The cold dawn wind and the last murder

Friday, 22 August 2008 By *CAPTAIN_AUSTRALIA*
We are all surrounded by the complete absence of
salvation and worship a mouldy living slime that
is seething with some black, hidden horror. They
say that there are four kinds of oppression that
operate in the black sewers of human abnormality,
but I am afraid of a million dementias trembling
in the supernatural darkness.

People worried about their sorrow and hopelessness
and despair have asked me: Why do you want to
consume the putrid meat of the ego and embrace the
monster's personality while most of all forms of
wealth and freedom we now enjoy are shrinking and
rest upon a fragile philosophic infrastructure?

You ask me to explain why I am the last radio
tuned to the unobtainable glittering prizes and
the ugliness of respectable fraud, and why I
cannot find relief in the narcotic fog of
capitalism and the many fragile illusions of
relativism. I realize now that I somehow took the
wrong path and lost that track winding back to an
old-fashioned shack along the road to nowhere.

Some have looked for the tangible facts, but we
come now to the very edge of the matter while
screaming at the rungless ladders of opportunity.
Boys sobbing in armies. Old men weeping on the
road to Gundagai where the pressure points are.
All praising those who volunteered their labour
for the secret Fifth Reich, dragging themselves
through the reinvigorated participations, looking
for one last chance of enslavement.

They were once beautiful but they have fed upon
the testicles of the great political centipedes
too hungrily. How crude the geometry with which
most of them are crowned, and how sadly the
Murrumbidgee is flowing beneath that sunny sky,
where the last fantastic desperation flung out of
this hellish half-light casts its ballot for
all Eternity.

The Australian people will shortly be going the
extra mile across the tops of their despair,
contemplating those destructive variations in the
melody of their own sickly economic fundamentals.
They respond to foreign shareholders and landlords
as others do to a room full of blood while playing
insane tunes on the spiritual jukebox that
vibrates with the tormented shrieks of the Great
Australian Dream, with its incompetence, timidity,
and the darkness of stupid, formless struggle.

They broke their backs lifting some stupendous
hoax while swallowing the crap from politicians
and billionaires as the destructive juggernaut of
betrayal applied market discipline to the great
suicidal drama of conventions, implanted thought
processes and manners.

There are reasons to believe this coming crisis is
different and bigger than the syntax and measure
of poor human prose would lead us to anticipate.
The symptoms of this disease - they are worse than
the world has ever experienced.

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