Free Promises

We violently stumble down the stairs of cultural, societal and genetic relevance. Incrementally but yet making leaps and bounds toward the bottom. The tether to the diving bell snapped under the pressure. The weight.

Homogenized by mainstream decadence and LCD screens that transmit nothing but the repetitive. Repeat. Minutiae.

It’s not how it works. This is not how this works…

Simple-mindedness, mediocrity and desperation. To go. Go where? And. For what? Viral? Viruses are living organisms too. Why do we only champion the rights of the organic beings that we choose? We do. Do we not?

To deny Nature is to deny God…

The last Gazelle is not waited on by the rest of the herd as the lioness preys. If you’re last in line, you’re first to die. Not opposite. Holding up Nature is playing God and playing God is denying as well.

This is necessary…

Everyone is selling something to everyone but everyone is as well for sale to everything. All is systemic. No one smells flowers. Admires their colors. No one watches birds. Admires their intricacies.

Beyond the fibrous attachment to the glow, chasing dragons of wild and mania-induced what-if conspiracies. Disconnected. Disillusioned. Doomed.

Numb. Deaf. Mute. Chemically dependent as am I…

But the birds.

No one hears them sing.

Torch Song…

It’s a sad, sad song playing,
over and over.
To a tune I can’t remember.

It’s a mad, mad hinge coming,
loose and unglued.
With the screws left in my hand.

So long. (To you.)
So tired. (Of you.)
So worn. (Confused.)
What’s left? (To do.)

Recycle all these tears!
Re-burn the souvenirs!
And all that does remain!
A bent engagement ring!

So long. (So long!)
So long. (So long!)

And all the pretty little lies.
(Over and over.)
And every promise broken.
And all that bleeds will die.
(Over and over.)
I hold the key, it’s choking.

Recycle all these tears! (To you.)
Re-burn the souvenirs! (Of you.)
And all that does remain! (So confused.)
A bent engagement ring!
What’s left to do is take these wounds.
(All the emotions.)
Behold the words bespoken!
To you they’re all unspoken!

Listen to the quill. (I tried.)
Your silence has been spoken. (So long.)
Scream at the voices in my head! (So Long)
Listless and heartbroken! (To you.)
And now the vein’s wide-open!

So long. (So long!)
So long. (So long!)
So long. (So long!)
So long. (So long!)

Karma Has No Deadline…

Republicans, the GOP and especially MAGAts love the art of the steal. They’re grifters, liars, con-artists, cheaters and sometimes much worse. Some of them abandon their families for the comfy good life in the states. Mostly that’s because they’re childish cowards with no guts, nuts or back bone.

But then they run into money trouble.

What to do…

The Democrats’ “Resistance” was a massive swell and with millions of surfers riding it, who would notice one fat, sweaty MAGAt; alone, desperate and pissing his pants in fear like a toddler. So, fat sweaty MAGAt hatches a scheme. Everyone loves a redemption story, a comeback, the underdog and far too many tender-hearted people are saps for the villain that has a change of heart at the end of the movie.

This fat, sweaty MAGAt is David Weissman and much like any MAGAt out there, he’s lazy, can’t keep his lies straight, can’t keep his perversions in check and is 100% Grade A stupid.
Weissman is the prototypical Deadbeat Dad that I track with Hellfire and fury on a daily basis…except he’s worse. You see Dave-O here was married. He and his wife had a child and this child, through no fault of her own, was born with special needs.

Now, a real man would do everything in his power to provide for his family and to give everything to that child she needed to have some semblance of normalcy in her life. A real man would do that…but not Lil Davey.

He tucked his scaly tail and forked tongue and abandoned them to live in a dilapidated and toxic mold infested apartment that I wouldn’t even let cockroaches live in, eventually divorcing her and leaving his ex-wife and daughter destitute. Take a Look for yourselves.

But, D-Bag Dave had a plan…

Play on people’s sympathies, gain their trust, play the victim, bathe in the limelight, but first, he needed allies…and camouflage…and most importantly…to monetize everything. And he found that cover too. Inside the very populous he so deeply hates…Liberals.

