| Many times I have been asked, «what is the axis?»
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| They ask me, too blinded to realize that they see it everywhere
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| Our world is becoming diseased and corrupted
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| Filth — adorned as compulsively, without choice to subvert our world
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| To the image of our increasingly debased flesh
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| Because our collective conciousness knows the truth:
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| You want it, you crave it. |
| This is a new order of beauty
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| Why else would we pollute and rape our planet if not
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| To ritually prepare the world for the coming darkness?
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| We are the architects of our own hell, and we do our work with relish and …
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| , willingly, eager. |
| We grovel, unseeing, towards a repulsive yet horribly
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| attractive (alto choir) of rust, helplessly begging it to come to our dying
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| existence; |
| our perception in turn models our requirement, …. |
| Filth,
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| adorned through our fear and self-loathing until the nearest molecule rise to
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| be accumulated, wreaking of despair, and guilt
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| Humanity’s hideous grossness fell through, … conscience. |
| Get the new reality
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| and cries in agony for there is something awake in our burnished flesh.
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| For the dark. |
| Nightmares immerse themselves, quivering and mewling without
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| mouths. |
| Gazing, stupefied, where eyes should not. |
| The world will become a sewer.
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| We stumble through derelict cooridors and labyrinths of crusted flesh where
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| wheelchairs circle endlessly in the shadows, to a choir of murmorous and
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| tortured cries speaking only of pain, condemnation, misery, and wretched hunger.
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| Hospital trolleys drip with glistening cloth in the hallway of crawling filth,
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| lying silent and bloated
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| Crossing through the boundaries of our world into the encroaching horror of the
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| transition that we know, we know that the end will come. |
| This is it — you know
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| this. |
| I now have called a clinical cacoon of abnormality, and yearn towards the
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| warmth of rot. |
| …. |
| Even as we gag, the air reaks with the unpleasant
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| sweetness of dated decay as we stagger through the maze of perdition toward its
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| pneumatical centre. |
| Straight-jacketed things writhe in their owns nightmares,
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| gradually becoming human. |
| Even as we claw down the abyss, to raise that (fog).
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| As they become us we become them — a union of suffering. |
| All convulsive dark
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| in the end. |
| The hell we have created for ourselves …. |
| You had a choice,
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| you made it, and now your fate unfolds before you
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| Welcome. |
| What is the axis?
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| We are |