The Adversary

The examination of Job, Satan pours on the plagues of Job, by William Blake. Illustration was made c. 1821.
The examination of Job, Satan pours on the plagues of Job, by William Blake. Illustration was made c. 1821. Public Domain

The Adversary

In a comment to an article, someone wrote (the same trite nonsense people often say to animal activists) that we should do more for our species than we do for animals. Oh, they of little understanding, exasperating. My reply, “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not on your side.”

I am the opposition. The enemy, the adversary of humanity.

And do you know why? Well, I’ll tell you why.

Because…

People start wars. But that’s the least of it. The result of their moral turmoil.

People are liars, cheaters, thieves, and cutthroats.

People are rapists, thugs, murderers, pervs and child abusers.

People are opportunists of no ethical conscience.

People enslave and destroy one another, the animals, and the earth.

People pit earthling against earthling in life to death battles: cock fights, bull fights, dog fights, any fight or representation of war will do, it doesn’t matter.

People cut the fins off sharks and throw the shark back into the ocean to die slowly, painfully, and helpless at the bottom of the sea. Fin soup for an expression of love.

People set dogs on fire, for kicks.

People put firecrackers up cats’ asses, for amusement.

People boil lobsters alive.

People pull the wings off flies.

People imprison animals in cages to delight themselves.

People dissect live animals to “better understand them.”

People brutally bludgeon seals and dolphins to death in a sea of blood.

People skin, shear, and rip the fur, feathers, and hide off live animals without a second’s thought.

People pound pigs to death with pipes. Because they want to eat them. Any means justifies the ends. Or does it?

People are deviously greedy, selfish, hateful, and gluttonous to an infinite degree.

And there you have it, my reasons for being, The Adversary.

But my list is by no means complete. The evil that humanity does and is willingly capable of would take the digital space the equivalent size of Jupiter to record. And then spill over into the endless abyss.

So, don’t ever, ever lecture me to do more for people than animals. And don’t ever mention the fleeting good humans are capable of. I’m sick of hearing it. It’s all mindlessly obligatory and self-ingratiating if it’s anything at all. And all so damnably overshadowed by the impenetrable darkness of their soul.

No, I’m not on your side, humanity.

You can’t possible get what you deserve. So, until you transmute — as few have done — into that lovingly caring heart-filled species you fancy yourselves to be, consider me your foe.

Because I am, you created me.

Now you must live with the wrath of my aim: To undermine your craft at every twist and turn, at every inkling of opportunity. This is war.

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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.

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.

Comparing Us to Animals?

The Animals
Image credit: Unknown. But whoever the artist, they did a mighty fine job. Kudos.

Us and Them, Let’s See

Who hasn’t heard numerous times before that, “You can’t compare humans to animals. That’s ridiculous.”

For example, you can’t compare the Jewish Holocaust with the animal holocaust or black slavery to the slavery of animals. Or, simply human suffering to animal suffering.

I agree, it’s preposterous.

It’s belittling.

No valid comparison can a rational person conjure.

What demented reasoning defies logic to suggest an identity between the two? Ha!

Double Ha!

What possible presentation could infer equality? Only, lunacy.

Who contests we have no equal? Who dare?

What animal, ever, in its existence, possessed the indispensable disposition to initiated a war. None! Damn you, I say, none.

What animal able of producing massive amounts of disposables to overload the landfills and fill the mighty oceans? Yes, only us, and us alone!

What animal ever invented machinery able to pollute the air, water, and land with such ease and indifference? The mere utterance, asinine.

What animal capable of creating genetically modified organisms, medicines, chemicals, and poisons able to sicken and disease every living organism? Oh phew!

What animal maliciously harms another? Rape? Murder? Steal? Lie? Cheat? Grab a pussy?

What other being commands such convoluted communication skills as to sow ambiguity and dubiety into every syllable? Bark, bark. Meow, meow. Moo, moo. Really?

What animal ever watched Jerry Springer?

What animal willingly surrenders their freedom to empower an Authoritarian Overlord? A government they bow to? And then willingly pays this Determining Absolute the fruit of their labors? Come-on.

What animal creates imaginary Gods to give license to injustice? Damn you; they have no such imaginings. Thank God.

Now, who fancies any animal even remotely capable of such atrocities as the Holocaust, or that of black slavery, or the genocide of whole native populations, or the extinctions of entire species, or animal agriculture? None!

How dare any dunderhead compare us to the animals. Idiots.

