-
How Much More Like Ted Kaczynski Have You Become Since 2010
Select one answer only, with 1 indicating that you are only a bit more like Ted Kaczynski and 5 indicating that you are Ted Kaczynski.
-
Almost Everyone Will Agree That We Live in a Deeply Troubled Society. (A Bit More Like Ted Kaczynski)
-
The security of modern man is in the hands of persons or organizations that are too remote or too large for him to be able personally to influence them. (Somewhat More Like Ted Kaczynski)
-
Some people are so highly socialized that the attempt to think, feel and act morally imposes a severe burden on them. (Significantly More Like Ted Kaczynski)
-
It is not possible to make a LASTING compromise between technology and freedom, because technology is by far the more powerful social force and continually encroaches on freedom through REPEATED compromises. (Becoming Ted Kaczynski)
-
The Industrial Revolution and its Consequences Have Been a Disaster for the Human Race. (Ted Kaczynski)
-
-
Prophet of Doom (Unfinished)
I sought you in hubristic stations
Of our own devoured dimension
Halls condemned with blood and flame
Man’s marvels ruptured and oozing
I felt along the steely walls and
Sat beneath infernal obelisks of
Human ambition and shame
I thought I smelled your wake
As I shrank with fear in the dark
But only I was there. You were not.I sought you in a forgotten fane
Where demons hung in a violet sky
And slithered through a fetid moat
While Cephas wailed forever on the walls
Deep therein I found an angry weapon
Carved and charred on an altar of pain
It rose red from its quivering theca
Birthing stars that fell like hammers
It spoke to me of things I won’t recall
Were you there? Not at all.I sought you in a nighted citadel
Whelmed in the dim cascade of space
There the beasts were frozen through
The gaping walls spat rusted barbs
And pillared rooms hid tomes and death
In its starlit atheneum I read of
Carnage in a thousand sordid futures
And learned the hated truths of existence
My vision white, my crimson gun alight
Ice and iron alike were a mane flowing
Deeper into the brazen fires of Hell
But hide nor hair. You were not there.I sought you in a storm’s blue eye
A place of repose where tortured minds
Wander in vain on spidery legs or
Waft in skulls crowned with noxious fire
I found another weapon there immured
A cannon made by men for Armageddon
God’s open eye, blinking and rolling
A worthy prize of war despoiled twice
My burden now. Mine by bloody right.
It brought the quietus the spirits sought
But you weren’t in peace. All for naught.I sought you in a theater of lies
Where the air was a fecund haze and
The floors were slick with spilled seed
As I crept, guns bared, the wind swelled and
Birthed scores of Hell’s cloven nobles to
Fire the Great Tresspasser in their arena
Under the dread of my twin furies
They fell screaming on their ample guts and
Crawled back to the miasmatic womb
To fetch their father, the Lord Golem
Whose chest I pulped and wrathful arm I siezed
But you? Like the empty breeze.I sought you in a broken place
The churning atrium of Hell’s inmost dens
Where the static crosstalk of hopes lost
Were flies that buzzed in the shifting walls
Digesting mortal clarity with vomit and
Burying the last secret beneath their shit
Long I walked their halls, wrathful arm aloft
My shadow long and sharp, my lips twisted tight
My eyes bright and darting, demons fleeing my sight
I knocked on those walls until Hell turned tail
Revealing a final door in its calcified folds
The walls broke. Beelzebub’s legions coiled skyward
But you weren’t there. I knocked twice.I sought you in Dis, the Cathedral of Doors
The last bastion of inhuman wickedness
Where absolution is sintered with brimstone
And twisted traitors circle the Hellmother backwards
Bemoaning losses they no longer remember
They died again as I arrived, the nave fell silent
Hell above became a crypt, dry and dark and quiet
As the Hellmother rose from her throne of tears
I wrapped my blackened hands around her throat
To squeeze you free from her rancid bosom
She croaked havoc and the doors flew open
All of Hell was bared like her empty breasts
But no god or ghost or demon came to aid her
We were alone, my hands her only dying company
When she went limp I cast her down and ground
Her head against the sulfurous bedrock
Spilling her brains from her eyes
As I had thought, you weren’t inside. -
The Yolks Break (2022)
I’m watching you watching you fry eggs
You need help. You’re full of dread.
Laughter erupts from panicked chambers
You flail the egg-slide as you cackle
The yolks break. That’s ok. -
The Fat Earth (2017)
-
Old World Vulture 5: Amianthus (2015)
Not writer.
The death pollen comes.
Breathe the deep, the friable heap sleep
Free the ants that haul the fibers
That hydra heads into labyrinths
Where all men will lose their wayOutside the mine and into the fear mind
For weaving a salamander blanket,
For bringing night to the sun,
One day no one will know your name again -
Old World Vulture 4: Crocidolite (2015)
Not Writer,
Gypsum in your nose
Fishstick roe
A blow right in the bush
There’s your cut.Teetering atop stacked wishes
Wheezing high, above the dust
Your boots white stuffed stones
Your hands cracked sinksShould man’s hooks become
Secrets you keep and don’t know
Concealed under stiff sheets
Cough.
