He remembered the room where they lived, a dark, close-smelling room that seemed half filled by a bed with a white counterpane. There was a gas ring in the fender, and a shelf where food was kept, and on the landing outside there was a brown earthenware sink, common to several rooms. He remembered his mother's statuesque body bending over the gas ring to stir at something in a saucepan. Above all he remembered his continuous hunger, and the fierce sordid battles at mealtimes. He would ask his mother naggingly, over and over again, why there was not more food, he would shout and storm at her (he even remembered the tones of his voice, which was beginning to break prematurely and sometimes boomed in a peculiar way), or he would attempt a sniveling tone of pathos in his efforts to get more than his share. His mother was quite ready to give him more than his share. She took it for granted that he, "the boy," should have the biggest portion; but however much she gave him he invariably demanded more. At every meal she would beseech him not to be selfish and to remember that his little sister was sick and also needed food, but it was no use. He would cry out with rage when she stopped ladling, he would try to wrench the saucepan and spoon out of her hands, he would grab bits from his sister's plate. He knew that he was starving the other two, but he could not help it; he even felt that he had a right to do it. The clamorous hunger in his belly seemed to justify him. Between meals, if his mother did not stand guard, he was constantly pilfering at the wretched store of food on the shelf. One day a chocolate ration was issued. There had been no such issue for weeks or months past. He remembered quite clearly that precious little morsel of chocolate. It was a two-ounce slab (they still talked about ounces in those days) between the three of them. It was obvious that it ought to be into three equal parts. Suddenly, as though he were listening to someone else, he heard himself demanding in a loud booming voice that he should be given the whole piece. His mother told him not to be greedy. There was a long, nagging argument that went round and round, with shouts, whines, tears, remonstrances, bargainings. His tiny sister, clinging to his mother with both hands, exactly like a baby monkey, sat looking over her shoulder at him with large, mournful eyes. In the end his mother broke off three-quarters of the chocolate and gave it to him, giving the other quarter to his sister. The little girl took hold of it and looked at it duly, perhaps not knowing what it was. He stood watching her for a moment. Then with a sudden swift spring, he had snatched the piece of chocolate out of his sister's hand and was fleeing for the door.

"Come back!" his mother called after him. "Give your sister her chocolate!"

He stopped, but he did not come back. His mother's anxious eyes were fixed on his face. Even now he was thinking about the thing, he did not know what it was that was on the point of happening. His sister, conscious of being robbed of something, had set up a feeble wail. His mother drew her arm around the child and pressed its face against her breast. Something in the gesture told him that his sister was dying. He turned and fled down the stairs, with the chocolate growing sticky in his hand.

He never saw his mother again.

�So you're one of those who believes we can make a revolution behind the backs of the establishment. What a shit eater you are! The revolution must be carried out in a life-and-death struggle against imperialism from the very first moment. A true revolution cannot be disguised.�

How curious to see those seasoned and noble warriors showing their youth by their tears of despair, because they did not have the honor of being in the front line of combat and death.

"Everyone is a book of blood. Wherever we're opened, we're red."

Necronics

Look at the bright light before you. The hooded man that takes your hand and leads you into a new world, one that you've wished to view with all of your rotting soul. When the time finally comes, you cry, afraid of what waits. What does the hooded man look like? Will his halo be shining, or his horns sharp? So fucking afraid because of the damage you have done. Let he who hath not sinned cast the first stone.

Faith. It's Sunday morning. All the towns people flock to their house of worship to recognize their Lord. What does the Lord think of this, though? Does everyone honestly think that if they follow this routine week after week that they will receive passage to paradise? Minuscule worship will get you nowhere. Only a life free of all sin will let you ascend to the afterlife.

False Hopes.Have you ever thought about your soul? Can it be saved?

Or perhaps you think that when you are dead you just stay in your grave. Is God just a thought within your head or is he a part of you? Is Christ just a name that you read in a book when you were in school? When you think about death do you lose your breath or do you keep your cool? Would you like to see the Pope on the end of a rope? Do you think he's a fool? I see the truth.

Yes I've seen the light and I've changed my ways. And I'll be prepared when you're lonely and scared at the end of our days.

I hate the middle class                      
With all of their pretension,
Literature like comic books,                 
And endless apprehension. 

I hate the middle class                      
Who just despise the rich, 
And while they're sipping on champagne,      
They endlessly bitch.

I hate the middle class,                     
They�d believe they were poor, 
But should a man show up in rags,            
They�d shove him out the door.

I hate the middle class,                     
Their pity on us all, 
But let them taste reality-                  
They would break down and bawl. 

I hate the middle class                      
Their puritan directions 
Petty hypocrite bullshit                     
And bourgeois indiscretions. 

I hate the middle class,                     
And their foolish plans. 
But most of all I hate them all,             
Just because I can.

You Hate Us Because We'll Never Go Away

Prophet Of The DawnLet's go, ardent prophet of the dawn,
along remote and unmarked paths
to liberate the land you so love

When the first shot sounds
and in virginal surprise the entire jungle awakens,
there, at your side, serene combatants
you'll have us.

When your voice pours out to the four winds
agrarian reform, justice, bread and liberty,
there, at your side, ready for the last battle,
you'll have us.

And when the end of the battle for
the cleansing operation against the tyrant comes,
there, at your side, ready for the last battle,
you'll have us...

And if our path is blocked by iron,
we ask for a shroud of tears
to cover the guerrilla bones
in transit to history.
Nothing more.

"The next time you feel like complaining to your chaplain or your lover about how miserable your life is, be thankful you are not cursed with the three terrible Karmas - Beauty, Riches and Fame."

Come Together / Fall Apart





Stripped down
I am I
To the bone
I am I
Realizing
I am I
For myself
I am I

My name it means nothing
My fortune is less
My future is shrouded in dark wilderness
Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on,
Everything I possess, now they are gone,
they are gone, they are gone

Oh where can I go to and what can I do?
Nothing can please me only thoughts are of you
You just laughed when I begged you to stay
I've not stopped crying since you went away,
you went away, you went away

You're searching for your mind don't know where to start,
Can't find the key to fit the lock on your heart
You think you know but you are never quite sure,
Your soul is ill but you will not find a cure.

Your world was made for you by someone above,
But you chose evil ways instead of love
You made me master of the world where you exist,
The soul I took from you was not even missed.

Nice dream ...





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"Probably you will not even betray me. By that time, I may be dead, or I shall have become a different person, with a different face."

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