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(. . .) THROUGH THE CORRIDORS OF DUST WE SCALE THE LABYRINTH OF ETERNITY. POWER VIBRATES THE RHYTHMS OF LIFE AS SYNCHRONICITY CARESSES. CHILLS COURSE THROUGH FLESH--CONVULSIONS OF PLEASURE! CHATTERING TONES PULSE INCESSANT THE ECHELONS OF QUANTUM SLUDGE. WHAT IS LEFT BEFORE THE BOMBS? SPARKING WIRES--EXPANSE OF WASTELAND. INTO INTRA-COSM CARRION OF LIFE'S WASTE--PRIMORDIAL OOZE! ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION! (THE SUN!). SO THIS IS ETERNITY. ATOMIC HOLOCAUST! THE CYCLES OF OPPRESSIVE INFLUENCE ILLUMINATE THE CORE---TOWARD THE FLAT HORIZON (. . .)
We hear the monotone choir of collapsing skyscrapers droning its harmonic agony in unison with the blistering hive of exploding bombs and swirling sirens; stuck here in the present, caught right in the middle of infinity as if by some cosmic trap. Our leaders have sustained a knotted matrix of confusion and corruption so intricately woven over the ages that Great Alexanders sword would shatter in its insidious Gordian shadow. We are pressed between the past and the future like an ill-fated ship crushed between those monstrous rock-cliffs of ancient greek myth.
Is there no escape; no spell to quell the onslaught, nor enough heroes to show their love of others lives; no Savior to arrive and justify the continuing slaughter and oppression so ceremoniously practiced in any of his holy names? Is there only anguish, fear, harm and futility? Are these the most abundant fruits from the seeds of mankind; sown by ignorance, fed by hate, and harvested in sorrow? It seems a malignant orchard of insipid humanity has overtaken the land.
EAT NOT OF THESE FRUITS! These apples of desolation only fuel machines that work to spread the very same foul seeds. Malicious politicians, insane religious zealots and their blindly obedient followers glut themselves upon these rancid fruits and plot to force feed the rest of the world with them, all the while clotting the landscape with their potent, death-birthing excrement.
Every day the fetid piles of retched filth grow higher and wider. The putrid stench burns in our nostrils. Our landscape is polluted with swelling menace. If the End is near, then let it come and justly swallow the monsters that have prayed for it. Let us finally take keen pleasure in their ultimate fate . . . the global suicide they are committing--the voiciferous roar to which our art aspires (...ellipsis...)