Dumbstruck Marionettes, hanging from rotten wood and faulty wire.


Dance puppets, dance....Billow in the aftermath of what we've created. Watch those who've thrived on our stupidity dance in the spotlight of our grimacing faces. The only thing that seperates peasants from gods is anxiety. We've glady accepted this foul stew of chaotic order they've given us, with faces like angels and licking our fingertips.

The chimercial bombination of a dying pen and sentences that make no sense. The essence of what this is .. in a nutshell; Pages fluttered around in no particular alphabetical order... living in the shadows of dead end poets, or the nobody's who should've been somebody's." .. oh but they were somebody's, they were mine. I wish I could breathe life into these old cliches, and watch all those who opposed rub their jaws because they hurt from dropping so hard, if only they knew their great words can't cover their ugly actions,Their pretty frames certainly can't cover the ugly pictures teh've drawn, no, their much to naieve to believe in something plausible , like the necessity of the truth, or more importantly the pursuit of it. That room that exists in those thickening skulls of theirs'has more than enough vacancy, too bad the pool's dirty. We need to destroy the museum, and all of it's old artifacts. Hunt down the battered redneck curator and feed him his own bullshit from his silver spoon. We need to tear down the power structure that enslaves the free and then in revoloution we can live and be alive. Hope, revoloution and dedication. Fight fire with fire and everything will burn, Throw a rock in the machine.

This Manifesto is very much for real.