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Niggahz. My Niggahz do you hear me? Are you listening to me? Can you hear me shout and scream? Niggahz! Muthafuckahs. You are out there and i can feel you. Come on my Niggahz let's do it, let's join together, let's crush that fucked up corporate run industrial military complex, that... whatever the fuck it is old ruling class, those stupid abusive mother fucking shit wads in power. Let's push them up against a wall and mow them down, let's beat them down with bricks and rusty fucking pipes, let's drill them full of holes, poke them with unpleasant feeling objects, lets fuck 'em up, pull them down, draw them out and degrade and humiliate them. Come on motherfuchahz! Now by yelling the word Niggahz, i don't mean to be racist, to use it as as disparaging term for a Black person, a person of African American descent, but rather i use it as a rallying call for all of us underprivileged, under-appreciated, underfunded, underfed, under-paid, peoples of the world. You know... most of us. Now by saying rallying call, i don't mean that i'm actually calling people together for a common purpose. There is no purpose, no point, no objective and anything we do to try, seek to establish any sort of justice, any sort of real meaning and fulfillment to peoples lives will just be abused, corroded and manipulated by someone, some motherfucker who feeds on this sort of activity, that is able to sell bullshit to stupid people and have them eat it up like it was candy. And by stupid people i guess i mean us. All of us. You and me and that chick with the weird hair, even that guy who's all angry and doesn't conform, but sort of does... Ah fuck. Now that i think about it i think i'm just being inflammatory for inflammatory's sake, realizing that nothing is worth the fucking effort, but thinking that violence and some sort of revenge the the key, when really, its not. All these riots and revolutions, all these fanatics and philosophers have done very little in the long run. You struggle and struggle and someone else takes over and in the end you're worse off and more productive for their cause and less human as a result. We are the result of all these revolutions! We're fucking pathetic. Shit. Fuck all this inflammatory bullshit. You might as well join in, sell out, buy some stocks, get yourself some financial stability. No one's looking out for you except you. You might as well do what you can and live your life in blissful ignorance of everything accept your own self gratifying sensibility. You have needs and you need those needs fulfilled. Do it. Join it. Embrace it. Luv it, motherfucker. While you can... you don't have much time. Fuck everyone and everything. They aren't worth your time or money.
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i wish i was like you, i wish i had it all mapped out, i wish i was more in complete understanding of myself, and my role within this wondrous world, and by that i mean i wish i was as stupid as you. i wish i didn't question everything and just go with it. i wish i was so small in my understanding that i could build a model of this world, the universe and through my own comprehension, my own analysis, figure it all out. and the point comes to this when i realize that there is this dirty filthy rapist in my mind, in my world, my society, my work that wishes to destroy, that wants to be unleashed, to fuck up their systems, tear down their trees, to corrupt those tiny boys and girls. and i say rapist because people don't like that being said. they don't mind it being done, they just mind it being said. i want to despoil, to take away the innocence of, because innocence disgusts me. but it's all grotesque banality. this empty self, this half being and everyday another crack forms, another splinter breaks away and hope is gone and without feeling. i want something in a wrapper, something in new silk panties, some old crusty piece of meat, something with the authority of a badge, or an instructional print out. i want it all to corrupt it, i want to revenge myself upon it. to kick away the flimsy papers and cover them with dirt. that's the most i can expect, to sully their receipts, to crumple their registration forms. i wish i was just like you and conclude that i must be of huge importance, that i'm the centre of the world: my pockets are full of change, and through this change i can enact change. i wish i could care about all that lipstick, those things, you know those things, those thinks you care about and those cars and people, all that tripe. on what scale do you measure the worth of these people? and we are taught that money is real value and a moral code and a combination of the two and as the days pass i learn tricks and deceit and the instinct to grab it when it comes. and now look at all of this, who's standing, who's yelling, who's talking about you, it's me! i'm the one after all, and am i important, or am i just a messenger for you? i don't know, i don't give a fuck. i'm yelling and nothing i'm saying hasn't been said before. i see empty eyes, stuffing his fat face with chips or fat, dripping grease, filling his face with money or moral code, and he is without sense. why the fuck should i acknowledge you, you hold open that door for me and step out of my way, and i didn't ask for this, i didn't ask to have to acknowledge you. now i sit and some fuck tells me not to sit, not to loiter and i have to acknowledge this prick as well. the only moment of truth is the tenth of a second after the money shot is delivered, in that fraction there is reality. in that singular point, all the lies that money and desperation built are revealed and all that's left is truth. my memory lapses and its hard to tell or care anymore. i don't know if its out of apathy or boredom. this weight is the weight of pointlessness and it drags me down. i've never been so happy, i say to myself and i repeat it to pretend that i'll remember how i felt when i said it, but i remember nothing but the words. he likes it and i don't. i like it but he doesn't. i've realized that i'm not really one person, and neither of us gives a fuck, neither is really whole or worth a damn.