It was really easy to do too. It didn’t take an Astrophysicist to see how hiding out with the good guys would work miracles in his pygmy brain either. Surround yourself with the enemy, convince them you’ve changed, that you’re human after all and the bleeding hearts will weep fo they have saved one of the wretched from the clutches of Mango Tango’s army of neckbeards. Because one of the worst and most egregious flaws and vulnerabilities Liberals have is a Savior Complex. In desperate need to ride in on their Blue Stallions and swoop up the oppressed.

Now, I’m not saying all Democrats and Liberals are narcissistic egomaniacs but I’m also saying that most of them are holier-than-thou, judgmental “Won’t someone think of the children?!”, credit collectors with Messiah Complexes and make no mistake about it, when they’ve done a “goodening”, they ain’t shy about collecting that credit either.

And those delusions of grandeur and the mirage of their bullshit status as paladins, liberators and knights in shining armor made it so very easy for Simple Dave to do the absolute bare minimum and fleece these rubes.

Hell, all it took was buying a couple of cheap t-shirts and posting some awkward selfies wearing Biden and Warren merch, some quotes by RBG and Maya Angelou and worming his way into an interview with Sarah Silverman and…*boom*…the clout fire is an inferno.

But ‘ol Dave’s skeletons weren’t limited to this massive Andre the Giant sized one that was quite literally bursting from the closet. Oh, no! See, there’s a price to fame and having your name and face plastered all over the internet, for the world to see.

And, people began to come forward. With sordid tales of perverse DMs, threats, cyberbullying and a mountain of lies. And, people began to come forward…many people.

So, instead of owning the little lies, the smaller shit, what does this fake disabled mouth-breather do? What every grifting GOP wolf in sheep’s clothing does. Double down, no-fuck-that, triple down and oh yeah! He has hundreds of thousands of followers now! And being the lazy fuck knob that he is, he paints on a thin layer of victimhood, cries foul and sheds six crocodile tears and off go his minions, ready for war and all this does is heap more attention and clout on this donkey raping shit eater.

But, remember now…he’s dumber than a bag of dicks so while his pawns are getting captured and he’s oblivious to how close he is to being put in check, he’s in the DMs of women, dripping his sweaty degeneracy onto them with unsolicited pictures of his warty toadstool and then threatening/stalking/blackmailing them when the chud doesn’t get his way. All whilst living in some alternate reality where there’s no possible way to document proof of this.

Annnnnd, there is proof. People have receipts but that doesn’t stop Mr. Ruby Red! Of course, he can’t share his receipts because it would only validate his depravity and criminality but it would also reveal his true rank, just below roundworm infested beaver shit.

But the con-job is simplistic.

  1. Simply spend 46 seconds coming up with a story about how one day you just miraculously saw the light and became a Democrat, when you never were and never will be.
    2. Next, spread that story around social media like Typhoid Mary, making sure to fuck up even the simplest of details.
    3. Take lots of photos wearing Democrat merch.
    4. Upload those mofos EVERYWHERE!!
    5. Add frivolous and false details, angles and anecdotes to your narrative, to further inflate your importance, even though his puny gerbil brain won’t ever be able to keep any of it straight.

    6. Sell that frosted cupcake with the bullshit center to any Liberal that will listen to his artificial and fraudulent sob story and listen they will because Liberals LOOOOVE a good tearjerker.
    7. And when it comes time for the skeptics and their intuition to call his lard ass out for the novel of lies that would leave Tolstoy in awe? Deny, deny, deny! Deflect, deflect, deflect! With a thick, slimy frosting of projection slathered on and a big, red, alarm bell cherry ringing on top.

That’s literally all he’s done to con hundreds of thousands of social media users, politicians, donors and celebrities. “Hundreds of thousands?? He must be a genius!” you might ask but nope, he’s just your typical lying, lowlife fraud, wasting precious oxygen that some Corpse Flower somewhere could be benefitting from.

So, don’t let another right wing reprobate con you into believing a goddamned word they say because it’s all bullshit…and they all want your attention…and your fucking money and at the end of the day, David Weissman is the same parasite he’s always been…a fat…sweaty…MAGAt, because this…

…underneath it all, is still this…

And all he did…was change his shirt.

