The Idol of Sin

Sin Sex Swine

Taste you. Eat you. Drink you. Violate you. Fuck you. Desecrate you. Fill you. Pollute you. Pleasure at the cost of scars.
There are things that we desire and there are things that we do not desire. And then... there are the things that seduce us.

There is far too much to discover to let ourselves rot in lovely churches and meadows. Lets take a peak behind the curtains and look under the angels dresses. Lets get drunk and vandalize our minds together with deep truths and chilling philosophies.

The Path of God Nature

It's the way of life and has been for millions of years. Humankind and all animals, only exist by placing other life below them. There is only a finite amount of energy entering Earth at any given moment. Life is in a constant war to claim it. It's in the very core of our being, to take and to survive. It's a pervasive mindset. Be it food, sex, or ego, people have an incredibly long history of taking. And they justify it by the concept of superiority/inferiority, be it between species, races, sexes, or classes of wealth and bloodline. Be it tribalism, nationalism, sexism, racism, or egotism, humankind finds a way to convince themselves they are above and only take from below. It's a game animals have been playing long before we ever existed.

Get Well Soon (letter)

I am sorry to here that you're sick. But then I realized... that in a twisted way, you actually enjoy being sick, you enjoy the virus that commands your body. You want to be put in your place, as you're hi-jacked by floating particles of genetic material. You yearn for the sickness to course and spread beneath your skin, don't you?

You bask in the dirty thoughts of being completely ravaged, by millions of microscopic cock-like particles, that are filling up your cells with viral sperm. You want the very building blocks of your body itself, to be sexually debased and beaten raw by the genetic replication of infectious disease. You want your cells to be forcefully degraded and gang banged until they're completely covered in leftover capsid sleeves, that lay next to their receptors like millions of used up condoms flowing through your veins.

You want millions upon millions of your tiny succulent tid-bits to be continuously injected with nucleic acid, like worn down cum whores bloated with filth. You want your fragile cells to be ravaged again and again, night and day, by the vicious viral penetration that seethes and aggregates within your sick and destroyed body.

You want your exposed and vulnerable cells to be forcefully filled, fucked and impregnated until they begin to bud and burst with the viral offspring of their enslaving subjugators. You want every living cell of your being to be raped and sodomized, until you're completely subverted in whoring viral sex, and your insides become a massive cytopathic orgy of carnalizing virion. You filthy fucking whore...

A Warm Invitation to a Friend (letter)

Did I tell you about the night I met Death? I didn't want it over quick, so I asked Death to take it slow. We licked kitchen knives together and danced drunk on the glass of broken rum bottles. Death took me outside and blew out the stars. It grabbed a hold of me, pulled the shit from my ravaged soul and threw it into the sky. And then under the molested Heavens, Death threw its cloak open, whipped out reality like one big fat ugly cock, and fucked my crumbling world with it under the shit stained sky.

Death passionately whispered vile truths and horrors in my ear, and spit self-contempt down my throat. With its flowing and dissonant voice, death blew away the meaning of everything, like little dead leaves being taken away by a cold wind. But... just before Death sucked the life from me, it stopped...

I asked Death why it didn't kill me. With a grim smile twisting under its hollow eyes, Death said we're going to take it slow and let me live. So here I am, taking it slow with Death. I've got rum in the closet, so whenever you're bored at 2 in the morning, come stop by and we can begin our own night.


My angel has heroin in her veins, blood in her eyes, and memories under her fingernails. She drinks gasoline like spring water, devours bones, and wipes her face off with washed flesh. The wind blows when she calls and the Sun sets when she arrives. She will protect you while she destroys you. Only the dead have wings. Only the lost have dreams. Her eyes cut like glass and her tongue beckons like a dagger. Her only is wish is to scar. Her only promise is that you'll be a better monster than before.

Not all pain is alike. There is a kind that grows and twists, burns and boils. It fills you as time passes. From a small dark seed it becomes large enough to fuel your own natural psychological disasters. Sucking you in and then spitting you out. From a meak tremble to a shearing earthquake. From a wind that whispers in your ear it culminates into a storm that tears you apart just before it summons the calm seas. Blood becomes the shore. Anger becomes the Sun. Isolated and deeply self-sedated. You consume thyself.