Graveyard Part 2: Orgy by Perturbator

Silent and dark
Land of the dead
Oh but what is this?
Singing of the dead!

The rebellious lovers kiss atop the dead
The whore moans as she gets fingered to death
The orgy continues in the land of dead

The sex continues
And the Pastor is disturbed 

A pedophile and a rapist he was in life
Just like any catholic in time 
How much he missed the carnal lust,
Oh dear god just one more time! 

A beautiful young woman, tied to a tree
Her lover kissing her whole body
Worshipping his Aphrodite in bondage
As Ol' Jimmy cries beneath them

The sex continues 
And Mr.Robert is disturbed 

Disgusting man he was in life 
A mill-owning parasite 
Tried to work his workers to death
In turn, they sent him to death 

Young man lies down on the cold ground 
Boots of his lover step on his weak body
As Officer David is enraged beneath them

Oh but what is that! 
The enraged spirit of the dead is now back
Seeking revenge from the rebellious youth
For choosing a life that gives happiness not bore 

Here's the spirit of the dead 
In form of a Graveyard Killer	

Graveyard Part 1: Tavern by Perturbator

Gather around
For this bone chillin' tale
Of a tavern atop
The tomb of the dead

Young folks, beers in hand
No worries in their head
Trample upon the dear bodies
Of our lovely dead!

The music starts
And Officer David is disturbed

A horrible man, he was in life
A corrupt cop 
and a wife beater on top
Now he beats his casket in rage

Young folks, beers in hand 
No worries in their head 
Trample upon the dear bodies 
Of our lovely dead! 

The music continues
And Ol' Jimmy is disturbed 

A grumpy old man, he was in life 
Hated the children 
Who would want a bite 
From his beautiful apple pie 

One day two kids snuck in
Took a bite from that wonderous pie 
That night Ol' Jimmy 
Made meat pie for a dime 

The music continues 
And love making starts 
Oh what is this! 
An orgy on top of our lovely dead! 

Turbo Killer Part 2 by John Smith

Into the streets, the people were muttering animatedly between
themselves, while policemen walked around waiting for new orders,
nervously gazing the angles of the roads.
From a radio device, the news ranged “Voices about an unknown
motorbike vehicle roaming the cities are completely false and
probably just stories made up by political agitators…”
The salaryman walked towards a small road restaurant where various
customers and the cook were listening to the radio.
“Well, that’s not true” he murmured, raising a finger.
Everyone turned their head towards him.
“Yeah, the shadow biker…I saw her! I saw her a week ago and…” he
was interrupted when two policemen grabbed him by his shoulder.
“We’re getting cocky here, eh?” said one of the agent.
“Spreading dangerous news! You come with us now!” yelled the
“I Don’t care” answered that guy, not fighting that much when they
pulled him away under the silent attention of the customers and
the cook nearby.
All around people keep scuttling aside the darkened streets.

Far away, at the top the dark television tower, there was great
tension inside the studio.
The television Chamberlain McDruff was walking in circles in the
chainsmoking director’s office, while a security officer was
standing in front of the other two.
“We have all the entrances and the windows of the building
covered!” he said, with firm convinction.
“And other precautions?” asked the chamberlain, while the
director seated behind his counter sucking a cigar.
“We have snipers on the roof and we are going to send a
recoinassance inside the sewer system.
If that entity is coming, we are going to intercept…her.”
Continued the officer.
“Calm down a bit, now!”. Yelled the director “We are not inside an
old barn, this place is now a fortress!”
McDruff grumbled “Well I know something about fortresses, thank
you! And I think we also need heavy weapons too against that…that
Officer, have you idea who the hell that entity may be?”
“We have no clue.
We tried, as you suggested to us, to indagate in the past of
various political figures of the Lyla System to find any possible
hint for a vendetta, but there has been no use.
We do not have any connection to a precedent organization or
anything else and the police didn’t fare much better than us.”

