Prepare your anus, you’re about to get a red pill suppository.

The Lullaby of Attila, or How I Learned to Stop Caring and Drop the Bomb

The Lullaby of Attila, or How I Learned to Stop Caring and Drop the Bomb

The sun dipped behind the wall of trees

And I began to evolve


The dignity of man,

Flames licking the metronome

With a fifth in one hand, and the other 

Pantomiming a six-shooter

I fled from the death of the party

In a Jeep with four strangers


And only then did we come to the apartment complex

But I ran again, and wandered the city all night 

With red wine mixing with my own blood

Down the front of my shirt

On to the body of the city

The blood-born pathogen visited its cross-borne

Tales of truncheon dismay run through the brave

With hands open to a sky devoid of reprieve,

On torn knees, supplicant and gagging with a mouth

Full of diseased cock, open sores breaking 

On body, all pustules and imbued with the most

Of unholy sacrilege—


But how could we turn to the gods who built this city

On its foundation of martyred assembly lines

And toxic lies from a closed book,

Its pages the sable Truth:


All your best men have died, and

Lying in their moldy graves

They laugh as we breathe the poison air

Of this empire of dust and asbestos—

Dead like flies, in droves driven from sickly fields

In caskets of iron, manacled to an idea

This ruin is beauty and this beauty is flimsy 

And this beauty is permanent

As the clouds gather and the wind picks up,

Scatter the ashes and 

Peace be with you.

The First Primitivism

The First Primitivism

Rolling Blackout

Rolling Blackout