still short of a few hatreds.
But I'm certain they exist."
What is so seductive about Communism, in fact its major advantage, is
that at last it'll unmask Man! Strip him bare of his "excuses." For centuries
he's been leading us down the garden path, going on about his instincts,
his sufferings, his fantabulous inventions... giving us anything we want
to dream about... it's impossible to comprehend to what lengths this jerk
will go to tell lies to us... There's no way you can know! Hidden snugly
as he is, well out of sight, behind the Grand Alibi. "Be Exploited by
the Strongest!" It's an irrefutable reason to do what you want... call
him a Martyr of the Abhorrent System! He's a veritable Jesus!
"I am, as you are, as he is! We're all being
Away with this imposture! Away with this
abomination! Come, Johnny Lunchbox, throw off your shackles! Come on you
ninny, get up on your feet! This can't go on! Stop hiding your light beneath
a bushel! Show us your happy face! Let's look you over! Let's admire you!
From top to bottom! We want to discover the poetry in you, at last we'll
have time to love you for yourself! Good God, so much the better! The
sooner the better! Kill off the Bosses! On the double! They're stinking
rejects! Move it! Do them in altogether or one by one. Pronto, Subito!
Recta! Show no mercy, not for a moment! Put them to death, kindly or atrociously.
I don't give a damn! I'm shivering in Expectation! Let not a cent be spent
on conciliating the breed! Down with the jackals, down into a mass grave.
Pitch them into the sewers! No half measures, now! Did these hairy handed
monsters ever spare the life of a single frail hostage held to good King
Profit? No, no naivete! No way Jos»! Spot any laggards? Sniff 'em out
and knock 'em off! What has to be done has to be done! The Struggle has
arrived... There'll be no two ways about it... And why not? They don't
even make you laugh! They're unbelievably stupid and clumsy. You'll only
get a laugh out of them if you roll them over!
Don't count on me to shed a tear over their
stinking carcasses, you have my oath on it!... Make no mistakes about
this, let's not put things off! No remorse! No weeping! No sighs! It won't
cost a wooden nickel! So at that price it's a bargain! Bellow out the
Angelus... Watch them croak... it'll be like honey... candy, yum
yum! Give me! Give me! Now that's what I like!
One evil night for you, my carrion you
I'm going to kill you!
Plant two black holes where your eyes used
Your stinking soul will join death's dance!
They're going to turn out by the thousands
Watch you at the graveyard of Bons Enfants!
These lively lyrics go dancing through my
head... so I'm giving them to you all free of charge, along with the melody
of "the Slaughter House Hymn"...
Don't you worry, it'll be alright
One goes off, lovely number one
Number two comes back!
That's what our joyous bridge-builders used
to sing out together! "Tread it down! Let's tread it down! Stamp! Stamp!
Stamp it out!" This timely disease! To cure it they'll have to knock off
the whole race... You have to go back to biblical times to find such a
cunning, obscene and degrading plague as the one visited upon us by this
clinging bourgeois grasp. Never has there been a class so hypocritically
tyrannical, rapacious and priggish! A bunch of moralizers and skirt chasers!
Every one of 'em! Stoney faced when faced with the sorrows of others,
and weepers for themselves in the night. With an unquenchable thirst!
Anchored like pubic crabs to their privileges! None sharper or more ruthless.
None more anemic either! Totally attached to riches signifying nothing-in
sum, total shits!
Long live Peter the Great! Long life to
Louis XIV! Up with Fouquet! Genghis Khan, ten thousand years! Up with
Bonnot-and all his gang! And anybody else for that matter! But weep ye
no tears for Landru! Because every bourgeois has got some Landru in him.
