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,

Lamentations of a Veganarchist


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


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


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 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 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.


To those who pay attention, humanity is horrid.


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.


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.


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 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.


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.


The River Nigh
The River Nigh


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


“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.”


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


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.


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.


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


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.


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.”




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.


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.


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.


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?


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


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

Thanksgiving 2016

Thanksgiving Grace

Thanksgiving 2016

Well damn, here we are my friends and family. And joining us again this year are Betty-Lu, Bubba-Joe, and ‘Lil Bubba-T. — Get that finger out of your nose boy, and pay attention. No! Don’t put that in your…too late.

As I was ’bout to say, here we are together again to celebrate yet another happy Turkey Day.

–What’s that ‘Lil Bubba-T? The turkey ain’t happy? No, I suspect she never was. But our bellies are ’bout to be.

Anyway, just shut-up and pay attention.

Now, again, as I was saying. It’s that time of year we offer our most humble gratitude to our Lord for bestowing our esteemed forefathers the grit needed to defeat them savage redskin occupiers of this our grate — sorry — I mean, great nation.

Now I ask Y’all. What better way to honor that genocidal season than to pluck from the flock a holy — damn, I mean wholly, innocent and vulnerable fowl, who having spent her entire life in wing-to-wing cramped and foul captivity only to have her innards yanked out her ass and thrown into the deep-fryer.

That reminds me.

Let’s thank the Almighty for the lesson we all learnt ’bout putting said frozen turkey into a kettle of hot boiling grease. By the way, Doc thinks Billy-Bob should be out of the coma and out of the hospital by this time next year. If all goes well. Say’s we should pray his ass grafts adhere to his face prim and proper like.

And speaking of praying, let’s all bow our heads and give our Maker a little spit of our appreciation. Shall we?

Thank you, Lord, for giving this here land of bilk and money, darn-it, I mean milk and honey to us white men, in Your image. And lead us not into– Oh shit! Football’s on. –Amen.

Bitch, fetch Bubba-Jo and me a Budweiser and bring one for ‘Lil Bubba-T so he can wash that taste out of his mouth.

And don’t forget them turkey legs!

America, Where Are You Now?

It doesn’t say who bombed the shelter. Even if it did, it would only be more finger pointing instead of fact. Misinformation and disinformation are the norms, and the USA may well be the leader in that arena.

What we do know is that America provokes and escalates violence and instability throughout the world and therefore is no less culpable.

The video has enlivened in me an emotion lying just beneath a thinning surface: America, where are you now?

The violence that America perpetrates in the name of national security is an elaborate hoax. Wars are the lifeblood of its burgeoning political-corporate-military-industrial complex.

War, as with the oppression of animals, many livelihoods depend on. And thus America has become addicted. A junkie strung out and unreasoned, convinced that war and animal flesh are both good and needed.

This never-ending violence angers me to never-ending.

I joined the USAF near the end of the Vietnam war, a confused young man. I stayed state-side, and so I don’t associate as a Vietnam vet, per se. Nonetheless, the stigma remains. However, the point I’d like to make is this, my final disillusionment in the people of a country I believed at one time desired peace.

Foolishly, I thought peace was the goal. And, I believed it attainable.

I saw the mass demonstrations during the Vietnam war. Young people fled to Canada. People burned their draft cards. Students protested, and four were gunned down at Kent State. The Ohio National Guard willfully turned its guns on unarmed, nonthreatening young American citizens and opened fire, a tragedy now nearly forgotten, known as the May 4 Massacre.

Inside me, I knew that once this war was over America would never fight another. Its people had had enough of war. Enough of sending their sons and daughters off to die in foreign lands. Enough of executing its citizens on the home ground.

Likewise, I knew that when people saw the brutal reality of animal agriculture veganism would become a wave that swept the entire world in compassion.

Was I ever wrong?

War protests are now a blemish on American history.

Animal enslavement has reached epidemic proportions.

The peace and love movement had died a silent, lonely death. Its aging hippies now very much defending the status quo. Trading bell-bottoms and paisley print for suit and tie. Peace for war.

To speak out against war is unpatriotic. To express discontent, the act of a traitor.

War is what we are; it defines us. Violence is what we do, daily in our lives, to the people, to the animals. It is on our plates, literally; and from there its escalation has no end.

And peace? Well, that’s just a word, a concept I can no longer believe in.

Although my bell-bottoms and paisley prints live only in the faded snapshots of an era long ago, I never have nor will I ever own a suit and tie. These are the garments worn by the representatives of Authority. They serve as a constant reminder of oppression and war.

As I write this, as relevant then as now, Steppenwolf’s, Monster, plays in the background and asks, “America, where are you now…Don’t you know we need you? We can’t fight alone against the monster.”


Image: PIA16909 by NASA; Font: Infected by AllencHIU cHIU


I have a God; Her name is Freedom
She has children
Whose names are Vegan
Born to a Savage Planet
Bring sanity to a ruthless world
Mistake not their compassion for weakness
They are strong, courageous
With purpose
Fire kindles their Hearts
They are Vegan
They have a God; Her name is Freedom