This is War

This is War
Image: Animals Australia

This is war.

I’ve championed peace and struggled against undercurrents for far too long when all along war raced torrents through my veins.

Like screeching banshees clawing their way from Hade’s bowels, I cannot restrain my lust for war any longer.

War has proved the normality of our species and served many, many faithfully well; adding treasures to the coffers of serious self-concern.

To deny war is to deny my manhood as it is to deny our Creator Himself, the Miserable God, and His warring belligerents.

And I am but a lowly, ignorant form.

And so, I yield to the Lordly ways that our species has so aptly adorned.

War shall be my comrade, my pleasure. My desire.

My duty.

Alas! The passive has withered and died and now from the ashes, I rise and cry: Warrior!

My face I paint.

I feel as though the pressing weight of Peaceful Hope has flown from my shoulders.

I can breathe, again.

I am a man, destined and fit to do battle!

The warrior.

And I challenge any who oppose me, fight. Fight as though all you cherish is at risk, as though your very livelihood depends on it. Because it does.

And I will be your formidable opponent, my word.

As our gracious Lords, have demonstrated time and again with their momentous and unmerciful wars of conquest, their farcical wars against drugs, their charade of wars against cancer, their pretense wars against obesity, their fictive wars against poverty, their collaborative wars against crime, their wars against every manner known to God or man, war is by their blessing example, honorable.

And I am an honorable man.

So, comes the time to declare my war, the war against the oppression of the most vulnerable and harmless among us, our fellow sentients. Those that you imagine feel no pain nor harbor desire for life. Those who you humiliate and call animals with contempt in your tone, those whose tortured remains you feast on with the least of concern; those who I’ve vowed their liberty to protect, I call friends. Them you kill or have killed in your name — and in the most horrific and shocking manner.

And for what do they suffer and die?

To feed the Spirit of War.

Innocent blood is on the hands of a rotten humanity wrought from the war slung venom that flows through painless hearts.

Make no mistake, this is a war. Where no bombs explode, no bullets fly no fires rage into the sky no sirens blare no medics care, and no war criminal is ever, ever held to account.

But it is a wickedly merciless endless war nonetheless that murders more earthlings than all other wars combined.

And for this, humanity holds itself blameless, for they are a shameless warring species.

This is war.

The battle of compassion versus cruelty, understanding versus indifference, right versus wrong.

And I am the warrior, wielding the Sword of Words, multi-edged, lightning-sharp, indisputable, and indestructible.

And I challenge you, the enemies of freedom, fight. Fight as though every lie you’ve faithfully accepted from the vomit of Authority depends on it. Because it does.

I am the warrior. Stand ready, this is war.

Simulation Hypothesis

Cosmic Winter Wonderland
Cosmic “Winter” Wonderland — Image via NASA

Of all things in the mighty universe,
the planets, moons, stars, and unfathomed space.
And so many life forms that came to be:
in the forest, hills, plains, mountains, and sea.
Of all inanimate objects there are,
why did I become this man that I am?
A curse, a blessing, my soul’s regressing.
Oh, why couldn’t I just never have been?
Never have end for never had begin!
There are no answers, and yet I drudge on,
knowing well the answer will never dawn.

We have no explanations, only dubious hypotheses to questions of our origin, our purpose if any. Only fools profess to know the unknowable. Myself, I can’t help but wonder, is it all an illusion, the fancy profusion of fake realities? A computer simulation, a binary stimulation? A contest, to see who wins and who loses. Who rises above the cruel and mundane? Then what is the prize awaiting the wise? And what of the fate of the losers?

Simulation Hypothesis

Veil of Illusions

All your life, you’ve been lied to, manipulated, influenced, persuaded, baited, and cajoled to do things you would never have done, to believe things you would never have considered had they left you to your will.

And the worst part, you never had a clue.

That’s how Authority’s mind controlling venoms work, keeping you unaware and assured that you’re free to decide and act on your own while managing your every thought.

The antidote to these governing toxins resides in your willingness to see the freedom entitled every Earthling. Liberty lay just beyond the Veil of Illusions.


Kenmore and Craftsman, pictured above, nicknamed Yoda and Buddy-L. rescued  June 2016, by my son-in-law, Ricky Asmus, from a K-Mart dumpster. Innocent Earthlings discarded as trash by a dreg.

Their eyes closed and their umbilical cords dangled, newborns in a world short on compassion, yet miraculously finding a hero in the Seas of Cruelty.

They are now the equivalent of teenagers, a few months older than the picture; rambunctious, happy and healthy residing with us in our country home.