It's sad, isn't it? And there's nothing to be done about it either! The
revolution of '93, in my opinion, was the work of the lackies! Lackies
who took everything word for word, lackies who vociferated, lackies of
the pen, who, one fine night, took over the castle, all of them crazed
by jealousy, raving, riddled by envy, they pillage, slaughter, and then
settled in to count up the sugar, the sheets, the cutlery... they inventory
everything... they were never able to stop. The guillotine was an accounting
office... on they go counting up the sugar lumps till they die... mesmerized
by the lumps! You wouldn't even have to hunt them down to kill them-you'll
always find them in the same place-down there in the kitchen, counting.
They're still there. What can they lose by it! You can't take this pack
of windy, intellectual, impressionist, confusionist, leftist, unreconstructed,
conservative hair-splitting arguers-all of them up to the gills in ulterior
motives-seriously! One look is enough. They'll go where you tell them
to go. After the smell of lucre! Onto the soap-box! Don't count on them
to redeem the titanic stupidity, the chrome-covered filth of the herd
these thoroughbred whores are dripping all over the place. Throw the miserable
wretches down the sewers... let's hear no more of them! And the other
ones over the road, the "righters of wrongs," earning 75,000 francs a
year. They're no better! To be seen shoulder to shoulder with the People
at the moment is already a piece of insurance... if you possess a Jewish
turn of mind you can convert it into life-insurance. It's perfectly understandable.
What difference, I ask you, is there, say,
between Cultural Centers and the Acad»mie Franˇaise? They share the same
narcissism, narrowness of mind, they're equally impotent and just as vacuous,
both of them, they both babble on. The only thing they'll differ in will
be their choice of clich»s. Every one of them is a conformist, likes being
buttered up, and churns out the same old things-a perfect example of "as
above, so below!"
As for the great Spring Cleaning, count
on it happening any month now! It won't be long! Rejoice! Prepare the
Chopping off heads is an easy solution!
To knock off an entire class! Anyway, we only break down open doors and
worm-ridden ones at that! It's easier than hitting targets at a shooting
gallery! A bit of natural well-earned glory! The "little man" justly getting
his revenge! Justly rewarded a thousand fold, and why not? The starvelings
of the earth need a bit of a rest, right!?
But shit! Couldn't it have happened earlier?
The blood bath seemed as logical as mother's milk trickling from your
If you're rich we'll blow you away!
tra tra tra alay (sic)
We'll stuff your asses hey hey!
The cannon-fire will say
That's the heart of the matter! Who can
do better than that? Now that Johnny Lunchbox has shucked off his shackles,
how can he go wrong? The whole band is going to be playing along as he
marches forward-fifes, drums and all! The mines belong to him! Along with
the factories and the vineyard and the vine! You can throw in the prisons
too while you're at it. Open your mouth, close your eyes and, gloop! Down
it goes! Along with the banks, that's the cake with icing on top! We're
on our own now! Let's put our backs into it! Johnny Lunchbox is now totally
in charge of the flock's happiness! Miners! The mines are yours! Down
you go! No more need to strike, mind you. No more moans and complaints.
You might only be making fifteen francs a day but at least they're yours!
You can't deny it... straightaway they start
baring their teeth... the lackey smelling no sweeter than the master,
alas! The man at the bottom has an innate taste for gossip. He has to
be excused-there's nothing that can't be put right! ... but fifty centuries
of slavery have engendered some unpleasant instincts... and oh how they
come bubbling to the surface!... in even better shape than before. Watch
out now! Having been History's prime victim doesn't mean that you're an
angel. That would be too much to expect! Nonetheless that's what everyone
imagines-they're unshakable on the subject-"If I lie I hope to die!" "You
are what you eat!"-clever old Engels came up with that one!... Lying through
his teeth, naturally. Man is greater than the sum of his murky, gobbling
self. Look further than just at his entrails, look at his lovely little
brain. The discoveries to be made are unending... and if you want to change
what's inside he'll need some training! But can he be trained? What system
can train him? He'll always find a way around the checks and controls!
