Apocaplytic noise, the dredges of society pummels through the repetetitive sameness of an inscrutable sound: the sound of banshees, demonaic outcries of lament, but not due to the constant assault of misery, but because of the pure relish of its enjoyment. This is our time, where the inhuman decides to affirm its object-hood. If we are just tools, then let us assemble ourselves like a hideous incestuous creation, a Frankenstein, composed of the past rotting ideologies and revolutionary bodies, we are the new hideous face - so inhuman and despicable in its appearance.
It has been a long time since the brilliant sheen of the guillotine blade has had its malignant glint put to use; but now it is time to clean the dullened blade, resharpen its edges and prepare its use. Heads are going to roll, in a river of gray human sap.