The Sway of Enlightenment

The Sway of Enlightenment

By The Bright of Knowing

Do your eyes see what others have hidden?
Do your ears hear the pleas of muted cries?
Does your grief reflect what others reject?
Do you comprehend concepts they despise?
Enter you, The Sway of Enlightenment.
Where dregs lie within Tombs of Yesterday.
Where your eyes light by the Bright of Knowing.
Where your ears discern Tones of Awareness.
Where pleasures paid debt to final Sorrows.
There you’ll live in the Sway of Tomorrow,
Today

Lamentations of a Veganarchist

THE ANARCHIST

The anarchist worth their salt must, by virtue of justice, be vegan.

THE ENVIRONMENTALIST

The environmentalist worthy their goal must, by necessity, be vegan.

THE ROAD TO SLAUGHTER

Few know the melancholy, the utter sorrow seething from deep within the souls of compassion, seeing our comrades, their noses pressed hard against the slats for their last and final breath of fresh air, crammed into a hauler on the Road to Slaughter.

IS IT

Is it tolerance or is it surrender?
Is it acceptance or is it cowardice?
Is it bravery or is it bravado?
Is it wisdom or is it vanity?
That you serve.

THE GUARDIAN OF DEATH

The Empire is the Guardian of Death, unremorseful and empowered by its constituency. But let one man kill another, no matter how just, then the Nation will punish him, malign him, and parade him as an aberration to justice, a base murderer, and its society will reproach him as infamy follows him beyond the grave.

ATTENTION

To those who pay attention, humanity is horrid.

AS YOU BREATH

As you breathe, millions of earthlings suffer in unimaginably hideous ways and all by the conceit of our species. Do not for one moment think all is well or improving lest you be lulled into complacency.

BROADER PERSPECTIVE

The evolution of broader perspective is stymied by obsolescence: God, government, culture, tradition, ritual, and petty, selfish, gluttonous concerns. These, the albatrosses of humanity weigh irrevocable on the backs of Liberty and Justice.

VEGANISM

Explaining veganism to a dreg is like explaining the universe to a fish in the ocean. Where dregs swim happily unaware in their Sea of Illusions, where waves of frivolous distractions crash upon the shores of Fragile Morality.

MY ALLEGIANCE

My allegiance is to no religious or political sway. Only to liberty and her innocent do I pledge my loyalty, my life. For I exist as free as any man can who lives under the oppression of Authority. My mind is unruled by the whims of man, his Government of Destruction, and his God of Misery.

DEATH, HER LIBERTY

Some fear death.
But it is this life that corrals my trepidations.
Death then holds my liberty.

The Meat Eater’s Menu

As vegans and vegetarians who visit restaurants know, it’s depressing to read menus vividly describing the cut, battered, fried, and grilled body parts of our friends. We scan the list of horrid realities in hopes to find something suitable to our refined and evolved cruelty-free tastes.

So, to offer these mindless gluttonous flesh-eating fiends a taste of our pain, I’ve deviously devised this fictitious menu specifically tailored to those of a bloodlust persuasion. And any offense taken is hoped for and well deserved. Enjoy.

The Meat Eater’s Menu

Now with extra GMOs and high in sodium and fats in every bite.
Brought to you by, Zombies Unite, a division of Zombies Galore, Inc.

Groin of Redneck

A tender pair of succulent testicles marinated in their own spirits, grilled to perfection. Served with a cut of pickled foreskin.

Bastard Balls

A generous portion of stir-fried jewels served in a crispy nut sack.

Tit of Wench

A full cup of all natural breast, soaked in its own creamy curd.

Wiener of Whoreson

Served on a sesame seed bun smothered with your favorite bodily excrements, limit two.

Callous of Toe

Only the most hardened toes aged in a rich and pungent toe jam. Served with a side of Fungal Toenails.

Nipples of the Sexes

The house specialty. An assortment of nipple chips, battered and deep-fried. Available as an appetizer or as a main course.

Blabbering Tongue

Flame broiled and served steamy hot with a side of chilled cheekbone.

Clogged Arteries

A plateful of clogged and hardened veins and arteries pulled fresh each night.

Tumorous Growth

A ghastly growth straight from the operating table to ours. Served in a bowl of its own zesty juices with your choice of either Fungal Toenails or Pickled Foreskin. (Portion size varies depending on the tumor.)

Joint of Gout

Gnaw on our fresh and reddened-to-perfection flesh, ball and socket for days on end. Available for take-out only.

All rights reserved, Zombies Galore, Inc.

Lamentations

The River Nigh
The River Nigh

BIZARRE

It is a bizarre certainty wherein a self-professing evolved species feasts on the flesh of their fellow sentients.

THE BINDS

“Where do they go when they sleep?” Asked the Providence.
“To the Binds,” Replied the Ebb of Night.
“What is there, in the Binds?” He quizzed her.
“Realities unbound by conventions,” she told him. “Where the laws of physics and tyrants carry no sway.”