He'll find a way to slink off-he's pretty good at that. You'll have to
be on your toes to catch him in the act. And in the end who cares? Life's
too short! Spouting morality doesn't actually mean you have to do anything
concrete. It makes them look up to you. Hides who your are. There's never
been an asshole in love with preaching! The more cunning they are, the
more they'll spout off! And when it comes down to flattery... It's every
man for himself! They can go on denying it 'till they're black in the
face, but the Communist program is completely materialistic! The demands
of a brute for the use of brutes. Grub! And don't take your eyes off Marx's
fat portrait! It wouldn't be so hard if they actually got to eat something...
but what's happened is precisely the opposite. The people are now King!
And the King skips meals! The King has everything! And goes shirtless!
I'm referring to Russia. In Leningrad, they line up around the hotels
to buy anything from your shirt to your hat, if you're a tourist. A deep
seated individualism leads the hoax, undermining everything, all-corrupting...
An embittered, blind, grumbling, perceptive egotism corrupting this atrocious
misery, suppurating, stinking, ever and ever ranker. You can tie these
individuals together, but they'll never mix.
If Communist existence is existence set
to music-even more infuriating, more run down, sadder, and more bastardly
than here-then everyone has to join in the dance-even the lame.
If you can't dance
then you've murmured your confession
To some vile disgrace...
It's the end of all shame, of silence, of
cruddy bad tempers, a dance where everybody-absolutely everybody-joins
in. There'll be no more socially handicapped, no one earning less than
anybody else. Let everybody join the dance!
Russia has mechanics to nourish the spirit,
to express its joy. What a timely discovery! It's the promised land! Salvation
at last! You'd have to be an intellectual lost among the Fine Arts! Wrapped
in the most beautiful paper, protected by cotton, hidden away for centuries,
a tiny, fragile but ripened grape hanging upon the trellis of the civil
service, a tender fruit, ripened by the sun, and the taxpayers' money-raving
mad due to an overdose of unreality-to come up with this phoney line of
sales talk. The truth of the matter is that machines dirty, condemn, and
kill anybody who gets near them! But Machines are in fashion! They have
the ring of the working class, they smack of progress, of work. And the
rank and file. They dazzle the masses. Make you look like a sure-fire
sympathizer, an educated connoisseur. Raving with enthusiasm... words
can't express... valves practically exploding... recommend machines to
everyone! I, we, all follow the party line. Onward with the great change!
All bolts at the ready! From the depths of Offices springs forth the message:
All machines, full speed ahead! All the necessary lies are standing by!
While the masses are getting on with it, they won't have time to think!
Talk about a First Class Resurrection! Machines
are disease incarnate! A supreme defeat! Completely phoney! Machines have
never saved anybody! They just make man more stupid in a crueller way.
I should know, I used to be a doctor at Ford Motor Company. Soviet or
American, all Fords look alike. Putting your faith in machines is just
one more reason to go on. It's just a way to avoid asking the ultimate
question! The intimate question! The only question-the major question
that lies within us all, in our heads and nowhere else-the one unknown
element in all possible or impossible societies... the one that nobody
ever mentions... it's not political... It's mega-taboo... it's the last
forbidden question! Be he standing up, on all fours, lying down, upside-down,
be he on the ground or in the air, Man will never encounter a greater
tyrant than himself. There'll never be one. Which is more the pity! That
might have licked him into shape, rendered him more sociable.
For centuries now we've been buffing him
up, avoiding his main problem, just to get him to vote. Since the end
of religions we've been singing his praises... getting him drunk on our
lies. He has become the very Church itself! Naturally he can see no further
than the end of his nose. Gone totally loopy! Butter him up and he'll
swallow anything! So are there two separate breeds? bosses and workers?
Completely artificial! It all comes down to luck and inheritance. Get
rid of that and then you'll find out they were exactly the same... I insist
on this... and you will realize why.
Politics have corrupted Man more these last
three centuries than in all centuries of prehistory put together. Even
during the Middle Ages we were closer to unity than we are today... there
was the budding of some kind of common spirit... lies were better assembled,
more poetic, more intimate. All has returned to dust now.
