The Catharsis Theatre


Dillinger stands beneath a lone tree in the pouring rain and watches a car closely, it is about ten paces away from him. The windows are steamed up. The camera zooms into his face. It is wet. He shields a cigarette from the rain and takes a long drag. The smoke obscures the view and fades into a shot of the sky in which amongst the rain clouds a Black Sun is seen.

Dillinger narrates;

Your power is mighty and Great my Father and there is no vessel that would hold thy wisdom. As that power is infinite and we are but simple toys to thee. I prostrate myself at your feet. Thrice unworthy bag of flesh, a fucking victim that I am. Be my witness, sense my mortality and grant me my one wish and let these words burn my tongue in insolence. These Teachers you send me to define thy knowledge and bring to us your words of fire are lacking.

The End.

The switch has flipped. It can only flip once. It has always said No. No longer. Now it will be in the Yes position, forevermore.

They preen and pamper themselves, they disgust me and yet I am not to lay one command or accusation upon them. They call upon you in there thin voices and you do not answer them. This defines thee within me. What are you? The lowest, most absent, most powerful, the highest. You bring an age upon us that we never see or touch. Serene perhaps and yet violent to feel. You find me and yet are always within me, without purpose. What do we owe you that we may pay back to forget lust?

Enter my sour heart and fill me with your wisdom. Let me forget the thoughtless acts that we act. Embrace me and let me see that which is within. Despise me and let me feel that hate within you as it is within me. This living death, this ache of forgotten compassion. Richness abounds within the things you have made although not within me. As I sleep I sense you close and I smile a little at first, a simple thing. Yet my voice ceases and thought is abstract and I shake within the cell.

Dillinger was full of talk now even though she couldn’t hear him as she filled the tub. He continued “…And as always and everywhere the cesspool center of Eigengrau diffused out to its multiple major city nexus points of power, but still home, based here in “the belly of the beast. In us”. She peeled off her stockings slow, so he could see.

The Cowboy deep within the desert. The purple sky drowns him and he bows his head to the magnificence of it all…

‘The days change and men do suffer and die and you are left unchanged. Veins I have that fill with ice at your touch, this essence purely yours. Flow the tears and grip the my heart tighter and call to errant Fathers. This day cast bones among the others and scrabble in the dust. Let the infants cry their own tears and remember nothing, not a thing. I rejoice about nothing for nothing is the food of the ignorant. The chains they gave me hangs heavy at my chest and I ask why? The clouds still move slowly and this place burns all the faster. We resent bitterly this act that even the elders scratch thinning heads. To strike out in anger, to breathe the thicker air and gasp not. To run with limbs that do not ache with the damp of Nebraska. Let the rain fall upon me and my Horse, castigate me more, I care not. The Shamen of this land lie deep within their mounds and we forget. The innocence of youth wasted upon our heads, there is no remedy for Time.’

“The second thing that’s obvious if you look at the history of violent bank robbery is that it’s an overwhelmingly American phenomenon. To the extent that anything like this happens anywhere else in the world, it appears to happen as a reflection of something going on within us; it appears to have spread from America, from us, here”. She wasn’t listening.

Let the tempers within that place be placated by my presence. Twitch the shrouds upon your windows and shudder but bear my presence shallowly. The memory of my visit will soon be gone as the years smooth the hurts. For as you put life into me I take it from others in your name. For the cold of the day will eventually be eased with warmth. As your Gods fair hand makes all things beautiful he casts a fist upon you. To smash your sense of worth into nothing, to offer no fairness. I will suffer quietly within the shadows of your guilty souls. Inspired by beasts I am that slather at tight bands of leather and chains and yet I hesitate to call out to their God. There is no space within me for him filled as I am with another hateful thing I cast my eyes to. Who I slave to.

Their God will never come unto me and yet I am also of the Earth which this God did make and I walk upon the ground it did make, and is not not true also that this God made me and yet I can be forgotten as a simple toy? So the Black Parliament who has sent me asked simply, ‘As God wrought you so he is within you’. I nodded before them and took their litany as a lie and an untruth.

and they told me students are frustrated because the media is not reporting the story correctly, not to mention they supposedly had to push to get the media to publish in the first place.

From the womb we are pulled, we are a product of sin and yet we know not why we are accused. Guiltless and yet condemned we sing songs to you and in your love for us you smash us into dust. Our confused words through time to simple phrases our movement transferred to thought and thought to words formed by our mouths and yet all is lie and untruth. For we learn all the quicker that anything that falls from the lips of Humans as us is a lie. Yet we close our eyes to the colours and the simple laughter of the world and see you within us. Black Sun shine in truth and offer us redemption. Suffer the ignorance and mockery of this life we do, gather the pains within us to seed the parts of our lives you have given us with greater truth. For Teachers are brought forth who spout their hungered strength and their litany of lies. The Prayer of Men is mired in untruth, in belief and in faith and thus is the trammelled histories of mankind caught and captivated by liars.

