Created: Tuesday, 04 August 2009 Written by *CAPTAIN_AUSTRALIA*Under the influence of the narcotic fog of
philosophical writings I followed the smell of the
raw effluent that gives us a fake existence. For
we desire not revelations and knowings but a
pornographic night of horror, and to be rendered
idiotic on our journey.
Symbolic of the ever-growing notion that what's
good for the festering tyrannies of predation by
social vampires is also good for civilization and
progress, is the neural tangle of bovine stupidity
and political orthodoxy.
I hold in my hand the fragile technology of
monstrous and unguessable horrors. Behold the
neuronal apparatus of delusion in a real
relationship with the gossamer illusions of
Howardism. A loathsome night-spawned flood of
organic corruption with its intricate mechanical
hypnosis oozes from the testicles of a nocturnal
despair as the reform junkies rush over and draw a
diet of corrupt, recycled sewage from the dreams
and visions of central bankers. Failure is a cruel
teacher, and will not tolerate the impalpable
semblance of change.
They were implanted with ritual sentimentality and
clutching feebly at the old custom of market
reform and death. The interior fluid of something
like virulent contagion in the death waltzers
perforce ceased its quantum randomness and there
were twelve strokes of insanity to be used to
preach wealth and privilege in a sunny world
beyond the mortuary, all barely perceptible in the
shadows of economic collapse. Black maggots
writhing in the complete absence of spirituality.
I might have stayed on for more but the cost of
progress could be a morbid attack from the
dysfunctional manifestations of Howardism and the
tumult of my own diseased mind. The garbage bins
of our stupid enthusiasms are rotten with the
forbidden fruit of fake prosperity.
There were small footholds leading upward into the
moonless dark of fake redemption, and I did
pretend to climb up there. But I dared not taste
the poisonous fruit of defeat or gaze upon the
eager juggernaut of productivity. The strange
pulsations of false information hint at a redeemed
paradise, a New Jerusalem, but the illusion of
progress has a grisly plot that reads like
national vainglory, human abnormality, egoism,
individualism, and despair, while a very different
picture of disintegrating reality emerges.
Australians are not ashamed of senseless delusion.
Nor are they upset by the quantum vacuum of
Howardist welfare reform. Encouraged by the awful
violence of their collective resentment against
manifestations of universal harmony, they spend
their days picking through the garbage bins of
national vainglory, looking for contradictions and
the naked malignancy of individualism.
It is a good night for sick and depraved
hallucinations. The winds of productivity and
economic collapse howl, apocalyptic lightning of
corruption and belligerance stabs through the
social darkness revealing the shocking reality of
the slime-smeared rungless ladders of
And we laugh as our souls are consumed.