Material Communism puts Matter before everything.
And where Matter is involved, the righteous never prevail. The most brutal
cunning and cynical always win the day. Just witness how money has reestablished
its tyrannical role in the USSR. It's cubed! Dough has got its health
back. Keep on flattering Johnny Lunchbox and he'll swallow anything. He'll
accept anything. Over there he has become hideous with pretension and
self-importance, the deeper he's lowered into the shit-pit and cut off
from everything. That's the horrifying phenomenon! The unhappier he becomes,
the more he shows off. Now there are no more religious beliefs ... party
bosses exalt all his vices, praise his sadistic impulses, hold sway over
him through his vices... which are vanity, ambition, war, ... in sum,
Death. It's been beautifully worked out. They changed into top gear to
carry it out... Kill him off through poverty, but use the sin of self-love
too! Bring on vanity! Pretension will kill like any other poison! Better,
more efficiently, than any other!
The major Christian religions didn't try
to gild the lily. They didn't attempt to dull your senses. They didn't
run after voters. They displayed no desire to please. Nor to wiggle their
asses at you. Man, barely out of the cradle, had it laid on the line.
He was immediately brought up to date: "Now hear this you putrid little
monster! You'll never be anything other than a total shit... you were
born a shit... Are we getting through? We'd have thought it was obvious,
right... However... perhaps, if you're lucky... really lucky... but it's
unlikely... there's a minuscule chance you'll be forgiven for being such
a revolting, excremental, unbelievable shit... and you'll earn that by
smiling at all the sorrows, travails, tests, diverse miseries, and assorted
tortures that will come your way during your existence-be it short or
long. Show perfect humility. You're a slave! Life, you slob, is but a
bitter cup. Don't tire yourself out or look for answers in the wrong place!
Save your soul! We're already offering you a bargain. And when your calvary
is finally gone-if you've been completely, totally honest, never bitched
once in your life... you'll shrug off this earthly coil... no one is making
book though... a little less putrid than when you were born... perhaps
you'll go off into the night smelling sweeter than when you arrived at
dawn. But don't get too worked up about it! That's the most a turd like
you can hope for... Don't even begin to think about greater things to
Now that's what I call talking! Real Church
Father spiel! They really knew how to use their tools and didn't offer
The great claim to happiness, the most enormous
scam ever! And that's what's been complicating everyone's lives... that's
what's turned people into venomous, unbearable crooks! Happiness doesn't
exist in this life... there are only major or minor misfortunes! Some
take their time arriving, others creep up behind you, or explode, others
wait just around the corner... "Verily nobody is more merrily and easily
damned than a happy man." The Devil's adage still holds true... point
Man at Matter and away he'll go... and it's only taken two centuries to
do it... crazed with pride-ballooned up with all things mechanical, he's
now completely unbearable. Just see how he is today! Haggard, saturated,
drunk on both alcohol and gasoline, defiant, pretentious, he's the universe
wielding power measured in seconds! He's flabbergasted, unreasonable,
irredeemable, a cross between a sheep and a bull plus a bit of hyena thrown
in. A charming picture, isn't it? Now the dumbest asshole can look at
himself in the mirror and see Jupiter looking back. That's the miracle
of the modern age... it's produced gigantic fatuity of cosmic proportions.
The entire planet is seething with envy, tetanized by it, superfusioned.
The exact opposite of what everyone wanted to happen obviously happens.
Anyone creative, as soon as they say a word, is crushed by hatred, smashed
into pulp, vaporized. The entire world has become a critic, and therefore
it's frighteningly mediocre. They're collective critics-menacing, boot-licking,
obtuse, total slaves.
The unspoken law now being enforced is to
drag Man down to the level of mere Matter. You blend two blood types-one
from the rich, one from the poor-the poor one will never get any richer,
the rich one will become impoverished... In fact anything that helps to
lead the masses astray is grist to the mill... lies! compliments! praise!
