Chapter 1: Waste Hate Fuck Machine

I imagine humanity as a festering mass of fecal waste, being pushed through a vaginal wound. I can visualise the waste moving at the speed of a slug which is lost in a concrete jungle, on a boiling hot day. I want to swallow a shotgun shell for breafast, my brains being blown out into the stratosphere, but that would be the easy way about and I'm going out hard no matter what happens. Hard like the solid iron in the center of a black hole, hard like the nipples on a slut in a snowstorm.

In my wildest fantasies I am pumped full of morphine as pigs eat me alive, smashing a babies head to bits with a ten pound sledgehammer. Masturbating as I drop the atom bomb on NYC, vaporizing millions of innocents in a split-second, like pouring hydrocloric acid into an ant hill. Perfection through unnautral selection. Pleasure through pain. Love through hate. In my nightmares there is God, looking up to me from a hole filled with blood and shit and begging for the end to come. With a bullet to the face I willingly crush the spirit of the religious man. He represents the ugliness in this world that make my dreams impossible. Ignorance is his motto, work is his pleasure. "Baaaa," says the metropolitan slave. "Baaaa," says the god-fearing Christian. "Baaaa," says the impressionable new-born. Well, this shepard is locked and loaded, this wolf is ready to cull the herd. Shell after shell bounce off the pavement as I satisfy my lust for the stink of death, for the taste of virgin tears, for the sounds of silence.

For me, satisfaction comes from the stench of burning piles of trash and dead bodies that scrape the sky and fill the air with toxic fuems ultimately leading to unsurmountable epidemics of cancer and the plague, from miles of paved concrete where a beautiful rainforest had once flurished. The pursuit of pleasure through materialistic self denial and mental self-indulgence.