“Are you saying this entity popped out of the blue?” asked
exasperated the Chamberlain.
The security officer sighed.“She may had arrived in our stellar
system just a few time ago, when the incidents began...”
“Which it means it possessed advanced military technology even
before! Any hint about its origin, the species?” asked McDruff.
“Some close witnesses talked about details, like the presence of a
tail, rapid movements and even a scaly skin, which may suggest
some kind of reptilian ancestry.
We all remember the strong presence of the army of the Reptilian
federation before the war and theor vast use of supersoldiery.”
“So you suspect is some bio weapon from the Great War?” murmured
the Chamberlain.
“It may explain not only the lethality, but also the weird
obsessive behavior.
That thing is continuing to follow some training psyconditioning
“After centuries?” asked the director.
“Maybe she remained into hibernation as our populace did and for
her, not much time has passed and the war is still going.”
Explained the security officer.
“These are all just hypothesis, imagination!” yelled the
Chamberlain” But whatever, we will destroy that thing when it will
appear…I pretend to have a weapon too, I was a soldier after all!”
Outside, in the streets around the giant television building, a
few security agents were patrolling, watching around nervously.
“Any sign?” called one inside his transmitter.
“No, no sign of the intruder.” Answered a colleague from the
The agent pulled the transmitter inside his own belt, then
blinked, uncertain.
He pulled his own gaze over the great shape of the television
bulding, focusing on the glassy façade.
He blinked again, but the lights of the headlights exposed the
dark elongated shape that was moving at extreme speed up the
“Agent ZeroFortytwo here, to central command.
It’s running over the building, it’s here…the motorbike is here!”
“It’s running over the television building!”

Inside the television building, the agents of the security force
moved up and down, forward and backwards around the corridors,
controlling the elevators, the doors and other checkpoints, while
the various television workers were locked in their rooms and
changing rooms.

The head officer was now waiting at the entrance of the main
registration studio with some guards, while in front of him the
television Chamberlain stood up with a shotgun.
“Is everything under control, for now?” asked the head officer to
one of his guards.
“Yes sir, we haven’t received any messages about intrusions.”
“So, the biker must be on the roof.” The Chamberlain observed.
“Well, there is no other position for her to go… I already told
three squadrons to reach for the rooftop.
They will eventually encounter her.”
“And this nightmare will end!” proclaimed the Chamberlain” You
know, officer, it is absolutely reasonable for that thing to
attack the television tower.”
“Why do you say that, McGruff?”
“I am thinking in war terms…this place represent our nation, our
culture, the Lyla system itself and how the Goodies decided to
shape it for the better in the recent decades.
This symbol represent who we are, who we became, our prosperity,
our values, our order…of course a deranged weapon senses it must
attack this beloved, shared possession of ours, to shake the
fundaments of our democracy!”
The head officer stared at the anchorman with a tired expression.
“Well, it is a theory that works, assuming that is a living
bioweapon reenacting old protocols, as we imagined before.” The
head officer reached for his own transmitter “Squad Delta, have
you reached the roof? Squad Delta?”he adjusted the transmitter
“Squad Alpha? Do you receive me? You, Delta and Gamma should have
reached the roof…” no response came from the equipment.
At the same time, lights flickered inside the building.
“A Jamming device!” the Chamberlain said.
“Or something like that…” the head officer of security pointed a
finger towards one of his men and that one came to him “Form a
recoinnassance with two others and go to the rooftop to check for
the assault squads.”
“Yes Sir.”
The Chamberlain moved towards the head officer “But if we are not
talking about a superweapon from the Great War, officer, have you
got any ideas of what we are facing?”
“Honestly not.
I do not know how to explain something that appeared from
The lights flickered again.
“Of course, it must have an explanation.
It cannot be some kind of spook or legend…is not that the voices
of people in the streets are thrue, right?” continued the
“People maybe are more…dissatisfied that wat the Goodies council
would like to admit.” Said the head officer.