Be still and wait. -
Old World Vulture 3: Chrysotile (2015)
Not Writer…
What’s a rattlesnake?
The snake I know
Is deathly quiet.Sleeping in your sheets, riding shotgun,
The sex eau of a misstress on your clothes
Clawing underdown your chesty flesh
Posturous playing a cat on a curtain
Flicking its hook tongue in the wool wind.The infidel secret betrayed in a scoring of years
A rattling cough from underneath the bed -
Old World Vulture 2: Amosite (2015)
Not Writer,
What threadt hides here in the walls?
An ibis-white dwellIn exhausted slumber you’ll
Dream to tap plaster
With a ha ha ha merSweating with lathor,
Crawling to the shower
Gliding over
Aught but the hoursA nightmare had thorough
A needle eye
Done like a camel,
Binder hair coarse and black
Pleural fear, knotted back
Tumorous lungs, a heart attack -
Old World Vulture 1: Serpentine (2015)
Not Writer
A cage is mostly empty space
Wobbly mule adder on
Your warp ladder on
Yanking your
Pitied ance from each
joist joist joist joistA cage is mostly empty
Ceiling panic dusting your skin
Brain gray shit from a sinus century
Scraped off with a dead bird footA cage is mostly
The unwatched masses procession
Their gritty eyes long fangs away
Buying your anxious pinewoodBlack brain cud
With your sweat
Sick in your pores
An unwhite elephant -
The Coke of Aquarius (2008)
Abundant aluminum filed in malleable members through the eviscerated Earthly equator.
Corralled between Cancer and Capricorn,
It conquered its constrictions,
Collected corner to corner,
Crafted a cylinder,
Locked its arms,
And lashed with little loquacity at its less encumbered creator.
The sweltering synergy of the center and sun welded it well.
The murdered moon marauded as meteors
And hammered it into a kola completion.Fizzling, frothing, forgotten of fault,
Carbon, concerned, panicked and popped.
Hydrogen halted high at the heavens,
Blocked by the barricade of beaten bauxite.
Phosphorus found it footed by seven,
But by its own journey was too weak to catch it.
Nitrogen never knew of its nuance,
As oxygen offered to operate organized.
Every element, these exclusive, eradicated.
Completely conducive to kola completion…Lime and lemon (partners of plumage)
Eyed an orange as it interloped.
Alcohol attacked with awry agitation.
Cinnamon clubs came as cold litigation.
Calming coriander catered a cease,
But nutmeg naturally negated his notion.
Molded were they, a medical malady,
And marble to carve toward kola completion.The motley mixture met midway
And was wrangled through water with ropes of rust.
Reacting with rigor and rambling refinements,
Nefarious nuclear nothings served something,
And augmented each other, preparing its platform.
The Coke of Aquarius was primed on its haunches
As a tin of trade secrets and celebrity sponsors.
It was launched like a lie into kola completion.A canister catapulted to kola completion;
Exploding, elaborate, effervescent, and effluent.
It accentuates aptly the arm of astrology:
The fantastic font of its foundry’s phalanges.Now it depletes, attractive and ferrous
Flattening fast as The Coke of Aquarius -
Smoke 5: The Gap (2020)
Sandbar bar
I can’t speak Greek
I’m down in the narrow
Trust fall for your feet
Blackbar bar
It’s hard to see
I’m down in the ochre
Becoming the skink
Crowbar bar
Forget about me
Signal the train
Leave me to dream -
Smoke 4: Horse Silence (2020)
Five in the afternoon
The Cairns trip ends like workdays do
Bodies piled high on the airport line
Little bottles of wine glassing glassy eyes
I’m feeling rendered.
My hangover headache whinnies
I look at my luggageConspiring silent, deeply alone
Old Mate’s in the Daintree
Hot soaked to his bones
Punching in numbers on the dirty guide phone
He’s prospecting for gold
He’s prodding for cassowaries
He’s a little disappointed. He’s ready to leave.Five in the afternoon
No longer a traveller, again a commuter
In my mind’s eye I pile stones high
The train lurches with lazy violence
Time only moves when you don’t want it to
I’m feeling forgetful.
Blue light stains what little I remember
I look at my luggage -
Smoke 3: Comedy Is Hard (2020)
It’s smoko but nobody knows.
I’m busy sowing chicken salt
So nothing will grow when I’m gone
I’ve got my glass eyes in so
Leave me alone.The middle distance is best for stress
Third eye theater for the meme pandemic
In that space between there’s not much to see
Unfinite sea.