But as soon as sheer cunning no longer works, then out come the truncheons!
The day it blows up in your face, bring out the machine-guns... and out
with the grenades while you're at it! When the evil hour chimes they empty
the arsenals! With that joyful Optimism which is the hallmark of last
Resolutions! Massacres in their myriad... every war since the last Deluge
has marched to the music of Optimism. There's never been an assassin who
hasn't looked at the future through rose-tinted glasses... it's part of
the job. So be it.
It's easy enough to understand all these
prostrated people being fed up with misery and poverty for once and for
all. But poverty and misery go hand in hand with modern History! Base
negative pride, vacuous fatuity, envy, obsession and the rage for power
have fenced all these cunning scoundrels in, placed them inside an enormous
leper colony of tomorrow... placed them in Socialist quarantine.
"Come on Lunchbox! Step back and take a
good look at yourself! You rule supreme! No one has ever been freer than
you... freer than those serfs across the road, the ones stuck in the other
prison! Come on, have a little drink... it'll make you think clearer!
Come on guys, vote for us... Johnny, you know you've been a victim of
the system! And we're the guys who are gonna reform the Universe. Don't
worry at all... you guys are solid gold through and through! Come on,
no second thoughts now! Listen, all I want is your happiness! Maybe we'll
get you elected! How does that sound? We can also make you Pope and God
the Father! That's it, you've got it, now for the photo! Booom!"
From Finland to Baku, the miracle has occurred!
Nobody can deny it. Johnny L. is sick from this emptiness which has suddenly
sprung up around him. He's not used to it yet. All of Paradise for him
and him alone! That's a lot of space! It's time they got a move on and
discovered the 4th dimension. The real dimension! The dimension of fraternal
feelings for other peoples' identities. He's got no one left to criticize,
no one left to knock off.
"All thy dolor shall be mine"... and the
more Man withdraws into himself, the more complicated he becomes. The
further he removes himself from nature, the more sorrow there will be.
His nervous system can only deteriorate. You can bet that under Communism
more sorrows than riches are going to be shared out... there'll be no
shortages!... It's biological law, and Progress can change none of it...
in fact it will be in inverse proportion... with more and more pain to
share out. And even more and more of it. But his heart's not in it, it's
hard to get him to make up his mind... he balks... slinks off... invents
excuses... feels it coming... it automatically becomes a madhouse! But
anyone who calls out "Truce!" gets hanged.
So bring on all the balderdash! Call up
reinforcements of imaginary cataclysms! Roll on the enemies, each one
more bizarre than the one before! Let's keep the platforms full! Let's
not shake the foundations... Achtung! Wild coalitions on the horizon!...
Mega-carrion conspirators sighted! Start the apocalyptic trials-it's time
to reinvent the Demon! When things go bad that's where you'll find him!
He's the scapegoat for all our ills. Lay a trail of red herrings to hide
the indigestible truth that the "New Man" just doesn't work. He's still
the same scoundrel he ever was!
Of course, on our side of the border, we're
still having fun! We still haven't been forced to pretend! We remain "oppressed!"
All the evils that Destiny produced lie squarely on the shoulders of the
bloodsuckers-that cancer we call "the Exploiter." Thus we can happily
continue to be the sons of bitches that we are in reality. Who'll ever
know!? But when we have nothing left to destroy-and we can't even bitch
and bite-that's when life starts really becoming unbearable!
Jules Renard wrote: "You being happy isn't
enough, other's mustn't be also." Ah, it's an evil hour when you're forced
to take other peoples' sorrows on your shoulders-those of total strangers-people
totally unknown to you, spending all your time at work for them... especially
when Johnny L. had been promised, been sworn blind, that it was precisely
the "others" who were the clot in the bloodstream, the taste of bile,
the root of all his problems! Oh the swine! What a sham, the "others"
don't exist. However, the newly elected of the new society are kept carefully
locked up. Even in the old days, never were the most seditious kept as
carefully locked in the famous Fortress of Peter and Paul. They could
think what they liked. That's all behind us now! No more writing-nobody
else has been protected as much as Lunchboxovitch, behind a hundred thousand
barbed wire fences-protected, the darling of the new system, against the
impure souls lurking outside, against the stench of the decrepid world!
