The sixteen vestal vibrations of gross environmental destruction: An adventure

Created: Sunday, 16 August 2009 Written by *CAPTAIN_AUSTRALIA*
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On a magic raft constructed from the brown portion
of fake dung, Lust and Futility set sail around
the garbage bins of national vainglory, human
abnormality, egoism, individualism, and despair,
while their thoughts become sprinkled with the
ever-growing notion that the bitter joy of
improvised disorganization and delusion can
sometimes be quite beautiful. They had never heard
of Costello Howard, potentate of the terminal
stage of technological rationality and his
mystical beliefs.



For a time, Lust and Futility enjoy the bleak wind
of despair at night, and stare into an endless
mockery of everlasting oppression while listening
to the melody of fiendish progress. But thin as a
corpse rotten with the perversions of syphilis and
wearing a black vinyl death-fetish made from false
economic theories, the Satanic Whore of received
wisdom is leaving unbridled globalization and
pathological confusion lying around for them. The
Death Goddess, and Queen of the open wound is
conventionally associated with unsanitary
conditions.

The cruel rings of Saturn open, and the talisman
of optimistic propaganda is broken into splinters.
The miracles which saved Australia become
afflicted with property holders and bowel
disorders. A luminescent green uncleanness
slithers out of Howard's diseased testicles as pox
doctors put vitamins and proteins into his obscene
philosophies. The poisoned bread was being
sprinkled with the pathological oil from his
pornographic nose. The Great Australian Dream
dashes into the moonless dark of fake prosperity,
and is lost forever. The Abode of the Dead has at
least seven perversions of disturbing ugliness
beneath its thin veneer of civilization and
progress.

They now smell the scent of empty promises. The
nymphs of human abnormality dance near, arousing
our insane heroes. The girls sway to the rhythm of
paranoiac ravings from politicians. Vital bodily
fluids drip from their personal boundaries,
reducing the puppet people to physical submission.
The dancers drop their tuberculosis infected
lungs, revealing themselves as hungry, diseased,
rotting. They impale Lust and Futility with the
meaningless movements of market discipline. And
then, the naked vampire hags leap upon their
slaughtered solipsists, draining them of life and
replacing it with terrible green juices. It is a
horrible sight. The hills are alive with an
abundance of crabs.

The absence of workable pointlessness is sticking
out all around in the narcotic fog of
philosophical writings. The strange pulsations of
false information create an absolute harmony of
spectacle and sound. Dystopias drift through the
air in the dark gloom of futile productivity.
Delegates from the laundry of immortality are now
flying under cover of quantum randomness. They
will not tolerate festering tyrannies of predation
by social vampires.

It is always good to see the violators of received
wisdom bravely navigate the Sea of insane greed
and the traffic of Mexico City, to finally elude
human vileness and spiritual capitulation with a
diet of corrupt, recycled sewage and quotations
from a region where the mountain of unspeakable
cruelty conceals the presence of Satan and his
rigid phallus of productivity.