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a helpful bit of advice
02:49
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do you hear those voices? they want nothing but for me to kill myself. and i think about you and i wonder why you wouldn't hear those voices too. i hear those voices in my head all the time and i have to admit they are entirely logical and justified. in fact, i ignore them just to spite their logic, just to spite the one thing that makes sense. fuck it all, it is, in its own way the most reasonable reaction. this illogical struggle for nothing at all goes along perfectly with the stupid fucking bullshit that is everything, everywhere, that is all encompasing, that is whereever we look, everthing we think about. And i can't believe you can't hear these voices too. listen you stupid fucks! listen to them! but i want you to react differently, i want you to listen and to do what they tell you. sure, you might as well go ahead. i'm ignoring them to spite them, but you should pay attention and just do what they want. do what the voices tell you. you're got to end this all, you've got to put it all down, you've got to stop it, halt it in its tracks. you there, and there and there, let me be another voice in your head telling you to do that thing you need to do. we're telling you to go fucking kill yourself. you probably want to kill other people, strangle the fucking life out of someone else in some fucking attempt to find your own meaning. fuck that desire. fuck that part of you that wants to consume others so that you may carry on. fuck everything and everyone. the only real truth lies in your own demise. its there all along away. let's take it into your own hands, let's make the right decision, the good choice, and do the right thing. this is the only thing that really fucking matters. do it. do it. do it. fuck it all.
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folie à deux
07:20
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i wake up and am still in a bit of a haze when i click that mouse again, click, reload, now f5 to mix it up. nope. again, disappointment, again just some bullshit, again nothing really definitive. f5 and cnn dot com's breaking news is about how seven kids from one family are killed in a mangled, fiery crash. this doesn't affect me and i don't give a shit. f5 and now i learn that the mine survivor can swallow food and there's nothing all-destructive coming our way. f5 and i want to hear about Armageddon, f5 and i want to hear about how all the missiles have been launched. reload and i want to hear about that meteorite about to smash into the planet, f5 and i want to hear about this final plague, i don't know, anything that will end it all, a hoard of evil robot locusts, the fucking dead rising from the pits of hell and eating the flesh of the living. anything to work with. there's always the promise but it never works out. lots of fear but it never comes clean. missing nukes, biological weapons, maniacs in control of countries, killer pandemics, but it never develops. the world never gets what it deserves. and i realize that these problems aren't solved, aren't avoided through competence on anyone's part, its because it was all just bullshit to begin with. i'm clicking now at a faster pace and nothing is changing, the breaking news remains the same, the breaking news says that no one knows about who was driving that speeding car, how no one knows what charges exactly were laid against that celebrity, or how that other celebrity died, how no one knows, but everyone cares about the lay offs, the gas hikes, the third world child with the missing leg, the study that shows that turd is now good for you. click and f5 and now there is no breaking news at all, is the same as before, and the us government is defending itself against charges, defending itself against corruption, defending itself against whatever accusations terrorists, madmen, environmentalists, human rights activists are accusing them of, and there are no bombs, no plagues, no final and all encompassing shit-storm to wipe it all away. i can't go back to sleep, i can't say fuck it all, and i've got to put on pants, i've got to get out there and buy more soap, ride more streetcars, work more fucking days so that i can buy more booze and surf the fucking internet. everything is getting worse, but not as breaking news, its sliding slowly, its easing its way down, its fumbling and pathetic. ah fuck. f5. f5. f5. f5. f5.
