E pluribus Unum_ is surely an ironic motto to inscribe on the currency of this Utopia gone bust, for every grotesquely rich American represents property, privileges, and pleasures that have been denied the many. Somewhere a man's hollering about devils and demons. From some other hospital room he's bellowing and screaming about how the niggers and fags are out to get him. You can hear him all over the third floor when he screams, "Get away from me, you cunt!" And his shouting just goes on and on. All I can see are lies. In the middle of all their truth. Everyone clinging and risking to share their worst fear, that their death is coming head-on and the barrel of a gun is pressed against the back of their throats. You wake up at the beach. All those nights I couldn't sleep. God watches us?
We owe almost all our knowledge, not to those who have agreed, but to those who have differed. The existence of a world without God seems to me less absurd than the presence of a God, existing in all his perfection, creating an imperfect man in order to make him run the risk of Hell. As for me, I’ve long resolved not to think whether man created God or God man. Marx was wrong. Religion is not the opiate of the people. Opium suggests something soporific, numbing, dulling. Too often religion has been an aphrodisiac for horror, a Benzedrine for bestiality. At its best it has lifted spirits and raised spires. At its worst it has turned entire civilizations into cemeteries.
And then mother would say “So much garbage will never ever decay and all your garbage will outlive you one day”. Link it to the world link it to yourself stretch it like a birth squeeze the love for what you hide the bitterness inside is growing like the new born then you've seen, seen too much, too young, young soulless is everywhere. Instead, I found a common sense, rational, materialist philosophy, along with theatrical ritual techniques meant as self transformative psychodrama. Here was a tool perfectly suited to my nature as a means for getting the most out of my life. The ambiguity of the fallen truth: one that does not exist at all. The lust for power that kings seek, only to corrupt by sending in his loyal soldiers to reap his bidding
MEN FALL UNREALIZED!
You cannot disguise, All the stomach pains, and the walking of the canes, When you, do come out, and you whisper up to me in your life of tragedy, I cannot grow, till you eat the last of me, oh when will I be free, and you, a parasite, just find another host, just another fool to roast. The world is at large. Within ten minutes you'll be confused and lost. After fifteen minutes you'll panic. But while you're looking for the way out, look for the crypt of truth that has long passed. Martyrdom . . . is the only way in which a man can become famous without ability. To falsify our hope through blindness, we shall never know the true meaning.
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It may be meaningless, but it's certainly powerful--violent, vulgar, and urgent. Feels more like a monologue than a story--a torrent of bile. It's extraordinary how something like this can be composed: I'm assuming that not all the sources were quite as negative overall as the sentences you've excerpted, but here even the most innocuous ('the world is at large') read as unquestionably malicious in interesting ways.
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