“But why, officer? Look at us.
We have everything: wealth, work, resource, rights…”
“Most people have to work more than 8 hours at day…” murmured the
“Officer, what are you talking about? This sounds like subversive
slander!” yelled the Chamberlain “ And considering your job is to
be a guardian of order…” in that moment, the guard that moved
upwards to the roof was returning, his face as pale as marble.
“Sir, sir…” the guard stuttered.
“What happened?”
“There must have been a disturb in communications recently, so our
transmissions stopped working…the squads you sent to the roof to
intercept the intruder have been vanquished.”
“There has been a firefight.
Our opponent is equipped with some kind of heavy assault weapon, a
war weapon…” the guard continued.
“A war weapon? What kind of weapon?” asked the head officer” What
happened to the squads?”
“Complete route.
We have heavy casualties.”
The head officer adjusted his own beret.
“You are an incompetent!” erupted the Chamberlain” I will now go
to the recording hall…to make a new statement for the population!”
“It is dangerous, we have the enemy inside the building,
communication disturbed and we do not know how it will…”
“I know what will work! We will scare that demon to death by
calling the spirit of our populace…against the defeatist blabber
your said before!”

Later, in the great television studio, a few cameramen were
capturing the image of the television Chamberlain, while he was
reading from a paper he just wrote a few minutes before; the hall
was crawling with security officer, the entrance completely
“We are now under siege.
From the forces of ignorance, of tyranny, from the darkness of old
age past “the Chamberlain proclaimed “ We must continue, we must
endure in our struggle.
We must fight against this contagion of defeatist tought, of
bitterness, of nastiness…this force is not a force for good, it is
a manifestation of everything that is wrong with us, of our
fallings, of our shortcomings.
That is why we must fight against this manifestation, at all, as
people of the Lyla System…it is a specter haunting us.
So I call to you, citizen, to resist your darkest urge…to have
faith, to avoid unrest…please, citizens, think to the greatest
representative of our society, such as nurses, social workers and
politicians! Think about them and think how you can help their
The lights flickered again.
“What the hell is happening?” asked the head officer.
“We still haven’t recognized what kind of device the intruder is
using to disturb the commucations, but clearly the tv transmission
is working as usual.” Answered one of the guards, while both gazed
at one nervous cameraman that was pointing at the television
“So I ask you…I ask you with my heart in my hands, citizens,
patriots, family men and women…let’s exorcise this demon that
invaded our homes, our roads, our minds…all together…”
The sound of the microphone buzzed for a temporary disturbance.
The noise covered the voice of the Chamberlain, then, slowly, a
new voice arised from the noise: a female voice, loud and warm,
perfectly understandable.
“Good evening, how is it going?” the voice asked.
“Track immediately trough the system or send a new search party
around the building.” Asked the officer to a guard, who nodded and
used his transmitter.
“Who are you?” yelled the Chamberlain.
“Who are you?” replied the mysterious female voice with a twist of
wit cadencing her speech.
“I am the television Chamberlain McDruff, beloved of the people,
war hero, proclaimer of truth, defender of reason and decency…what
are you?”
“I could be nothing, I could be something, who cares? At the
moment I am just around you, that is what matters.”
“What do you want, demon?”
“I bring your destruction, funny fella.”
The Chamberlain became red like a tomato “But why?” he screamed,
spraying saliva all over the studio.
“Eh eh eh eh eh.”
The laugh that everyone received as an answer sounded incredibly
obnoxious, almost idiotic, to the dismay of everyone inside the
studio; the guards, the head officer, the cameramen and the
chamberlain gazed around.
“It’s very funny!” the voice continued, with a perky turn in her
The Chamberlain moved towards the great glass that was a the other
side of the studio, from what the entire city was visible, with
the myriad of lights and people walking.
“McDruff, you could be hit so close to the big window, step
aside!” said the head officer, moving to get him.
“So, you are going to kill me.” he muttered, talking to the voice.
“It’s not going to be that hard.
I already done it.” The voice answered.

