Old Religion.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

No dogma, no messiah; no mercy or empathy for your burgeoning burdens here.

Lost in tow to promised lands, behold fear of misguided judgements near; it has become all so very clear.

Alms only to those whose blood is pure.

Alienate all that care, to you just beasts of the fields; spit upon the offerings and increase the tare.

What’s left over will be cloves and clover; incest upon the trust fund chair.

Stare down the elephant, sitting comfortably with skulls of soldiers sacrificed, considered consequences are reparations; must be only fair.

Robes of black surround the altar; though it’s the guilt that thou shalt wear.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

Death spiral round the hexahedral cenotaph.

No identity or safe haven within your own walls built with hermetic staff.

Another bleak statistic; just lines upon a graph.

Stumble drunk into grisly abattoir as the goats and sheep laugh.

It has become all so very drab.

Alms only to those who drink of the blood of the lamb.

Alienate all that care, to you just beasts of the fields; spit upon the offerings and increase the tare.

What’s left over will be cloves and clover; incest upon the trust fund chair.

Stare down the elephant, sitting comfortably with skulls of soldiers sacrificed, considered consequences are reparations; must be only fair.

Robes of black surround the altar; though it’s the guilt that thou shalt wear.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

Minimalism and inhibitions robbing us of decision.

The song of life is there for you to listen.

Take hold of the tumor and make an incision.

Remove the blight and take your birthright; the commons vision.

A world for gentle people is what I envision.

If you know what I’m really saying come join me in excision.

No more need for old religion.

It has become all so very clear.

Alms only to those whose blood is pure.

Alienate all that care, to you just beasts of the fields; spit upon the offerings and increase the tare.

What’s left over will be cloves and clover; incest upon the trust fund chair.

Stare down the elephant, sitting comfortably with skulls of soldiers sacrificed, considered consequences are reparations; must be only fair.

Robes of black surround the altar; though it’s the guilt that thou shalt wear.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

No more need for old religion.

A world for gentle people is what I envision.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

No more need for old religion.

If you know what I’m really saying come join me in excision.

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer.

Suffer.

Suffer.

Suffer.

Suffer!

God’s chosen.

Chosen to suffer all.

This is what you chose; the only way to save your soul.

Suffer! –Michael Kabu Ament

Hello.

I’m schizophrenic.

I’m a fool and a spook.

I mean everything I say.

I’m a threat to present day society.

Phase III

Self-evident truths become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Our Occam’s razor; consume the disease.

We have become yellow 5 and corn syrup; television fiends and lcd screens serve only as a distraction from what they did to Europe.

Biopunk reality incoming as if god’s design is only a fraction of what’s on people’s minds; surely there’s a medication that will cure us.

Watch them do a silly little dance for their woolly-headed fuhrer.

Won’t somebody save us from this world of manure?

Pick up the phone; drooling mouths stuck on the dial tone.

Nothing worse than waking up just to realize you’re all alone.

Sure, I’m cynical; it’s just the way this rose has grown.

Perpetual prisons; all the jailbirds have flown.

Sitting in a puddle befuddled yet disillusioned; waiting every day for an alternative conclusion.

Bruising and losing our minds on the daily.

Choosing to grasp at straws and needles and maybes.

Am I preaching to the choir, or am I fucking crazy?

Self-evident truths become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Our Occam’s razor; consume the disease.

We have become slaves and drug-addled contestants in the money pit.

Brave new world, hunger games; whatever fits the bit.

The part we play in this orchestra of scummy shit.

Work hard, play hard, I’m getting way too old; I’m over it.

Daydreaming about what it would be like without all the lies and corruption; no longer indebted to time, and society simply functions.

Systematic destruction of kindness and pragmatism; few people left to defend.

Sacking righteous organizations like Rome and turn them all into g-men.

Controlled opposition brainwash the free man.

Go with God young blood; if only you could see him.

Rise above as they call you dumb, selfish, and lazy.

It isn’t over yet we’re going into phase three.

Choosing to grasp at straws and needles and maybes.

Am I preaching to the choir, or am I fucking crazy?

Self-evident truths become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Our Occam’s razor; consume the disease.

We have become sold out yet cashless.

If it will please the masses moving slower than molasses, we should get up off our asses and pass this fight onto the new generations; give them time to grasp this hopeless situation.

Recognize the flaws and co-morbidities, because one thing is for certain; they will refuse to pity thee.

To transcend is the answer, I can hear the church calling me to sing with the precious; underground where the shadow-puppets can’t censor my message.