Why I Write

Loving mother and calf. Source Mercy for Animals http://www.mercyforanimals.org/
Loving Mother and Calf

Why I Write

I write for change.

I write to free the slaves.

I write to expose the criminals.

I write to protect the innocent.

I write to denounce the guilty.

I write to reveal cruelty.

I write for the voiceless.

I write for freedom.

I write for peace.

I write as though all the world is reading.

As if, all the world cared.

Changed

They tell me I’ve changed,

but they don’t know the half.

They say I’ve lost my mind,

but it was never mine to begin.

—At an art fair in Southern Indiana

artists peddle their overpriced wares, nice as they are,

to the interested disinterested masses

who will go home carrying mostly what they came with.

There’s a fat, red-faced white man wearing a bow tie and straw hat,

his shirt wet with salty sweat,

holding the reins to his horse-drawn carriage,

sitting beneath the shade of the built-in canopy,

while his slave horses bake in the sun on the hot pavement

beside God’s Christian church where they’re serving chicken breasts

to the old folks bused in from who-the-fuck-knows-where.

(Little do any of these, the old fat fucker, or God even care as long as they all get what they came for: money, a meal, obedience.)

A racially mixed crowd marches through the streets protesting the KKK,

who are protesting Goddamn knows what.

However, the straight-piped Harleys drown them both out

in a sea of roaring CCs, with attitudes to match.

Thick smoke drifts up in the hot still air from the food corridor,

where folks revel on the flesh of my friends,

invading like a mob in a creepy zombie film show,

immersing clothes, hair, and eyes in a rancid haze

nauseating the senses of the sensitive,

while I buy six dollars a bar, handmade soap

—only because it’s vegan.

A few miles down, in middle of the road, a deer lies slowly dying,

her legs twitch, her eyes alert.

Hit by a distracted driver posting selfies to Instagram—

because the bitch thinks she’s special and can.

With 4000+ faux Facebook friends, what other possible conclusion is there?

Well, I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.

The Millennial’s mother told her, she was special,

and so she believes it.

Well, she’s not and neither are you.

—Unless you’re doing something special, you’re just another

run-of-the-mill, bottom-dwelling crap-sucker

sucking hind tit off an Empire struggling

to defeat 30,000 Taliban

while it taunts a billion Chinese

and a million Russians into war,

set to the music of a nuclear finale.

But still, its dutiful citizens pledge allegiance.

(Except for a handful down on one knee.)

And the nation prepares to make it all better

by voting to be, “Stronger Together.”

A megalomaniac on one side a psychopath on the other,

take your pick, red or blue, it doesn’t fucking matter.

Meanwhile a white teenager, his hair in dreadlocks,

takes a brow beating from a black girl, her hair in dreadlocks,

both look hip as shit, but accusing him of

“Cultural Appropriation.”

What the fuck?

Who starts all this confrontational interpretation?

In my time, and I know that’s irrelevant,

it was that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery.

No more, now it’s a personal affront.

Another goddamn wedge forced between people

pretending to fight for social justice,

while they rob liquor stores and steal TVs

from their own neighborhood establishments.

And nobody realizes they’re being played to the hilt,

by an elite who’s dead-set on destroying us all for a trillion bucks,

and the power to match.

…they say I’ve changed.

Fear Sells

They say sex sells.

Perhaps, a trifle.

However, nothing outsells fear, and each fear has something significant to sell, tangible and otherwise.

The fear of war.
The fear of peace.
The fear of death.
The fear of hell.
The fear of gods.
The fear of devils.
The fear of jail.
The fear of disease.
The fear of growing old.
The fear of going bald.
The fear of growing fat.
The fear of ridicule.
The fear of loneliness.
The fear of terrorism.
The fear of the weather.
The fear of loss.
The fear of failure.
The fear of success.
The fear of sexual impotence.
The fear of the future.
The fear of foreigners.
The fear of gays.
The fear of blacks.
The fear of yellows.
The fear of reds.
The fear of browns.
The fear of whites.
The fear of men.
The fear of women.
The fear of insects.
The fear of animals.
The fear of protein deficiency.
The fear of calcium deficiency.
The fear of vitamin deficiency.
The fear of Veganism.

We live in a world predicated on fear.

As for me? I’m fearless.

God of Abraham

Amen - The Creation of Adam Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Creation_of_Adam

Once upon a time, I believed that God, the cruel and vengeful God of Abraham, wasn’t real.[1]

I was wrong.

He is real.