“Have you found anything?” asked the head officer to the guards.
“We couldn’t track the transmission.”
“What do you mean?” asked the television Chamberlain, watching at
the sky beyond the window.
“I have already swallowed you, Drumer.
You are inside the building now.
I am the television building.”
The Chamberlain became pale like a ghost; the head officer didn’t
give much attention to the message, instead he tried to coordinate
his agents.
“What do you mean you are the television building?” sighed the
“I am the place! You cannot run from me…because I already
swallowed you! Eh eh eh…”
“This is complete madness!” said the head officer, shaking his
head “Please mr McDruff, do not listen to this, it is classic
intimidation and you know it…” the officer shut when he saw the
chamberlain’s face, the eyes staring straight with motionless
pupil, the skin almost chalk white” Please, wake up!” the officer
shacked him with no use, because the anchorman remained silent.
“No news from any other agent, sir.” Said another agent to the
head officer”We are not able to track any kind of intruder.”
“Of course…she is all around us…we already lost…I already lost…I
am already dead…” murmured the Chamberlain; the head officer
nodded to one of his agent “He is shoked, we need medical support…
Mr McDruff no!”
The anchorman just throwed his own rifle on the ground and ran
against the great glass window at the other side of the recording
studio: the officer was dismayed, the other agents distracted, but
then too many seconds passed.
During that short but decisive time, the television chamberlain
ran towards the window that was bulletproof but not resilient
enough for a large body; with the strength inerited from his youth
he jumped and soon, after a crashing crystalline sounds, the
studio was filled with the cold breeze of the evening.
Down in the streets, not many people noticed the object falling,
but when it clumped on the ground with a harsh splatting crack,
many passersby turned towards him; a few recognized the deformed

The flower with the eye by L’Fontaine

The flower of the eye,
My little tour guide of mine,
Treat me much like lye:
For I wish to be a mere parasite to you, to dine

Fleur Du Mal,
Oh why most thou wicked edelweiss,
With your stalk, nice and tall,
Must you be full of vice?

Oh entice,
Reunite for the bouquet of flowers
Before the itty bitty bites from the mice
Come to our flowers with great powers

Oh fuse together malicious rose
With a hint of lavender,
You must pose,
With the greatest endure

That no experience may limit what is seen, is said
May never wish for the day the flowers wilts for the dead.

Hardcore by Gio

So I’m sitting here on Saturday night, thinking about what I might want to write about watching a God’s Hate video. I could write about how Evola was too soft for Dada so retreated to escapist traditionalist thinking. I could write about Bataille’s beef with Breton. I could write about the Anarchist/Futurist overlap. Fuck it I’ll write about Hardcore. Something I can easily write 500-1000 words on without too much effort.

So why do I love hardcore? Long story short it’s pretty much everything I look for in music all at the same time. Punk music was the first kind of music I got into, and at 35 remains the style that I spend the most time listening to. Drinking beers on Friday night, I’m listening to Fear. On the bus at 6 am going to work, I’m listening to Integrity. Feeling good, I’m listening to Gorilla Biscuits. Feeling angry it’s Infest.

It’s not that I don’t like other styles of music too. I like all kinds of music. But I always go back to hardcore and have been doing so for 20 years now. It’s where I feel comfy and at home. Experiencing other cultures and broadening your horizons is great, but you always end up missing your own home before too long.

I like a lot of Metal music too. Musically I like the aggressiveness and heaviness of it. But it’s always felt like escapist fantasy music to me. I don’t give a shit about Satanism or Dungeons and Dragons. Hardcore is street level and reality based. Lyrics that I can actually relate to. Just resonates more. Rap music is also street level and reality based., which I appreciate, but as incredible as Big L or Mobb Deep are to me, again I just can’t relate to their music as much as I can relate to Agnostic Front or Slapshot.