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feel so sick i can't move, don't want to do anything but sleep. horrible dreams haunt me and yet i still want to sleep. being awake doesn't seem that bad, however, once you get used to it. once you get used to saying that about it. yeah, i'll say it's not that bad. next day i get up and force myself to carry on. everything i see disgusts. i look around and everyone seems to be scratching lottery cards in hope of something. money can buy dreams. the solution to everything could be under that next scratch. every smell, every scent makes me want to vomit. activity is worthless. wait for the end. but it moves too slow, like a long drawn out and useless scratch. the dragging sickness of it creeps along, and in the end, it's the waiting that's unbearable. in the meantime these questions plague me. who doesn't want a bigger apartment, who doesn't want a better, higher paying job, so that you can waste your money on booze and drugs and dumb fucking bitches? i try to deny it, and rant and rave about it, but in the end who doesn't want it? i think i want to escape but in the end i just want stuff to worry about! i want stuff other people want to steal. but there's got to be more to life than material posessions. ah fuck, you know what? i think my penis needs to be bigger, i think it needs more girth. but what do i really care about a bigger dick? i don't want it that size for my own sake, but so that i can hurt people with it. now i realize, now i admit that hurting people with my cock would really make me feel better about myself. make me feel i've really made some sort of achievment. but now i feel closed in, i feel that claustrophobic feeling. i need to get out there and go places! who doesn't want to see the world in all its endless nauseation? to see the world.... big screen tvs? the price is dropping, i hear. such clarity of reception, such clarity of vision. great news! perfumes and clothes. got to look good, got to smell good. i just want to shoot everybody, i think about hanging myself every day, wonder what it feels like to be run over by the subway and then i see some woman with big fucking titties or a fuckable mouth and i'm distracted and i suddenly realize how easy it all is, and it makes me sick and makes me want curl up and sleep.
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i'm drawn back to it again. i feel this grip upon me and i yield to it. i feel this wave of satisfaction overcome me and i hate it, and am drawn back to it again and again. i feel this slicing cuting strips from me, i feel these chunks fall off, every day i lose a little more and nothing will be the same again. everything is getting better, the world is looking refreshed. the next day will bring this internal warmth that will satisfy every fiber of my being, i'm getting better, the world is better and i hate every single bit of it. fuck them all. but now i feel that satisfactory bliss cutting into me, and making me warm inside. i'm ready to ignore, i'm ready to focus on the important. i'm ready to give it my all, i'm ready to suck it in. i'm ready to feel life again, to experience it all as i should. i feel my desire fade, my desire to let go rise. i need this need, i want this want. everything is on the march towards progress. everything clears itself, everything becomes the same, everything joins together, everything ends. everything is getting better.
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what's there to do when you realize your a misanthrope? i don't like people. i don't like people in general. i don't necessarily dislike you. i may even like you. you're a great person. remember when you did that thing, you remember that thing you do. fuck, do i hate people. that thing you do is great, well, its fine actually, its ok. and i find it quite amusing when you do it, but this has nothing to do with you and what you do is further fodder for my hating people. you're ok, but you're not different, you're not unique. there's nothing fucking special about you and i hate people. there. i've said it, and i'm not going to make an excuse for you. you're as much as a problem as the rest. i'm no different, of course. do you think i like myself? fuck, i see all this shit within me as well. but i have no choice really, i have no real option when it comes down to it in that regard. i'm not about to start making excuses and qualifiers. i'm a misanthrope in a general sense. but i'm not entirely miserable. i don't despise every second of my day, and i laugh and i have fun. i'm just a misanthrope. so fuck you.
