Post
by Comte de Saint-Germain » Tue Mar 02, 2010 11:54 pm
Oh no, I'm not going to be famous. The advertisement lied to me. Lost generation? A generation of whiny bitches, more like it. I have fought all my life, and I have been fought all my life; by conformism, by people that mocked and derided me to feel a bit better about their own petty insecurities or whatever resentful bitchy-ism drove them to be so petty. In those fights I have never lost and will never lose. I shall trample these zombie hordes underneath my boot-heel and by the end you will know me by the crushing sound of my gait.
I don't need - I don't want a generation. I don't need - I don't want a shallow Eden of sitting around a fire doing nothing that never existed. I need - and I want the taste of blood on my lips, a rifle in my hand, and twenty thousand corpses in my wake. You think barring office doors and fucking a fat woman is anarchy? Where in your petty fantasy is the asthmatic boy who needs the pharmaceutical industry or the Haitian girl depending on relief support? You preach more death and destruction than I do, but because I am vicious, because I enjoy my bayonet - I'm sick, and you're idealistic. I wiggle my toes in the entrails of honourably slain enemies and you sit on your kitchen island whilst the oilblack blood fills your two-thousand dollar tiled floor and I should be stopped just so you, when the Mexican who has less healthcare than your pet has wiped your floor, can go to your bed and turn around at night in your illusory safety.
I'm in your bedroom with an army of hatchet-wielding motherfuckers. We're no generation and we're certainly not lost.
The original arrogant bastard.
Quod tanto impendio absconditur etiam solummodo demonstrare destruere est - Tertullian
