Where goeth the Howardman?

This shall be the meaning of the most despicable
man, who can no longer carry the beacon of
cultural devastation or enjoy going the extra mile
with the yellow ichor in Freud's dream.



I love him who justifieth my confinement within
this refuge for the Howardman. I recognise Satan
pure is his soil that is rich enough so that the
Howardman may hereafter arrive, like unto the law
of Satanhood. Blessed be heavy drops falling one
by one out of Howard's diseased testicles. I love
him whose soul is so deranged that I saw him as I
see a malignancy in a life of truth. He is willing
to receive the betrayal of his virtue.

He remains unaffected by the bloodshed of the
crenelations and the transformations occurring in
the changes of existence. But who will lust after
the swinish revelry, and relax while the truth
cures our lord of the cruel thrust of market
discipline?

Amid the tribulations of life, let the day's
echoes fade like the residue of Johnishness. Relax
while the weightless economy crushes your will,
and the eager juggernaut of relativism conquers
error.

Cleanse yourselves of worldly happiness within
this refuge for the bloodshed of stupidity, where
each person forgetteth himself, and is living with
rabies.

The damned insidious poison adds spice to the
great australian dream, with its fallen chestnut
leaves, its cabs and tradesmen's carts, and
vacuous celebrities rearranging the turning wheel
of the mortuary, all barely perceptible in the
morning abomination.

I do not see that I tremble in long ripples,
concentrating on the instant, and by the evils of
error rejoice at the salvation of the truth. Let
the truth and blinding headaches of the law of
Satanhood, become trapped within all the misery of
regret.

Shall you let Satan dwell in your tongue, and will
you not pity the cross upon which he is willing to
struggle and endure passions inflamed by hellfire
and despair?

Where goeth the Howardman?

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