The Coil…

Slowly weaving, while my stomach’s heaving
as I realize, there’s no room to breathe.
And my head is reeling, at the thoughts I’m feeling
as I’m terrified, of the clouds I’m underneath.

Eyes are dried.
I drift away.
No echo, my screams will make…

Insulation, through my captor’s dealings
and I’m hypnotized, how long have I been here?
My gums are bleeding, turning more Anemic
as I hold the knife, I will disappear.

I’ve lived a lie.
I sink beneath.
The air escapes, light it turns to grey…

So deceiving, your intentions were pleasing
and I took your love, for what it appeared.
Disbelieving, all the scars I’m seeing
as I cut again, from the voices that I hear.

Slowly, I.
Start to, die.
And it’s oh-so clear.
There was no welcome sign here…

Eyes are dried.
Bloodshot and bleary.
There’s no more pain.
And the sky’s not dreary.

No more screaming.
And my heart’s not grieving.
As I cut away.
All the pieces of you.
Until no memory remains.
And I wish for this.
To be over it!
I can finally get some rest.
In my chest.
Is a fist-sized mess.
Of who I used to be…

Slowly, I.

Fade away…

The Done Over and Belaboured…

BACKSTORY: “Holochrist” was written by me in 2004. It was intended to have a slot on the Nimbus EP but unfortunately, we just didn’t have room for the track and it was taking far too long to mix it anyway. Now, 17 years later, while I’m still with that same band, I’m also doing a side project with our bassist that isn’t as industrial or progressive metal sounding and with lyrics slightly less profane and enraged. So, as it has come time to actually write new material, under a different mindset, a different light and a much different intention, my first thought drifted back to this piece. And these are the results…

“Turn the other cheek”, want me to believe.
Hard to do, I’d like to feel it coming. (After me!)

Stay sober!
Stay close to me!
Nailed me to your cross.
Kissed with bloody lip-gloss!

Stay coherent!
Want to drill.
Above the by and narrow.
Through the bone and walk on water!

There’s no moral!
Not a chance!
I like the sin too much to quit. (Must admit!)

Don’t like the method, stay away from me!
This is my ugliness, look away!
This is my testament, you I’ve sacrificed!
Tread water, like a hollow christ!

Don’t like yourself, why should I care?
Don’t like the torture, why did you come here?!
You want to suffer, but you wanna breathe!
Fucking Philistines, I swear! (After me!)

I’m no martyr.
I’m not a fool.
To be a savior!
You killed the last one.
With your stones and ridicule!

Don’t like the method, stay away from me!
This is my ugliness, look away!
This is my testament, you I’ve sacrificed!
Tread water, like a hollow christ!

All your idols now.
All digitized.
Ephemeral vessels.
Your Gods are dead now!

You thank what is wrong.
Admire the hate.
Mired by oppression.
Imbalanced chemicals.
Brainwashed by obsession.
Misfired by the sale.

And if given choice…

I would let you fail!

Maybe you like being deader than the rest…

(lex talionis)

Blood At The Jungle…

Ashli Babbitt was a Domestic Terrorist…or was she?

But, we’ve all seen the recent tirade of a deeply deranged woman as well as the video of her fate on January 6th. And, this post isn’t about her role in the insurrection or politics in general. This is about ethics, morality and the constant struggle and conflict internally over someone’s death.

Death is inevitable. Sometimes right and wrong are not.

What Ashli Babbitt did prior to and on January 6th was wrong…but was it inevitable? We can destroy our psyches with past scenarios like Babbitt’s. What happened to lead someone to become rabidly unhinged, to turn against their very own government, citizens and to ultimately die for it? Did anyone try to intervene? Did anyone even notice that her tethers of reality had frayed and broken or that her last hope, her anchor, its chains had snapped and her ship had become lost at sea…at all?

There is, without a doubt, a dire and bleak mental health crisis in America. Worldwide but I can only speak from this nation’s microphone. I’ve yet to live abroad. That changes next year as I emigrate to Switzerland, leaving behind a country tattered, bruised, bleeding from one massive political drive-by after another.