The Place I sat within became its true nature and was revealed to me and yet I see again the cloths they would put over my face so I would not see the truth. They have erred these things that have grabbed me from the sleeping sea. They have mistaken me for a thing and they have failed to see I am as them. I am not one to bow my own head to beasts of a false God. Thus is it seen and I collect the visions to my breast and feel the knowledge rise within me as I sit and ponder the truths that would blast this place back into the Earth from where it came. But alas I do not, the sense of disorder is strong here and the sadness that pervades the brickwork stained with the fears of those who came before is too strong for me yet. Dead I was and awoken, a task I thought only fit for the true Father.

As children we pray and build our foundations of falsehood. Such earnest hands clasp together and send our Prayers to an empty vessel. To believe, to suffer and thus belief becomes the capstone of the Prison and we are imprisoned and our hollow prayers are collected within this house built from the pain of our lives. We are mocked, we are pointed at and beaten for our truth and this is the want of the Prison and of the greater untruth. Teach, to feel the lesser things that plague our lives, to castigate it and dress it with the blooms of falsehood. Let these teachers now stand in front of you Glorious Black Sun and see at last that your vengeance means nothing. Your anger is meaningless, your heart burns with the truth and those who would stand in front of you for judgement would be waiting for an eternity. For that is the final act of your existence. To see, to record and to make those who require your love to kneel upon the barren plains of your infinite mind and weep. For the Heart of the Black Sun is within all, but the finding is the key. Forgive yourself, to see the history of mankind to be a pantomime and a discourse of the ill.

Malcolm X 23 Man


HOW MANY hundreds or thousands of rising social-justice advocates have they confounded, DElegitimized, disarmed or silenced by a variety of means, from causing scandals and legal problems, to rendering homeless and unemployable/penniless, to bribing or threatening into silence, to outright disappearing or killing?

‘”We saw everything, in the Cemetery, we watched everything, you centered your flow and filth, your betrayed love lost, here in us.” she whispered into my ear, mint breath. “Everything you had with her is lost forever, all that are left of us, are us” She wept, the rolling tear was black as oil. The Guards giggled, their hands busy with each other crotches, they disgusted me, this place disgusted me.

Man, going for subtlety is always dangerous with you in the room. I’m not going to start painting by numbers anytime soon. Spell it out to to me, to all of us in the back row, since you’re so subtle and I’m so sick.  But I am not surprised to see you pounce on it so opportunistically and make such a meal of it, instead of coming up with even a remotely plausible or convincing response.

Behind the weeping Whore a window, partially opened it was blowing in a fine powdery snow and cold air. They unbuckled me roughly, their masks and uniforms were immaculate. I rested for a second, the plan not even a plan lest they discover it, my plan to see beyond the most lighted wing and the perimeter wall. That window would show me what I need to know of the dimensions and the distance between certain architectures outside or inside. I had seen a striplight in the sky, and phantasm in the clouds. Old men’s faces watching.

I jumped up and hurled like a bullet towards the window. They made no move to stop me but watched entertained perhaps. My head hit the window off centre and my shoulder smashed into the frame bouncing me back into the room, glass stuck out of my forehead and shoulder. I tried again and hit it straight on, the wind was cold….

By considering the observational constraints on these planes of action orbiting a normal sub atomic environment, we conclude that the scenario most consistent with the data in hand is the passage of fragments, all of which are associated with a single previous breakup event. In essence a totally random event. These universes  are a whisker away.

Behold a pale horse. Bill said. Bill is us. Alex Jones. Bill Hicks. Bill Cooper.

Girls will giggle, idiot barks. They sell their sense of worth in Parks and dark places with evil people. A casted breath to snag the fear of those blackened hearts that bleed less. While old men subtly lick and leer they display their prowess in the subtle bump and grind. Damned and sundered, a fire to leave. We walk past them as they wander never lost. We know our ends untied, tangled knot. Bare chested fury the last slaved night. Shared whispers, dark corners.

I was in the Host of them and we waited in a great unbroken line, a mass of warriors. We held no fear, only jealousy. We held our shields tight and were ready but…how could we strike our own Father, doubt in me…Their banners were muted and black and no wind blew them as I felt the press of better men and things that were not men either side of me. ‘He’ would ride from the line and with his hand silence the unbroken mass, silent we were, but I would have given the earth to shout his name.

His look as fire, his awful rage held within.

I spoke words to him and they formed in my mouth and fell from it, solid symbols of all colours, like vomit they fell between us into the Grey dust at our feet and writhed like worms until they melted into nothing. This is what words do in this place, maggot ridden lies, untruths and observations of nothingness, relative descriptions that dissipate like smoke.

Each new revelation since 2008 has brought the tipping point between content and malcontent perilously closer. The System must react. But The System is incapable of offering an alternative to itself, for obvious reasons. Power in the hands that control it.