It’s bleedin’

Go with God young blood; if only you could see him.

Rise above as they call you dumb, selfish, and lazy.

It isn’t over yet we’re going into phase three.

Choosing to grasp at straws and needles and maybes.

Am I preaching to the choir, or am I fucking crazy?

Am I preaching to the choir, or am I fucking crazy?

Turn it around 180 degrees, because in this world, this life; there are no guarantees.

Self-evident truths become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Our Occam’s razor; consume the disease.

Choosing to grasp at straws and needles and maybes.

Am I preaching to the choir, or am I fucking crazy? –Michael Kabu Ament

Krigerkvinne.

Vakker er gaver fra en krigerkvinne.

Sverd i hånden, vend deg innvendig ut; å finne varme dypt inne i deg.

Spacious enough for two; I can not lie.

Feel my organs move aside, ribcage splitting, hand around my heart now; but I’m still alive.

So grateful to become one of mind, one of body; for this we should all run dry.

Krigerkvinne kaster seg inn i meg.

Krigerkvinne satte meg fri.

Krigerkvinne ser ned på meg.

Sett meg rett, lær meg måter å fylle mine ufullstendige nyanser; krigerkvinne blir ett med meg.

Krigerkvinne satte meg fri.

Spacious enough for two; I can not lie.

Feel my organs move aside, ribcage splitting, hand around my heart now; but I’m still alive.

Epitome of consummation of my incompetence; release my worries to the winds.

To venerate some recompense; wouldn’t know where to begin.

For you my priestess of azure eyes; I would surely die.

So grateful to become one of mind, one of body; for this we should all run dry.

Krigerkvinne kaster seg inn i meg.

Krigerkvinne satte meg fri.

Krigerkvinne ser ned på meg.

Sett meg rett, lær meg måter å fylle mine ufullstendige nyanser; krigerkvinne blir ett med meg.

Krigerkvinne satte meg fri.

Spacious enough for two; I can not lie.

Feel my organs move aside, ribcage splitting, hand around my heart now; but I’m still alive.

I’m still alive.

I’m still alive.

Vakker er gaver fra en krigerkvinne.

Sverd i hånden, vend deg innvendig ut; å finne varme dypt inne i deg. –Michael Kabu Ament

Remember, Remember.

Quote.

Most people that despise transhumanism; do not understand it at all.

Transhumanism is the inevitable future of mankind’s proliferation amongst the stars.

It is to believe in technology and to believe in progress.

It is to overcome our base human limitations that bring about unnecessary suffering and stagnation.

Those who wield the idea as a weapon to further their agenda forget just how an idea functions, just because you claim it as your own to wrestle power from the people to which the idea belongs; does not change its objective meaning and the purpose it gifts to us all.

Why be afraid of the inevitable future of mankind?

Why attempt to swim upriver?

The only way for us to forge a utopian future for our offspring is to do the things necessary for education, creativity, comfort, convenience, and imagination and curiosity to survive and thrive.

Transhumanism can meet all these needs if used properly by people who believe in its efficacy as a tool that provides, not taketh away; and feeds the longevity and inherent human nature that is inside all of us.

I will believe this until the day I die. –Michael Kabu Ament

Midori.

Most is fictional and emotional.

Let your body go; like an animal.

Expiration shows; gone tomorrow.

What the future holds; you never know.

Watching cars go by; wonder who’s inside.

Could never connect; at least you tried.

Lovers stand erect; but you’re shy.

All in all it’s fucked; now the angels cry.

Follow the magistrate; can you relate?

Walked all over to find; men of a different kind.

Shadows of revolving spheres; gravitate ever near.

Witness the fall; not prepared at all, because..

Most is fictional and emotional.

Let your body go; like an animal.

Expiration shows; gone tomorrow.

What the future holds; you never know.

What you see; Midori eternity.

Rolling in the dirt; crawl until it hurts.

You are the trees; drink of the seas.

Caught in her curse; could it be any worse?

What has a purpose; frees. Hold on to its tail; before reason flees.

Give in to functional thirst; you aren’t the first.

Sustained on blood and verse, focused mind births; what the muscles exert.

Let your third mind be; we’ll come together eventually because…

Most is fictional and emotional.

Let your body go; like an animal.

Expiration shows; gone tomorrow.

What the future holds; you never know.

Watching cars go by; wonder who’s inside.

Could never connect; at least you tried.

All in all it’s fucked; now the angels cry.

What you see; Midori eternity.

You are the trees; drink of the seas.

Sustained on blood and verse, focused mind births; what the muscles exert.