I also realize it takes two to tango. Had help of any kind been offered to her, she would have to be willing to accept it as involuntary commitment seems to be non-existent now. She made her choices, based on whatever she chose to see, hear, read and believe and she died for it.

And that brings me to my point.

Is it justified to label someone who is clearly suffering from delusions, manipulated by media viruses, propaganda and blatant bald-faced lies, someone clearly drowning in an ocean of insanity…is it justified to label that person a Domestic Terrorist if their mind has been warped, contorted and manipulated?

Is it right or wrong to label a person a hateful extremist, without even knowing them? I cannot say with any degree of certainty that Ashli Babbitt was a mean, cruel, sadistic or evil person. I did not know her. I was not around her.

And this is where morality and ethics step in.

I use Twitter throughout my day, usually in breaks or when I need a laugh but to see such remarkable disdain for her leaves me bemused. If you have seen her car ride video, then you know she was completely overcome with rage, animosity and vengeance. I used the term “rabid” earlier. Rabies itself is a lethal virus. I also used the term “media viruses” too. The media, love them, hate them or remain indifferent, they play a role in not narrating our local, nationwide and world view but now, they no longer report it, they Voldemort it into whatever narrative they want you to see and hear.

If you hear that narrative long enough, many will start to believe it. An effect commonly referred to as Stockholm Syndrome and a technique commonly used by gangs, cults and religious sects worldwide to indoctrinate (typically) weak-willed, weak-minded and generally fragile and susceptible people to their agenda(s). To the point that the narrative becomes a veneration, reverence…almost a Dogma for them.

Picture the child of The Manchurian Candidate and MKUltra…

So, we don’t know her. I, personally, know absolutely nothing about her other than she served in our military, won two prestigious awards, got divorced and then remarried in the same year and died gasping for air, all for nothing, all for someone else’s malignant crack pipe dream of a Fascist, Authoritarian Hellscape.

Ethically, morally…and this might be an unpopular opinion but I have a hard time crucifying the dead with names I won’t even use around my friends. Isn’t it ethically wrong to project upon her the same rage and vitriolic fanaticism that she projected on January 6th?


This isn’t a post praising her or defending her. No. In fact, I wholeheartedly condemn every choice and action she made leading up to this and yes, the officer that shot her was 100% fully justified in doing so. She is no saint. She is no hero. She is no martyr. She was a criminal and that’s what happens to criminals, especially violent ones.


I won’t lower my standards and morals so low as to heap hatred on her when quite honestly, she already had her Judgment Day. If this woman deep-fried kittens or stole from sick children or set fire to a Senior Center all because she wanted to, then fine, unload but shitting mountains of hateful insults and names isn’t going to change the fact that justice was already served.

Yeah, I get it, it pisses you off. It pisses me off as well but we live in an unprecedented era of controlled content that is almost always devoid of context so, don’t hate me for speaking the truth, respect me for keeping it real. Honestly, don’t be like “them”. Be better than that. Do better than that. Think better. Act better. Because while you’re looking down on someone with malice, someone is looking up to you and thinking it’s okay.

We don’t know her at all.

And all we know is what they’ve sold us…

It’s Not Brain Surgery…

Hurt By Myself

I wanna run!

Keep my head down.
Keep the body awake.
Find a way out.
My life is at stake!

Break the ankles now.
Throwing the shackles away.
Shake fleas from the doubt.
There’s fuckin’ nothing to say!

I wanna run!
I wanna run!
I wanna run!

Flee the panic, the pain.
Haven’t slept in a year.
Don’t know how I got stained.
With blood that’s not even real!

Don’t know where I have been.
There’s nowhere to turn.
As the walls they close in.
Sweat floods in the eye.
Can’t see from the burn.

I wanna run!
I wanna run!
Away from here!

And how this darkness found me.
Within these blinding halls.
And as the stones are thrown.
Collapse into debris.
And with each bruise.
I find an excuse.
Right straight through the bone.
I regain the memory.
I’m so confused!

I wanna run!
I try to run!
Away from here!
I try to run!
Just disappear!
I wanna run!

