Plagues Upon Plagues

No Uncertain Terms: Come to find out we’re not so smart, or all that worth saving or pure of heart. And now? How do you write that song when you get the answer you never wanted all along? In no uncertain terms you watched it burn alive 1000 nights and days, counting the ways to make it all stop. Everything that you wanted and silently hoped for - Its off the table. This structure is rotted. Rotted through and through. And there’s just the tailspin left now. Just this frantic, panicked clawing like dogs at anything that isn’t nailed down. So bring out your Others. So bring out your dead. We’re taking on water, it’s the beginning of the end. What we were back there is what we are. And I could scream but we’ve been screaming bloody murder all the way down. I’m done hoping for better, done feeding these machines more crushed dreams and tears. I could scream but we’ve been screaming. Cathartic as it is, there’s not a Fuck You left in the world that can cover all this - because we chose the abyss. Well past the 11th hour, with all solutions at hand we said It might be nice to step off this cliff. And now we’re going for some mid-air retraction like gravity was persecution. How we rewrite it now is just an alibi. Some deluded obituary full of fraud and flattery that there’ll be no one left to impress. No pallbearers to carry the casket, no mourners to grieve it, no one left to read it. Count your dead and lick your wounds. Cut the shit, it’s what we do. No going back to hypotheticals now, because now we know this is what we are, and always were. And you can say it’s them and not me, but it takes a whole world to throw a whole world away.

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025

Shit got dark. Real dark real fast back there. I studied on killing him off, you know, that man in the mirror. Have you made a plan? they asked. I said I don’t make plans like that. I’m more the kind to run with a concept and find a way to make it work. Hello new low. Have you made a plan?, they asked. I said not everyone works like that. But where there’s a will there is a way - and that’s just the problem these days. Where was my vent when I needed it? Where was the gauze when I was bleeding out? A convulsing world a way through the broken screen of a bad news machine. I studied on killing him off, you know. Studied on wrapping up his timeline, and his bloodline, and his broken body and broken mind. I wish I had brighter news, but surviving ain’t the prize it used to be. New Low, New Low, New Low, So Low. This isn’t working for me, because surviving ain’t the prize it used to be.

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025

Drowning in Sorrows: Essential business only, we’ve got priorities here. Like keeping you drowning in sorrows to stave off the fear as your world disappears. It’s all downhill from here. But the line for relief stretches five blocks long and they keep it that way for years, measuring out dependence by the ounce. Sends the customer slipping ever further down. Staggering through the mist, broke, broken and helpless. Sanctioned essential business of monetized despair. Helping hands, helping hands. Helping themselves to all the helplessness. Helping hand over fist. Through even this, one wheel keeps turning. Even with the whole world stopped we got ‘em lined up around the block. They’re throwing anchors to the drowning. Late Capital’s child is crowning. No Meetings Today, maybe ever. But you know we’ll let you dig the hole a bottle deeper. So drink to the last days. So drink to The End. So drink to remember what you are to them.

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025

There were problems, but now they’re solving themselves. The aberration is convulsing in its throes, and it won’t be too much longer now before the tall grass grows over all. It’s not the end, it’s the real start. Gravity catching up. It matters little now what stories it tells itself to stave off the fear. All that matters is repercussion is finally here. Rejoice! Rejoice! The time is near for karma and its discontents. Pathological protagonist of its own tall tales, who just might take the whole thing down with it. But did you know, little blight, did you know there are stories to come you won’t be in at all? So rattle all you want, little plague race. You are small and time is great. The vast, it owes you nothing. And a stillness, it is coming.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

Window shopping for fashion accessories that live and breathe. This season’s must-have statement piece to keep you amused while entombed in oblivious privilege. So what went wrong, oh what went wrong? Is there anybody home? Now that the Likes have all run dry and the bars they are back open and it’s patio season - wouldn’t you know, somebody’s closed all the blinds and turned off all the lights in that Forever Home. The demands of a lifespan and your attention span didn’t make a love connection, and now the stores they are back open. So they’re dumped en masse, and set to be gassed, because you’re a caring person like that. Sentenced to die for the crimes of your thirst trap of virtue. But who can put a price on your photogenic love, a few moments of reprieve in the shallow depths of you? A hex upon your Forever Home, a hex upon your head. A hex upon your fatal vanity. Your exhibitionist humanity. Did I miss a post or two, or is the garbage to discard / or is the animal you? (You have to understand, things were so different then. We were locked inside, forced do that social climb remotely, from a condo balcony high above the ugly street scenes. Just holding up the world on these little white shoulders. Just saving all the little lambs, just righting all the wrongs. Adopting, not shopping, and definitely not shopping for applause, so I don’t know what you want from me.). Taken in. Taken in and turned out again - a salvation worse than death. Got a #foreverhome in mind for all the saviors and all their kind. And I don’t even believe in Hell, but for you I’d make the exception. All the blinds are closed, all the doors are locked, all the shops are open again. The table is wiped down, the needle is primed and abandonment is back in fashion again. The cost of your caustic love. So who’s the garbage to be discarded, so who’s the beast to be put down?

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025

All of the big three competing spiritual Ponzi schemes, on one thing they all agree. They’re losing business, they’re losing the contest, there’s nothing more sacred to them than the size of their teams. And so sanctity is weaponized, and the queers keep them up at night, and forced procreation for god and country is all that’s left keeping up the supply of subjugated flesh. Now Roe and behold, they’ve got a key to the house. Must have had one cut while we were putting out all the fires they set. While we were busy burying our post-born dead. The lovers of life have breached the city walls. The lovers of life, with death in their eyes, have reached all the halls of power. The Do Unto Others people are here - run for your fucking life. They’re wishing for 1000 more wishes and their people in all the positions are making them all come true. A gun in every hand, a lynching every night. Not an electric chair empty under the lovers of life. Impatient for Revelation, have you read your own storybook at all? In every home, to each your own. To each your own. Hate to tell you what those things turn into, it’s the people dying all around. It’s all the ones you’re cutting down for trying to tell you about real lives that matter, about bodies and choices - but you’re not trying to hear about the death on your watch, the death in your wake. The death in your eyes and all across your face. The death in your heart, or the death on your plate. Good people I fear we’re too corrupted to save. A hellish heaven finally in sight. Perverted Reich. The Lovers of Life.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 25, 2025

Should I feel something for your loss? Should empathy be kicking in? Because it’s not. Is the victim you or your livestock turned dead before you could make a buck? So walk me through this tragedy? Is it that they never lived long enough to have their throat slit on an assembly line? Be butchered alive 1000 at a time? That they died for free before they could be strung up, hung up, hooked through the heels and have their young ripped away straight out of the cage, to never see the light of day? What you’re grieving for is a thing called Inventory. Your business model is a thing called the loss of life. You say it like you had some other plan much less despicable for them. The only tragedy I see is the one that lives here all the time. You feed and feed at the trough of greed. We are the factory fire, the infectious disease. I feel nothing for your thwarted transaction, like you feel nothing when you look into their eyes. I’m feeling less and less for a world that never did or will think twice. Just takes and takes and bleeds it till it breaks, then looks around for something else to dominate. Cull or be culled.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 25, 2025

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