Boxovitch coughs up for the police that police his own sorrows. Never
has there been a police force so thick on the ground, more swinish, and
suspicious! He's never by himself-under a constant surveillance which
has been totally perfected. No one will ever be able to steal him from
you. Ah, but he does get bored! You can't help but notice. Dying to get
out! He'd love to go on an "Ex-Tourist" trip-just for a change! Just for
a change. Of course he'd never come back. You can throw down the gauntlet
on this one, no way the Soviets will pick it up! They know that if they
put it to the test, the country would be emptied out!
In our neck of the woods, Boxo could have
fun! There are still a few things to do, mischief to get into, secret
fun! Even here where we're exploited 600%, people know how to have fun!
They rush out from work in a rented tuxedo, pretending to be millionaires!
They enjoy movies! Bourgeois to the bone! He loves all false values! He's
a corrupt monkey! Basically lazy, attracted by all that's expensive-or
at least its imitation, if he can't do better. He's enamored of brute
strength while despising the weak. He shows off, he's vain, loves conmen,
and is attracted above all by anything visual! It all has to be seen for
it to have any existence. Neon attracts him like flies. He's uncontrollable!
Rather tawdry. With a gift for being late for anything that could make
him happy, that might sweeten his life. He suffers, indulges in self-mutilation,
then bleeds, then dies-having learnt nothing. He has no sense of organization,
fears it, and flees it like the plague. He becomes increasingly bitter...
hurries to his death, sped on by huge quantities of "matter"-matter he
can never get enough of. The most cunning of them, the cruelest only arms
himself to the teeth to kill himself more ... and to kill others more.
It's a gambling table and there are no limits, ladies and gentlemen, all
bets are down! You've gambled-you've won!
Over there, Man gets to eat pickles. He's
been completely defeated. The "Commissar" drives past in a used Packard...
while Man slaves away as if he were in the regiment... but a regiment
for life. And it's better not to hang out too much on the street. We know
what he'll get there-so chase him off with rifle butts! It's his future
that's ahead of him! Just like here, in fact... Tomorrow it's a free lunch
and everything that goes with it. Why doesn't What's-his-Face have a grin
on his face? It's because he didn't have the right instincts. It simple!
If you think about it, there was no need to share out the wealth-it could
already have been done way back in the agricultural age... when humanity
first began. Why make such a fuss over it? Ants did it and they didn't
have factories-all for all-that's their motto!
We want Capital! Give us Capital! Don't
scream for it anymore Lunchbox, because you're it! Your ancestors sat
on the rump of the good Knight Roland's horse and now you're all alone.
On your own! There's nobody to grind you down-so why is all the nastiness
starting again? Why? Because it's all bubbling up to the surface of your
infernal nature, that's why! Spontaneously, sponte-sua, have no
illusions, don't even worry about it... it's starting all over again.
Why does the handsome engineer earn 7000
rubles and the charwoman just 50 per month? It's magic! magic! We're talking
about Russia obviously. It's marvelous how they're as shitty over there
as we are over here! With a nice pair of shoes that cost 900 francs and
a dodgy re-soling (I've seen this for myself) at 80? And as for the hospitals,
apart from the one in the Kremlin or the special "In-Tourist Wards," the
others are nothing less than sordid! All of Russia runs on a tenth of
a normal budget-starting with the hospitals. Of course this doesn't include
the Police, the Army, or the Ministry of Propaganda.