Kneel before seraphim’s call.

Witness the fall; not prepared at all, because..

Most is fictional and emotional.

Let your body go; like an animal.

Expiration shows; gone tomorrow.

What the future holds; you never know.

You never know.

Most is fictional and emotional.

Let your body go; like an animal.

Expiration shows; gone tomorrow.

What the future holds; you never know.

You never know. –Michael Kabu Ament

Slumberlust.

Awaken from sleep because I realize I’m dreaming.

Watching the energies flow across the room; astral light gleaming.

Derelict and abandoned buildings stretch out before, lonely people seemingly teeming with potential possibilities; people that I adore.

Raven rest upon my window, moon shine with glorious anima; shakes me to my core.

Rub my eyes, I see a million lights like stars bursting into life; just to guide me to familiar shore.

Gravity pulls me, with it’s dense anti-matter; straight down into the floor.

I wake again, I died again; and I want some more.

Comfort lulling me into a false sense of security.

Fade my mind into obscurity.

Release my bottled up impurities.

Balancing humors and teaching my heart maturity.

Grown now more than ever, more than anything, out of body experience is sometimes the best teacher; and I’m listening.

Music, a classical score ringing through my ears; echoing life and a woman’s tears glistening.

432 hertz, tuned to the cycle of the year; aversive conditioning.

Gravity pulls me, with it’s dense anti-matter; straight down into the floor.

I wake again, I died again; and I want some more.

Lust for slumber; an alternative stimulation.

Origination of fatuous scenes; my selfish capitulation.

Consuming my concentration.

Indication of inspiration; an illustration that leads to imagination run wild.

A simulation within a simulation, god’s purest creation; and I am his child.

Muscles weakening, bones aching; back becoming sore.

Gravity pulls me, with it’s dense anti-matter; straight down into the floor.

I wake again, I died again; and I want some more.

I awaken from sleep because I realize I’m dreaming.

To birds chirping as the sun fills the room; igniting the dust in the air.

I know I traveled many miles, to many places; but I cannot remember where.

Stretch my muscles, bones snapping at the joints; ascending through the roof.

Up above screaming loud; floating amongst the clouds.

Gravity pulls me, with it’s dense anti-matter; straight down into the ground.

I wake again, I died again; and I hear the sound..

Grown now more than ever, more than anything, out of body experience is sometimes the best teacher; and I’m listening.

Music, a classical score ringing through my ears; echoing life and a woman’s tears glistening.

432 hertz, tuned to the cycle of the year; aversive conditioning.

Gravity pulls me, with it’s dense anti-matter; straight down into the floor.

I wake again, I died again; and I want some more.

I want some more. –Michael Kabu Ament

Flesh Without Blood.

Flesh without blood.

Cold and empty like clear blue skies reflected in the eye of mysteries.

If it were a different life, a different day, I would be your hemoglobin; make you forget your dead dreams and misery.

I stand before your sacrifice in contempt of your history of lies; forever scarred by the self-fulfilled anemia.

Was it ever your right to choose?

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

You have paid your dues.

Could hate have bested love if the stars were aligned; if glove have never touched your sheets?

Sensory deprived hands slowly caress your cheeks; god’s child given unto me until existential reckoning repeats.

Walls and floors red with life force and quiddity.

Was it ever your right to choose?

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

You have paid your dues.

Mark of God to the head; teardrops but she never cries.

Leaking out upon the ground; what have we done with our lives?

Never appreciate the blessings until someone dies.

Cellular atrophy spurned by the apathy in your eyes.

I’ll never cut again; I’ll only fly.

Jump into my arms or jump with me from 100 stories, we’ll create a pool at the bottom; it’s somewhere we haven’t been.

What do we have left to lose?

Was it ever our right to choose?

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

You have paid your dues.

What do we have left to lose?

Was it ever our right to choose?

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

Flesh without blood.

We have paid our dues. –Michael Kabu Ament

Quote.

Inaction is an action in and of itself; for both good and bad results can arise from choosing not to act.

I could be a gangbanger.

I could rob, steal, and kill indiscriminately.

I could be strung out on hard drugs.

I could be an unfaithful nymphomaniac, breaking hearts.

I could be a cold sociopath, unfeeling and hurtful.

I could be a terrorist; feeding off of the fear of the masses.

I could be fraudulent in nature; a parasite for the rich sucking the blood of the poor.

But I abstain from these things; and I like to think that I at least do some good for this world.

No one should be ashamed if they do nothing; at least they aren’t evil. –Michael Kabu Ament