THE RIVER NIGH

Blood flows the Crimson through the River Nigh
Where frightened eyes beg, woeful Gods deny
Where steely knives bargain with fleshly hue
Grieving lives bleed sorrow come Crimson due

HUMANITY

If I were to adopt the artful craft of war and destruction, or to dawn the fabulous fashions of coercion and brutality, or to sharpen the edge of cruelty and savagery, then who among you can deny the purity of my humanity? Speak now.

PREROGATIVE

How can I stand with any in their struggle for social justice and human rights when they of such limited vision and grand self-concern ignore the suffering of world’s most “insignificant”? If they cannot take a stand for animal rights, the world’s most vulnerable, then their concerns are the least concerns of mine no matter the ramifications, for they are themselves, despite a magnanimous pretension, a vein feeding the hand of Tyranny.

HAPPINESS

Can happiness exist amid sorrow,
satisfaction aside misery,
laughter among tears?
To the unaware, yes.

HAIKU 666 – 1

When truth seeks sorrow
Those who speak they’d rather kill
Lies birth wretched Gods

BUTCHERTOWN

Wails, wailing like presaging banshees banished from Hell,
bail grotesque from Butchertown.
Where no one cares, no ear hears.
No one laments the bargain-valued flesh cut from Butchertown.

FLY AWAY

If I could, I would fly away
to a cloudland hideaway
Sail a breeze on a swell
Float in solitude there dwell
Far away I’d fly away
and tell below to, “Go to hell.”

Taken

take-a-life

Taken

I don’t understand this world or its people who claim intelligence. Who pretend superiority over Nature and her creatures.

They know nothing.

They are nothing beyond a difficult species who thrive off violence to themselves, to the earthlings, to the planet.

Such an arrogant, selfish lot of myrmidons whose ignorance baffles me to no end. Superstitious and gullible and hateful, all while pretending to Godliness; who fancy themselves a heavenly reward beyond this life, simply for their act of obedience to the God they’ve contrived, which forgives them their crimes of murder and theft.

What manner of insanity drives these people, I fail to comprehend.

When they take an earthling’s life for food, or to wear their skin, or to let their captivity entertain them, then they take something that never belonged to them.

Their thievery is a horrid sort. With ramifications impossible to gauge but obvious to those possessed with the will to see.

Killing, Get It?

Enormous beef plants are designed to process large volumes of arriving cattle. After cattle are stunned, they are bled out on the Cargill production line in Dodge City, Kan. They then go through a "carcass wash;" their hides are removed; and the cattle are cut into pieces. (Keith Myers/The Kansas City Star)
Enormous beef plants are designed to process large volumes of arriving cattle. After cattle are stunned, they are bled out on the Cargill production line in Dodge City, Kan. They then go through a “carcass wash;” their hides are removed; and the cattle are cut into pieces. (Keith Myers/The Kansas City Star) [How lovely.]

Fellow earthlings hang. Excited hearts now pump faintly their last drops of life as blood flows a river inside the abattoir. White-robed overlords oversee with heartless glee the demand the people place upon them.

Killing.

It’s what humans do. I get it, now.

The government gets it. Man, do they ever.

Hunters, anglers, trappers all get it, and they get it well.

Every flesh-eater gets it; they cause it, abnormally so, and to their liking.

The slaughterhouse business is a boom, and they get, and take it all the way to the bank, who gets it.

The prison system gets it, with itchy fingers can’t wait.

Cops and soldiers get it, they signed up to get it.

Kill. Kill. Kill, for fuck’s sake.

It’s everywhere, and it’s 24/7/365.25.

Killing.

No big deal, right? I get it.

But hey, let a news story break, a tragic accident, a natural catastrophe, shooting, people killed, animals hurt. An empathetic twinkle sparks inside an otherwise numb-skull, and suddenly the Androids get all emotional, teary eyed. Heartfelt.

Really?

What the hell?

Somebody got killed.

So what?

Who cares?

Nobody. That’s who.

After their obligatory sorrow drowns in its evanescent grief, everything’s hunky-dory. Enervated emotions are restored. Now back to the business of kill and let kill until the next spate of death hits the public airwaves. Then guess what? Suddenly sparked, fleeting superficialities ignite once again with an emasculated flare-up.

Why bother with silly transitory sentiment?

Killing.

It’s what humans do, by fuck. They KILL!

Rejoice!

Killing, a tradition we can’t live without, by participating within.

The Finale

Death of the Gravedigger Carlos Schwabe [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Death of the Gravedigger, by Carlos Schwabe ~ Public domain Wikimedia Commons

The Finale

The passage of time abbreviates
One year now 1/62
The next 1/63
Condensing into finale
The Finale, clearly

Amplifying abbreviations
Death loses her threat
Pain his menace
Love its callous
Relief edges nearly

A solitary sorrow
For lone suffering
Of those I borrow
Their fate I’ll no longer
Hold dearly