But it isn’t just the lyrical content. In the 90’s, with bands like Earth Crisis and Strife, Hardcore fully absorbed all of the aspects of metal I do like, while discarding the meandering pretensions of metal. Hardcore, particularly NYHC, is also more groove oriented and conducive to dancing like funk or hip-hop, but obviously way heavier and more aggro. I know, I know. To outsiders, moshing looks stupid and dangerous. Like why the fuck would someone do this for fun? To be real it feels great, and a place for consensual violence is not necessarily a bad thing. Hardcore show’s offer an outlet for negative emotions, that might otherwise manifest themselves in more destructive ways.

Then there’s the social values of hardcore. Hardcore is very much built on community, rejecting the establishment and doing it yourself and with your friends. Start your own labels, book your own shows, print your owns zines etc. Do it the way you want to do it. Fuck the “rules”. There are also very sizable straight edge and posi hardcore contingents. While I have never identified with straight edge, and I am critical of that scene, there are still positive voices to be found in hardcore that promote healthy lifestyle and postive attitude. I wouldn’t say there is really an equivalent of a band like Minor Threat in Metal or Hip-Hop. Let’s be real here, the metal community is largely made up of fat slobs, and substance abuse is rampant in hip hop. Because the emphasis is more on entertainment in those scenes, where hardcore is more about community and lifestyle. I don’t say this from a moralist, holier than thou, standpoint. Listen to what you like and all, but for me the evil shit is amusing for awhile, but I quickly get bored. Positive mental attitude is a huge reason why I still listen to hardcore. Despite it’s rough exterior, I would say that hardcore has a positive centre. And that’s what makes it so compelling to me. Like it’s not just entertainment music, it’s a way of life. When I was young, that made a huge impact on me.

I drifted away from the hardcore scene proper in my early 20’s, getting more into hip-hop and graffiti through my twenties, and largely becoming an extremely online fringe politics guy in my 30’s, but I still look back on my hardcore years as the most fun I ever had. At 35 I’m not still one of the boy’s in the pit, but watching HateFiveSix on youtube always brings me back to the good ol’ days. When I was young and didn’t give a fuck about anything, except skateboarding and the next hardcore show. I like to think I carry the fiercely independent spirit of hardcore into what I do with FF. It remains a huge inspiration to me for sure.

“So what the fuck does this even have to do with Futurism, Gio?” Not too much to be honest. I think that the argument could be made that Futurism was proto-punk and the movements were kindred spirits. Karen Pinkus has made that argument before here . It’s a good read, and she makes a compelling argument. But that wasn’t really my motivation for writing the article. I try and publish two pieces a week, and this was kind of a last minute thing to fill the quota. Still, hopefully some of you found it somewhat interesting. I do have ideas for more substantial articles I hope to start soon, but I’ve been pretty busy and FF is something I do part-time/on weekends. The wheels are turning and I’ll be back with something more long form soon. Till then, salut.

An Elegy by l’fontaine

At Five in the Afternoon, 1949, Robert Motherwell
A winter evening. 

As I hold my pen, wither
Ing away before my very
Eye, I dreamt of slither

Ing snake take alary
Away from Sunu's zither
Swallowing 'hole the Aerie

In great despair I swither
Away, I see carry the Dewbeery
Away, I see Dionysus thither

Away, away, Zanary
Dissipate into "alters"
"One by one we drop away"

"Like the waters"
Yet the waters evaporated
Due to haughty Helios

Enyo's daughters
Begin a massive toss
Of Antigone into floodwaters

"Musa, mihi causas memora?"
Yet, when the Divine dies
And the emptiness of Ole

Is revealed, Musa,
Oh how can one sing
What even the bastard wing

Cannot event flutter
Will we finally shutter?
Will Juno finally spluttier
Oh, Apollo, did
Augustus not build
Enough for thou?