Strapped to this bed, now!
Keep my eyes down!
Glued to another syringe!
Cannot be convinced!
(I wanna run!)
I checked myself in!
(I tried to run!)
Until I saw for myself!
(I wanna run!)
The lines with my name!
(Away from here!)
I signed with my own hand!

I Belong here!


Written: 10.25.2019

Don’t tell me how to feel.
Like I don’t know how to grieve.
I’ll tell you when I’m over it.
The nausea’ll pass over.

But I need you, to need me too!
I need this to bleed!
I need you to breathe, for me!
And I am.
And you are.
A false impression, dragging me down!

I think I might have blurred my trends again.
I think I’m being, just a little petulant.
Just need to embrace my sins.
And let it all begin again.

Cross the river.
Rebuild the bridge.
Drop to my bloody knees.
Beg for my redemption.
Or die singing in perfect pitch.

Of an empty vessel?
A paranoid delusional shell?
Phobic and fucking unloved?

Why do I hate me?!
And I refuse your love?
Have I confused my inner twin?
Is it only Ego and Id?

Am I cursed?
Am I blessed?
You’re not impressed.
You know I can fucking tell!

I’ve disappointed again.
And I am sorry.
Please forgive me!
Mourning Glory.

Get out of my way!
I need air to breathe!!
Vermicide’s release!

I’m out of my head.
Better off dead.

I need a minute…
Just one minute…

Now, now I’m ready.

Had a muscle flinch, pulled the knife out,
then I slit my wrist, watched it pour out,
on the bathroom mat, not like you’ll notice,
I’m just a gutter rat!

Roll over watch the light fade!
I remember every fucking word you said to me!
All the abuse, from the fist to my face!
That’s why I’m lying here, with a razor in the fucking

Clean up my fucking mess this time!
All the clots, from the main line!
I’m not giving in!
I’ll tear the sutures out, inch by fucking inch!

I’ve taken your shit for too long.
Self-destruction, there ain’t nothing wrong!
I won’t be your sheep!
Wait until you sleep!
Head high, wrist clinched, and I’m in too deep!!

Take a crimson digit, scrawl it on the wall.
It was written in your name after all!
In a coffin or in a ditch, this mistake,
this life, I’ll bleed ’til the last twitch!

On my own terms, ask the rope burns!
They’re the third degree!
There’s only one way out, you’re not murdering me!
You sloven fat pig, what was wrong with me?!
Fucking you was bestiality!

I need a minute!
I need the fucking sleep!
Okay, I’m steady!
Get the guest room ready!
I’m finally ready!

Cross the river.
Rebuild the bridge.
Drop to my bloody knees.
Beg for my redemption.
Or die singing in perfect pitch!

Hunted By The Angels..

I wasn’t bullied or abused as a kid so my intense self-loathing and inward hatred has to come from somewhere, from something.

There are some places you know you just do not belong but yet you’re there anyway and you have no memory or recollection as to how you arrived whatsoever. How did I get here?

You’re born and then some people make decisions and choices and actually swim somewhere and I’m not entirely different. I make decisions. I make choices. Where I differ is that I have no control over where I’m swimming. My entire life has been perpetually caught in an oceanic undertow. I keep swimming and it takes me wherever it wants to.

I have full control over my decisions but it doesn’t seem to matter. You just hang there in limbo, pummeled and violently thrown head over foot, slowly suffocating but you went into the ocean didn’t you? Why? You knew the risks but you chose anyway because what’s the worst that could happen. You’re waist deep. In control.


You’re not.

We amble through the redundancies of daily life like zombies, lured in by success, fame, money and ego and we don’t even realize that nothing fucking matters. Existence is an undertow. Life throws you wherever it wants to and by the time you realize that you’re either on death’s doorstep or it’s too late to do anything about it. Not that you could anyway.

Power means nothing. Our possessions own us and credit scores and criminal records are Scarlet Letters we will never be able to remove. You can’t please anyone. You can’t make anyone happy either and that dependence or co-dependence on the approval of others bends you to its will.

People come and go from day to day. Some die young and society always says the same trite things. “Taken from this world too soon!”, “A bright flame extinguished!”

Says you.

No one can ever know where a person will end up in life. You think Hitler’s parents ever foresaw their child’s future turning out like that?