This is injustice served up, but under a
new name-even more horrific than the one that preceded it. And even more
anonymous: more water-proofed, more perfected, more rigid, with myriads
of cops, armed with degrees in torture. Dialectics ready to explain the
theft of huge quantities of riches they've stolen and fenced! When it
comes to smooth-talking, and the national production of hot air, nobody
surpasses Russia. But what they won't confess to, and what they're unable
to make you believe, is that Man is his own worst enemy-the worst of all
his enemies! Given whatever condition, he'll create the conditions for
his own torture, in the same way that the pox creates its own destructive
environment. That's how the system functions! That's how deep it goes!
So flatterers should be shot-for they're the opium of the people.
Man has as much humanity as a chicken is
able to fly. When a chicken gets sent waltzing by a car, she can make
it up to a roof, but then she immediately zooms back down to the mud to
pick away at her own shit. It's in her character. Part of her ambitions.
Just like in our society. Only total catastrophe prevents us from being
complete shits! The catastrophe done, we go back to being our old selves.
That's why it's always better to judge a Revolution twenty years later.
"I am! You are! Despoilers, hypocrites,
bastards!" Nobody will ever come out and say these things! Yet a real
Revolution would be to admit all this-to purify ourselves by saying it!
But the Soviets are in love with vice, with
cooking the books. They know which levers to pull. But then they lose
themselves in the maze of their own propaganda. They try to flavor turds,
dip them in caramel. That's the disease infecting the system.
Oh! We've replaced the bosses alright. We've
abducted his platitudes, his aggressiveness, his wily plots, his silly
advertising-we know how to rip things off alright! We didn't waste anytime!
The new pimps have just walked on stage. Let's give a big hand to the
new apostles! You have to admit that they've got fat bellies and fine
voices. But the Great Revolt, the Great Battle! All that for such tiny
bounty! They swapped Scrooge for Envy! So is that what the battle was
about? In the wings of the theater, costumes have been changed... now
they're dressed up as Neo-Topaz, Neo-Kremlin, Neo-Swine, Neo-Lenins, Neo-Jesuses!
At the beginning they were sincere, but by now they've understood (those
who fail to understand are shot). No one is ever wrong-all of them are
submissive. They didn't do it, the others did. They've learned from hard
experience... They've never kept their heads down so much. Now the "soul"
is replaced by the red party card. And it's a lost soul! Nothing left
of it! Every one of Lunchbox's habits, his vices, they're all down on
file ... Let's wear him down, wear him out with marches, suffering, showing
off! Let's encourage him to denounce everyone ... that's the nature of
the beast! It's not his fault!... Lunchbox has been put away! He's told,
"Read my paper! Read my rumors! ... just my rumors!" ... but no others,
mind you! Bite on the brawn of my speeches ... but above all, never look
any further or I'll cut your head off! That's all he deserves ... into
the cage with him! Of course when the cops arrive you know just what to
expect. And it's only just beginning! Anything goes to show that they're
not the ones responsible! Cut off all the ways out... Become "totalitarian!"
Helped by the Jews or not! It doesn't matter... The Main Thing is killing!
Just how many stubborn little Christians
finished up at the stake back in the Middle Ages... or between the lion's
jaws... or manacled to an oar on a slave galley? Or being inquisitioned
right down to the marrow... all over whether Mary's conception was immaculate
or not? Or over the interpretation of three verses from the testaments?
We've lost count! And what's motivated all this? Take your choice... the
reasons have no reason to exist... times haven't changed, have they? We're
certainly no more choosy today... We could all kick the bucket for something
that doesn't exist! Grimacing Communism! What the hell, given the point
we've reached!? If that isn't dying for an ideal, then I don't know what
is! We've been purified and we didn't even know it! When it comes down
to it, perhaps you can call it hope. And perhaps the aesthetic future
while you're at it! We'll never know why we have wars... bigger and bigger
ones... that will leave no one in peace... which everyone will die in...
we'll all become instant heroes... and dust as part of the deal! We'll
get rid of everyone on Earth! We've never been worth anything anyhow!
The great cleansing through Ideas!