Art though sadden? 
A dewy, decrepit
Drop before thy eye?

What a beautiful way to die
With the crumble of the blue sky
And the dance of Shiva cesseates

And the dance of Yuga's Kali
Where the party of a Jolly
And the fire of a volley

Punctures Johnny's skull
And the laughter of the seagulls
Leaves over Normandy's beach

And the leaches from the mud
Suck upon the Lotus
That the Venerable sat upon

Lilacs wither out of dead land
And the ruins remains hidden under the sand
And to what will rise out of the granular
Spec of Midas' expenditure of failure

As I drop my pen, wither
Ing... away...
The forgetful snow

Covers my body
The great cold freezes
My heart

For no tell tale
Nor tall tale
Can rejuvenate my soul

As I wither away
I return to e--
Is there anything to return to?

When I finally turn to dust
Just as the rest
Is there any...?

Blood and Wine by Ezra S.

Nightmares Come at Night, 1970, dir Jesus Franco
drinking blood and forsaking wine
for a heart that doesn't beat
forgotten and far from the divine
and devoid of any heat
the world only turns at night
for us creatures of the darkness
distant, severed from the light
from all the will harm us
only to be killed
to be cast into the fire
a life left unfulfilled,
this is the life of a vampire

Sainthood by Shocco

The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, 1616, Guido Reni

At times I feel the urge to plummet into the ocean, to let her weeds wrap around me, twirling their fingers up my ankles and pulling me into the sea’s bosom; her caress of foam filling my lungs, that I might see that whole world which lurks beneath the deep, that calming, infinite, blue expanse who, despite her eeriness, stills my raging heart.

The head weighs heavy with the crown of human experience, to the point of nearly being over cumbersome sometimes. There is so much to fight, and yet we must fight. Like Bar Kochba we must seek a victory we very well may never obtain, and yet, when the time comes, refuse defeat and seize a spiritual victory few men ever see. There is so much in the heart that burdens the head. I must be Man. I must be a Person. I must be an Erudite. I must be a Hick. I must be a Lion. I must exist in the present, ever anxious about the future, and ever longing for the past. Though I know the future will soon be the present, and the present will someday be the past I yearn for, I persist like an animal without thought in this irrationality. How am I to Be all these things and not inevitably consume myself like a meteor?

I would like to spend forever in the moment of bliss and ecstasy that is the loss of virginity, the obtainment of death, or the sweetness of music and art. I believe that is the great object I will chase through this whole life. So great is art then, when it may be kissed so many times, while love and death may only be held once or a handful of times at most.

Maybe that is all I need to be. The Deflowered, The Dying, The Artist. A Saint, to be all these things. What do I care for the petty tribal conflicts? What’s the point of praying like some fetishist or pagan to false idols? Flagellants with their crosses, lost nations with their stars, shields, and crescents. The temptation to say it dances on my tongue, and do I dare? Do I dare say glory to god in the highest, that being the human experience in her fullest? For that is Heaven. That is the Kingdom, open to all Saints who might but extend their fingers to touch her. There, that is where I’m meant to be. Impaled upon the tree of life, arrows protruding from my pale, soft but firm skin, blue eyes welled with tears and turned up to Heaven, to finally orgasm on the touch of divine Sainthood.

They Don’t Care by Avanti Rossa

Raymond Pettibon, No Title (With brows knitted), 2011
They don't care
No matter all your pleading 
All your reasoning
They do not care

Give them your best 
And they will shrug
Because they don't care
Weep and show the bodies
And they still don't care

If they cared
Do you think they would be talking to you?
If they cared, why would they be where they are?
If they cared, why would they believe what they do?
Without any thought 
Its because they don't care

Care takes dedication
Care take thought
Care takes principle
All three they don't have
Because they don't care

So why should you care?
Care about the coward?
Care about the snake?
Care about the craven?
Care for the waste of space?
For them I Don't care

Because they simply don't and won't care
So why should we