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i heard the machine ripping away at the flesh, tearing into gristle and bone. metal teeth granulating cartilage. that soulless hiss of the gas. mechanical removal of skin. i smelled the hovering stench about me, felt the cold sick air. these are unspeakable horrors and they occur hour after hour, day after day. we all know and we all ignore. and i am left with nothing, no feeling and no care. meat torn off the bone. a spray of fleshy particles. searing and unending pain. it saturates me. i absorb it. discarded lumps of quivering matter. plump, fatty globs of nothing. everything that is sick and twisted, everything that is wrong, and loathsome. but as i stare into the repulsive void i realize all of this is me. this is as much me as anyone else. i'm sickened, disgusted. no. sickening and disgusting. i want to smash myself to pieces, to lash out, to do something. i feel this repugnance rising from deep inside. and then the realization overcomes me and i find my focus. in response, in my response, in my attempt to do something, i've now built this; this monstrosity into which i have attached you, plucked you out of your stagnant limbo of existence, and strapped you into this abomination of feeling, this machine that was inspired by the world as i see it: not how i want it, not how we wish it, not even how we think of it, but how it is. and at last, i am overcome by this sense of purpose. you may not feel it now but you will. as cruel and inconsequential as it is, this mindless, brutal apparatus has reason. this is at last, meaning. we live in a world of emptiness, of worthless days following empty hours. but this, this has come from cause. and this is finally result. everything they have done to me will be cleansed by this; this machine will reverse the punishment, will concentrate and condense everything into one extreme moment, a beautiful moment of unimaginable revenge. and now with this one, finishing gesture, i set the automatic functions into motion, and through this act of bestial, unthinking destruction of you, no, let's call it humane destruction of you, let's realize that it is the tearing and shredding of you, and within it all, do i at last achieve this one pure moment of freedom. freedom in the true sense, not some fucked up lie, not some dirty scam, but the bliss and torment, the full fledged wave of emotion. it's all set into action and nothing can stop it. it is meant to rip it all apart, to burn and crush, to mutilate. the machine can not be stopped once it has begun. this is its design. no thought necessary anymore. no edits, no corrections. nothing to do but to watch and to engorge oneself upon the terror. and in this terror, i have at last, an instant of momentary fulfillment.
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these texts contain the raving confessions of necessary evil. what you are about to hear is unpleasant, and unsavioury, these deeds and thoughts come from what people call a degenerate mind, a mind that is twisted and full of filth and rage. these are evils, these are criminal acts and thoughts. although i will admit that the crimes detailed here have not all been fully realized, it is enough perhaps to acknowledge that they have been thought about, considered, and most certainly wished for. these thoughts strain against reason, they engorge themselves on hypocrisy, pulling and tugging and yet within it all, within this struggle is the admission, the acceptance that yes, this demands attention. unpleasant they may be, but they are something to acknowledge. that these crimes are but the beginning is also something to realize, that they are just the minimum of what is deserved, of what is called for, of what is needed, probably also should be considered. these are necessary evils inflicted upon the deserving. they soak through the images; they creep in from the sides. they are the sewage that runs below the surface of our new beautiful world. and despite this construct of shit, this worthless ball of fuck, somehow, in some part of me i have this fear, this second thought that i'm the monster, that my thoughts are unacceptable, that my thoughts are scary, perhaps they are right about my depravity. i have this constant nagging fear that the reason for it is that deep inside, there is something that isn't quite me, isn't quite human, it wants to be released, it wants to take control, and all there is to protect you from it, is this simple fleshy membrane. what i'm most scared of is that i'm alone in my struggle to contain it. and i don't even know if i want to contain this? this needs to be released, this needs to be unleashed, perhaps this is indeed the only real, reasonable and legitimate thing to do.