And he is very, very influential. Although, like Santa Claus, he exists as an idea entirely in the mind of the believer or dupe.

But this doesn’t make him or any other imaginary subservient fascination any less real, any less powerful, or any less dangerous.

In fact, the opposite is true.

Being there are no limits to the creations of the imagination and while capable of great good, does, on the other hand, give the faithful freedom to imagine their God endowed with all the inclinations and motives, prejudices and fears of their manner. Thus, they sanction their objectives no matter how diabolical with the ultimate reassurance of divine authority.[2]

Then if, by some strange twist they stumble on remorse they then have this creation to ease their conscience and forgive their transgressions.

It doesn’t get any more real than that.

Making this, the contrary and temperamental God of Abraham, the most powerful and self-sustaining notion known in the history of humankind.[3]

And, in a very real sense, an impossible deity to deny.

[1] Cruelty and Violence in the Bible http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/cruelty/long.html (accessed May 10, 2016)

[2] Who’s killing the bloggers http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/09/world/asia/bangladesh-killings-bloggers.html (accessed June 9, 2016)

[3] Injustice in the Bible http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/inj/long.html

The Hypocritical Oaf

The hypocritical oaf

Squeamish at the sight of blood

shudders at the stench of death

cringes at the sight of suffering

shits himself on the thought of pain

And yet . . .

yet bloody death, suffering, and pain

is his everyday repertoire –

(lock, stock, and barrel)

In every bite,

piled high on his plate

woven in the fabrics he sports

tested on the products he selects

epidemic in the government he elects

rampant in the brands his shallow ego protects –

He is microcosm, self-entitled mini-capitalist-warmonger-tyrant

this squealing potbellied armchair aspirant

Tho’ he’s easily spooked by nightly news

where the on-scene reporter,

her mock expression to match,

tells of gangsta/terrorist/calamity just past

As he swaddles in blanket sipping whiskey ‘n ice

cozy by the fire he offers his advice

But first, the obligation of sympathy

(a bowed head and a blessing)

for this all-too-soon forgotten tragedy

and its hapless faceless victims

(whom he only pretends to care for)

He’s happy to be the one secure at home,

safe behind his bolted door

(where he has 911 on speed dial)

“What’s the world coming to!” he decries aloud

(shaking his fist to an imaginary crowd)

though he never considers (not for a moment) the disavowed

And so he advocates, pontificates

for more authority,

more police,

more security,

more goddamn gun control,

more prisons,

more laws,

But never,

never, does he consider the underlying cause –

this hypocritical oaf

MiSfiTs

Reading the wall, that’s all.

Bombs fall

Missiles fly

Drones buzz (the sky)

Satellites spy

Media sing

Bullets zing

Mothers moan

Fathers groan

Patriots whoop ‘n holler (for God and country)

As another one bites the dust

on the streets, on the fields, in the slaughterhouses

. . . by a damnable fog of lust

And ALL hail the Kings of D.C. (‘n their God, wherever he be)

Meanwhile, elsewhere and everywhere . . .  unseen (on evening news)

Blood flows rivers

Another soldier dies

Another soldier kills

Another civilian cries

Another civilian thrills

Another mindless zombie served his carcinogenic due

from a fast-food drive-thru

in the World of Incongruity

And I wonder why (but, do they ever?)

Why peace is just a word

scrawled on a bathroom wall

beside the number to call

for a good time

Hello . . . hello . . . is this . . .

Is this our just deserves?

It does appear so . . .

Tho’ I doubt they know

the insincere earnest

of this patriarchal sternest

This blast from the past

that they welcome with open arms, and shuttered minds

Keepin’ it all in tune ‘n time

every Sunday, while the church bells chime

(’cause it’s the way it’s always been done, my son)

Killing, killing, killing, and all for the taste ‘n fun

But! in the midst of it all . . .

Lo and behold and O shit –

there we are, the MiSfiT

‘em crazy motherfuckers

‘n stupidly suckers

thinkin’ we can change a world, with a heartfelt care, (not a pray)

and a blog? (Who said the pen is mightier than the sword? Really? Then when they take my pen can I keep my sword?)

Well, this is It — I’m afraid

It doesn’t get any better from here

It’s ALL the way it’s supposed to stay!

Yet it all sounds so very queer

Killing, killing, killing, and all for the taste ‘n fun

’cause that’s the way most like it to stay

in the world they’ve conquered ‘n won

And us?

We’re MiSfiTs

Round pegs, square holes

A couple of pesky weirdos