca-cola glass and its slimy innards came to a violent end,
Fractured into the toxic shards of western civilisation.
I loaded up an aristocratic catapult with pyro-synergetic propaganda,
Then I fired directly into the triple-bypass heart of prime time.
The automatons malfunctioned and started singing and dancing to ones and zeros.
The engineers and those information peddlers, who dwell in ivory towers, began to panic,
Until everything became illuminated by the halogen glow of freedom.
The robots and their creators danced together on every city street...
And then I woke up to this lolly shop of hate and VIOLENCE,
To feel the wind changing direction.
"Storms are coming", proclaimed the Maybelline weather woman.
But i did not need her to tell me the wind has changed.
I feel the change in every mode and moment of my existence.


Television and misrepresentaion.
Hierarchy is phallic elevation.
Tabloid sensation, trail of production.
The righteous authorites are coming.
The neon signs are hauntingly silent.
The stockbrokers are aroused and cumming.
The price of oil is rising.
The obsolescence of modern reason
is the renaissance of leaving.
The empty solitude of symbols
is the West's amplitude of "evil".
Rogue nation, which TV station?
Power station, which proxy nation?
Keep your arse glued to the cushion of luxury,
unaware of omnipresent hyperreality.
Nothing can be said that has not been said before.
The free markets lies are coming through the door,
So the doormats dust themselves off and rise up.
Amputees regenerate limbs and hurl molotov cocktails
straight into the cholesterol-clogged heart of a system that's KKKorrupt.
Pirates draw their swords and furl their sails.
And the pacifists raise their brows and turn the other cheek,
but if they think the Revolution can be bloodless,
Then they are naive angels ejected from heaven.
Words, words, words, metaphysical turds.
Judge a man based on his actions and not his words.

August 06