The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

December 2, 2002

The WOW! Kick in Texts!

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---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Tue, 3 Dec 2002 02:45:29 -0000
From: furtherfield <>
Subject: [syndicate] The Consent of Murder


The Consent of Murder (A Male pastime).

We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere.
And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow - Ted Bundy.

Exodus 2

12 Glancing this way and that and seeing no one, he killed the Egyptian and
hid him in the sand. (Moses murders an Egyptian)

Exodus 17

13 So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword.

Exodus 21

20 "If a man beats his male or female slave with a rod and the slave dies as
a direct result, he must be punished, 21 but he is not to be punished if the
slave gets up after a day or two, since the slave is his property.

Those so called men, suppozed part of the human (un)kind, murderers of hope,
veilled by power & mediated disguise. Those who have continuously fooled us
whilst in reality being Sinister Shahs and Ministers. Those bloody, bloody
ogres, over eager to kill whoever dares to breath outside of their narrow
sphere of insidious, sadistic and physiological eugenic schemes. Ruling with
hearts cast in iron, disregarding valid dreams that others dare to share and
care to display.

You have shouted the loudest manipulating through funded, bought simulation,
entrapping the hopefuls' air in a mist of perpetual seclusion. Isolation is
relative to your master plan, kissing the chain which holds blue skies
guarded by sentinals that look ahead ignoring progressive pleas.
Assimilation is the two edged delusion which gives voice to the suppressed
to suppress others, it breeds like funghi it breeds like market forces.

Lost is the illusion called peace as all the wars on earth grin cheek to
cheek, war is the beast and we all seem to be riding on it. The greedy man
is exploding, scattering his metaphorical orgazm, externalized debri around,
it's everywhere left for anyone else who comes across it to pick at it. Like
a cancerous sore your deadly cynicism breeds a disease that links into all
our hearts and minds, eating away at our sensibilities.

Your master plan is a master race, soaking up others insecurities to build
up your own outer security, and it shrouds and hides your emptiness. Oh you
infamous didactic seekers of muscle-led admiration, think before you speak,
care before step forward, embrace mutual love before you peak.

Forget your fat socially constructed egos and leave them at home, leave it
aside, open your hearts and minds to the open eyes of hopeful challengers.
Consummation of the metaphorical soul is inbedded deep inside and is losing
space and pace to never ending whimsical acts, consumed, secreted and
rejected. Even the soul is no longer a common goal, control is the main
factor, to function and exist by material justification, no longer hopeful.

Oh you keepers of fortunes that dictate our lives, once you are dead we will
eat all of your food, while you live you consume all the wasted lives. The
pains that have been cast upon faceless sighs, you have dined upon, squeezed
the remaining pips of what is and was left and mashed up a pulp, with video
lives and given us nothing in exchange for our sweat. You stole our spines
and built yourself a backbone.

Beware the confused anger that fires and spits and rips into your spatial
nothingness, into your bloody void - you could avoid, you bloody ogres. You
could avoid, you bloody ogres. 'Don�t hang back with the Brutes!� Tennessee
pleas, and the world does not listen. For the x Dead, the unDead are deaf to
the sounds of those timeless and universal screams that have been asking for
a better world than what these zombies have imposed.

So why do they not listen to the world�s pleas as bodies are blown apart, as
thousands and millions of lives have been cut into numerous disposable
pieces and thus twisted into propaganda fodder?

Why are these facile nihilistic males so hell-bent and content in pursuing
the eradication of others who merely wish to be free from their �dirty harry
go round� whipping parade? Is it because these killers see a truth through
our own eyes, reflecting their own self lies?

Once you have passed over the line there is no coming back. Once you have
signed your name on to that Neo Liberalist �owned� dotted line, you have no
life and you no longer have love, no family, no wife. But you do have power,
and power can bring so much pleasure to the killer of life. After all, what
else is there?

Oh killer of lives, killer of those imaginations that have desired more than
corporate dominated mission statements. How come you are so Dead inside?

I can see, hear and feel your pain.

You externalize your inner pain, causing unrest whilst actively manipulating
our emotional reasoning�s with your (unfortunately) non-refundable and
seemingly non-replaceable insertions and they cut deep. Your wounds are now
our wounds; you hurt others for your own sake carelessly butchering
humanities spirit.

Please come back to life�

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