God is not perfect. I don’t care what anyone says about that. You can’t blame everything on sin, the Devil or choices because sometimes people are just trash and I think God needs to own up to their mistakes. If God made us in his image, what kind of God is he??

Think about this; merely touching the spinal cord lightly can paralyze a human being permanently. Is God that fucking fragile too?

It doesn’t matter how saintly a person can be for them to trip, fall down an uncovered sewer grate and die. That’s God’s plan? Really?? Happenstance, coincidence and accidents are God’s immaculate plan for Sewer Guy?

Then what’s the fucking point of being alive if everything is in God’s hands. If it’s all predestined and basically scripted, why should I give a shit about other people or other things or politics or even be a good person to myself??

I don’t like the notion of being a Sim in God’s video game.

“But, if you commit suicide you go to Hell!”

Says the bible…sort of. And why do you go to Hell? Because you took control out of God’s hands and fucked up his simulation? So, then if we all have free will, it shouldn’t matter. Now, killing one’s self seems more like a punishment than free will.

No. Go ahead and rationalize it for me. I’ll wait…

No. I’m Not Alright…

How do you communicate to people that you’re not suicidal but don’t want to live anymore?

I know that’s a coarse question to start off with so, let me back up a second.

I’m not suicidal. I don’t want to kill myself. I just don’t want to live anymore. See what I mean? It’s confusing. I’ve tried three times to kill myself already in my lifetime and have either changed my mind or failed. In those cases I was copping out, running away but I’m older and wiser and I know my situation isn’t going to change or suddenly become bright and shiny so, I’m not copping out and running away, I’ve already faced most of my demons and just no longer see the point.

Darkness has always lived in me. I was born into it and I’ve spent more than four decades trying to navigate that darkness and somehow manage to like myself there, let alone love myself in it.

My problems are not really all that different than others and in many cases are far smaller but, you know when you’re watching a movie and about halfway through, you know it’s a shite movie and you’re done, so, you turn it off. That’s where I’m at. I’m done. I don’t like this movie and I would like to turn it off.

I have a medical condition that leaves me in constant physical pain. I live around the clock in depression, severe anxiety and PTSD from a former abusive marriage where I was controlled, emotionally assaulted, physically battered and ultimately raped repeatedly. My ex is responsible for me losing two years of my life after our divorce because of false charges that landed me in jail, before I was exonerated.

My Mother is nearing her finish line, no matter what I try. I’m not running away from that as I’ve lost friends and family to suicides, car wrecks, overdoses, etc. all my life. My job requires me to work with women and children that have been stabbed, abused, raped and almost murdered on a daily basis. That job also requires me to deal with some of the people involved in their abuses. That job is a 24/7 job too and has taken what little emotional depth I had remaining and drained it barren but I’m lucky, in America’s economy to have a job.

America is another issue. We’ve become decadent, psychotic trash and the Republican Party is at the root of it but all we can do is vote? Yeah, nah.

Sure, I have my passport now and could leave this fucking shithole country but will it do any good?

Truth be told, yeah, I’m pretty fucking lonely. I’m not looking for sympathy. It is what it is. Would I like friends that live close enough to be social with on a frequent basis. Yeah, sure.

It’s not a matter of sex either. I’ve been Asexual since my marriage a decade ago and I simply have no interest in it. Would I like to have the company of the opposite sex on a consistent basis. Yes, I would, if I’m honest but it’s highly unlikely.

I’m in a progressive metal band and I love my bandmates like family and while we get along better and tighter than we ever have, I just cannot find the joy in recording music anymore and that makes me feel horrible because they are high as a kite about it. My voice isn’t what it used to be 20 years ago. The technology is different and I don’t feel like learning it. Their talents have grown and improved and I’ve regressed and I’m really not worth anything to them anymore.

I’ve always been a fighter, a survivor. There just comes a time when you can’t physically and emotionally fight anymore. Like, you literally just collapse and I’m at that point.

No, the Pandemic of COVID-19 didn’t help but I was rapidly retreating inward before then and I don’t know if I’m having a psychotic break or if I’ve already had one but…I’m just ready for the nightmare to be over…