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i wish i was like you, i wish i had it all mapped out, i wish i was more in complete understanding of myself, and my role within this wondrous world, and by that i mean i wish i was as stupid as you. i wish i didn't question everything and just go with it. i wish i was so small in my understanding that i could build a model of this world, the universe and through my own comprehension, my own analysis, figure it all out. and the point comes to this when i realize that there is this dirty filthy rapist in my mind, in my world, my society, my work that wishes to destroy, that wants to be unleashed, to fuck up their systems, tear down their trees, to corrupt those tiny boys and girls. and i say rapist because people don't like that being said. they don't mind it being done, they just mind it being said. i want to despoil, to take away the innocence of, because innocence disgusts me. but it's all grotesque banality. this empty self, this half being and everyday another crack forms, another splinter breaks away and hope is gone and without feeling. i want something in a wrapper, something in new silk panties, some old crusty piece of meat, something with the authority of a badge, or an instructional print out. i want it all to corrupt it, i want to revenge myself upon it. to kick away the flimsy papers and cover them with dirt. that's the most i can expect, to sully their receipts, to crumple their registration forms. i wish i was just like you and conclude that i must be of huge importance, that i'm the centre of the world: my pockets are full of change, and through this change i can enact change. i wish i could care about all that lipstick, those things, you know those things, those thinks you care about and those cars and people, all that tripe. on what scale do you measure the worth of these people? and we are taught that money is real value and a moral code and a combination of the two and as the days pass i learn tricks and deceit and the instinct to grab it when it comes. and now look at all of this, who's standing, who's yelling, who's talking about you, it's me! i'm the one after all, and am i important, or am i just a messenger for you? i don't know, i don't give a fuck. i'm yelling and nothing i'm saying hasn't been said before. i see empty eyes, stuffing his fat face with chips or fat, dripping grease, filling his face with money or moral code, and he is without sense. why the fuck should i acknowledge you, you hold open that door for me and step out of my way, and i didn't ask for this, i didn't ask to have to acknowledge you. now i sit and some fuck tells me not to sit, not to loiter and i have to acknowledge this prick as well. the only moment of truth is the tenth of a second after the money shot is delivered, in that fraction there is reality. in that singular point, all the lies that money and desperation built are revealed and all that's left is truth. my memory lapses and its hard to tell or care anymore. i don't know if its out of apathy or boredom. this weight is the weight of pointlessness and it drags me down. i've never been so happy, i say to myself and i repeat it to pretend that i'll remember how i felt when i said it, but i remember nothing but the words. he likes it and i don't. i like it but he doesn't. i've realized that i'm not really one person, and neither of us gives a fuck, neither is really whole or worth a damn.
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i'm drawn back to it again. i feel this grip upon me and i yield to it. i feel this wave of satisfaction overcome me and i hate it, and am drawn back to it again and again. i feel this slicing cuting strips from me, i feel these chunks fall off, every day i lose a little more and nothing will be the same again. everything is getting better, the world is looking refreshed. the next day will bring this internal warmth that will satisfy every fiber of my being, i'm getting better, the world is better and i hate every single bit of it. fuck them all. but now i feel that satisfactory bliss cutting into me, and making me warm inside. i'm ready to ignore, i'm ready to focus on the important. i'm ready to give it my all, i'm ready to suck it in. i'm ready to feel life again, to experience it all as i should. i feel my desire fade, my desire to let go rise. i need this need, i want this want. everything is on the march towards progress. everything clears itself, everything becomes the same, everything joins together, everything ends. everything is getting better.
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bugs crawling out of people Toronto, Ontario
With a wide range of music, Canadian Industrial label doesn't follow any trends or style. The point is to release high quality music that goes beyond. From dark ambient, to brutal noise, from EBM to breakcore. Bugs Crawling out of People sees no limit.
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