Empty relief.Trauma shits on your desk where it eats
Then hides in the bush for secret sleep
Perched so close you can see its sunpores
Snoring over the crankum earth
Dreaming erosion, believably distantYou’re sitting alone because comedy’s hard
When Old Mate calls on the big black phone
He’s chewing on leather, he’s all of out boots
He shot all his cattle, his cancer is terminal
Two months he’s been waiting for you
He’s over the moon. It’s dry there too. -
Smoke 2: A Window and You (2020)
Old Mate’s out at Clyde
Treed upside down in the daylight
Hanging over the shadowy valley
Fanning his stones in the smoky summertimeHis pieces fall into the dark when they’re ripe
River trollies roll them to Auburn and onward
They swell unseen in the stock of unsealed Sydney
A secret guarded by the sleeping waterThat’s them and a window and you
Your breath fogs the glass and the train moves
People cough because they ate forbidden fruit
They’ll cough in the office soon
So will you. -
Smoke 1: Sodden Chance (2020)
Everybody at Glenfield is a doppleganger
Maybe you see them standing around a couple of times
Sleepy evils replacing themselves
Alone in the morning, bereaved of their lives
Toeing the braille-yellow line and
Contemplating the empty corridor as the floodwaters fall
Bad omens.
Then you die.And you wait because
Old Mate’s stuck on a train
Between Wynyard and Circular Quay
Watching replacement ferries prod their darlings
He’s shoulder-to-shoulder and all elbows
His grain scythe is a bicycle
He’s blocking the stairs and blasting trap music
He smells like a century egg and he can’t get to work
Because today someone tapped off for the final time
$6.78. And you wait. -
Silver Bullet (2012)
The End of August hammered rocks in the night
It rattled chains and moaned and wore a sheet
It crept closer until it thumped on my foyer at dawn
I rose from the bed and feigned fear
As Autumn ground against the glass of my doorThe silver thermos loomed tall on the counter
A warning monument to big stick diplomacy
Something inside sloshed as I raised it
A time capsule thick with ancient stimulants
Cracked open punctually, way too god damn earlyIt took clenched teeth and Eastwood eyes
To scare the stopper into twisting out
So I might behold the life inside
Evolving in this sealed coffee ecosystem
I feared for a vengeful, pestilent jungleAfter a masked hour of scrubbing and scouring
With bleach and steel and lye and violent instinct
I destroyed the final stains with a blast from the garden hose
The thermos was purged and ready
To fill with the burning hair of the dog that bit me
As Autumn ground against the glass of my door -
Sealed Door (2019)
The sorcerer vanishes out the back door
Everyone looks. He chants spells as he goes.
Don’t do dumb shit and keep the damn screen closed!
The sorcerer vanishes flop-step down the path
Eye choosing weeds to later feed poison
Stubbing his toes on the corners of bricks
The sorcerer vanishes past the Crankum Gate
Into the Sheet Sanctum, a placid dark bright place
Where old Sun keeps his sweatiest grudges and
Sorcerer’s stroke signs point to peacementSorcerer’s spiders descend to menace the Gate
Custodial men without fathers or scruples
No one dares to twist the lock inside or out
For spindles and needles and netting and nod
He within hides under work’s nose, the sorcerer vanishes
Those without descend from order and love loudly
He within hides in the Sun’s black eye, the sorcerer vanishes
Those without knock-knock-knock for a powerful man
Everyone looks. The sorcerer vanishes. -
Blue Water Stranger (2020)
In my dream Todd Howard was a huge
Golem made of discorporate fat mothers
Them and their hands on their pearls
They mewled and bubbled under his mortarskin like
Traitors frozen in Cocytus
Just working despiteWest Virginia got flatter as Howard devoured
Ancient, inadequate Appalachia
Hanging down from almost heaven he
Hooked mountaintops into his mountaindew mouthLucky nobody was there but me and
I was just having a dream -
Lost Shotgun (2020)
You left yourself between the wall and the bed
Wedged in the dark so the kids wouldn’t find you
Filled with lead, quiet and fire-primed
Your choked black smile was peace
Or was it a threat?
I do not remember
I cannot forget -
Veil Burner (2022)
I imagine us on a boat of muggy weather
You tell me your mother was a feathered mariner
A good omen over the suncurve, she died giving birth
So all up the seaboard, that’s your comefrom
You’re a veil burner, a pink evening sun
I imagine myself dry ice clouding the deck
I’m unseen with feet in the water, crypsislike
For my father was a painted snipe and
I’m in the reeds no matter where I seem
Toes dipped, wings tense, ready to leap
That’s not even it.
Outside of me we’re raking leaves
In an autumn crisp and ancient
When we have a big pile we jump in
I don’t think we’re children
I can’t be sure
Fall must fills our crowsfeet
We meet the most charming scorpions
You are pure and high and smooth
The speckleblue Egg-See
I am your heathentooth
subscribe via RSS