Commune against the bloody bone crunching rabble

The plague had begun in the midst of the Russian wilderness. No one knows where they come from. There are rumours to this day it was some sort of secret experiment that went wrong (although most of the sources for this are amerikan). Perhaps they were a contamination from outer space or some natural phenomena that will never be wholly understood. Whatever the cause the fact remained. One day no more than a few dozen bloody bodies had wandered into a sleepy town and the crunch of bones and screams had woken all who dwelt there. Within a few days the wilderness teemed with thousands of the terrible creatures. Neither starvation nor cold nor exhaustion slowed or thinned their ranks and when the first waves reached the cities in the East there had already been first reports on the Alaskan shores of the bodies striding out of the straight.

Many amerikans had anticipated this moment for years. While many more servile populations boarded up their homes as their goverments prepared the countries for sustained undead siege the mighty amerikan superstate, with their people filled with grindhouse films and call of duty took to the streets to fight. Against all odds the uncoordinated masses of untrained overconfident civilians mostly blew their own feet off with guns they’d hardly practiced using or were eaten alive before bringing one lumbering body down.

It was from this chaos and bloodshed that the Amerikan salvation had arrived. In a similar vien to the armies of the rest of the world Collectivist Militia’s began forming across amerika. They worked as vast coordinated units and kept in contact with one another through makeshift networks of radios, messengers and repurposed abandoned phone networks. What survivors remained were evacuated from major amerika cities. Now the countrysides are our glorious pastures from which one day the world will be reclaimed.

All that has been said here is true of almost every country of course. Our allies throughout the world have established such resistance forces against the threat. With the violent horror of the monsters outside the rich men and robbers of the world have been evicted. But what is strange about amerika specifically is what happened so often when the collectives tried to evacuate amerikan cities. People refused to leave. Not people who were hurt and couldn’t move or who thought the militias were attackers and tried to keep them out. Instead people who knew the militias motive’s and thought them somehow ‘lacking virtue’. They would hide from militiamen and try to kill and loot them or else just retreat from building to building. They would desperately fight us off just as much as the horde even when we were not attacking or influencing them in any way. None of them were very successful of course. Always they were on their own or in a tiny group of two or three and were always starving. With no large scale collectivizing or organizing they were effortlessly swept aside if they got in our way rescuing whoever was left in a given city. One man (and they were extremely frequently men) stood on top of a car with a stereo blaring music to attract the horde. Playing noise to move the creatures was standard practice for many in those days but don’t misunderstand. I specifically mean towards themselves. On top of that the man had two shotguns­- one in each hand, and tried to shoot the ensuing horde one by agonizing one. I was a sniper in those days and we were waiting for the next shift from a nearby vantage point so me and my spotter watched this man with bemused interest. Surely he had more of a plan than this? But no in fact. The man smoked a cigarette as he fired and the music blared. The first shot he fired missed a creature completely and knocked him off balance. This made him yelp or something and cough out a huge unwieldy ball of cigarette smoke. The music continued to play. The singer declared he was a ‘war machine’ just as the man tripped over the stereo and plunged headfirst onto the pavement. The horde grew closer. The man tried to get up. He stood only to collapse again realizing too late that his ankle was twisted. But unlike if one of us was injured he had no one with him to help him. By himself he was defenceless. He raised his other shotgun only to realize that the fall had knocked a key component loose. It could be screwed back into place easily if it were his only gun but having two meant that he had to drop it. He raised the other gun only to have it grabbed. He yanked it back but the creatures behind him grabbed him. As he was eaten alive the shell of the single bullet he’d fired rolled under the car. The stereo kept blaring as the blood spurted high. This was a man who’d burned down an entire block to delay us ‘enslaving him’.

What strange folks those amerikan’s were…


The jungle is quiet the sea laps slowly on the sandy shore/

the evening brings with it snakes and insects (they try to burrow under your skin and dont let them


it’s hot and wet the flushes of rain spiral through the tree cover and onto my sodden position

I continue tracking my target- I think it’s an amerikan soldier

creep creep creep

i’ve been fighting this damn war for nearly fifty years every once in a while

I listen to radio transmissions sometimes they say strange things: .- -… -… .-

the hog runs and the lonely soldier stalks and the cricket squats in the bog- it is quiet




‘never surrender’ they told me

I didn’t.

(stalking through the undergrowth silent and invisible- remaining contained and hidden)

(my target is achingly close now- I can see their silhouette amongst the trees like a ghost)

(the attack is carefully prepared- i dont make a sound)

c r e e p c r e e p c r e e p






The man’s broken body crumples to the ground. I watch it lying there. The gunshot still echoes. The crisp smell of burnt gunpowder hangs in the air. I shake! I haven’t seen another ally in years!

I’ve heard nothing from command- no new orders since I lost contact with the Northern islands when the amerikans took them over.

It is the year of our lord nineteen eighty. The second world war drags on.

They wouldn’t just abandon me would they?


It is with that. At the until from in to during display. Including, until against/among: throughout (despite towards upon concerning of). To, for in on by about like through over before between after since without under within along following, across behind beyond except up out around down off. Above? Near! But plus! Is concerning following including. Of) above? under after like towards beyond over until; Since at on. Through during but. In behind plus! along for to off between without from across. Throughout near! with (despite display it up out. Except until about in to by against/among: the. Within upon that down before around?At between across on of) within until concerning for before down; (despite concerning the above? over for by. Beyond from; During is without.Above? through by plus! the about on except across display before near! after out of) without. Over the that (despite around out without towards; Like following within since; During near! in. From except by including up; Against/among: between for; Until in under but up but through between for to before including concerning it along along to like after throughout. Near! Plus!. By about within; Beyond plus! for along off near! to with; Concerning from. Upon of) beyond; Including about concerning around; On out; Following over until within off; Before until concerning to since;

In off to…

Is on; Behind in around? Upon; Down is (despite across down across without for beyond. Above? out behind on. Like it down at under above? About. Between towards; Over around?at of). Except in during. Towards including around on near! Around?. In it along to out. Off plus! in to about except; About like including. Out near! before up through since. To down. Across within in that. The upon except until at behind off from (despite; Behind throughout with until between over with towards display above? display after up that following along beyond against/among: until under;

It upon to in since under after of) throughout without;

Plus! during following like through against/among: by is but;


you keep searching- keep looking around

but what if it’s not there?..


I was born. The world was bright. Sunlight streamed through the window. The television showed the Berlin wall was being built. We moved away from the house I was born in only a year later (it was later demolished). My very earliest memories started to coalesce in my infant mind in the weeks after the last boxes were finally retrieved from dusty attics and unpacked years into ‘the moving process’. This means my mother was already gone before I can remember. Sally wouldn’t join the scene for many years. In the meantime dad did a good job teaching me letters and things. I was walking. It was strange at first but by now I had mastered it to such a degree I could easily shoot off at a moments notice. I started school. It was uneventful. I was neither so exceptional as to draw much attention to myself nor so maligned that I had to slink through the shadows of scholastic life. One of the swing sets was red with peeling paint. I cut my hand one day on a piece of glass in the playground. I had a lesson where I made awkward eye-contact with a fellow pupil. Sally eventually met Dad and that seemed to make things easier. I entered High school. I had a crush on a girl and humiliated myself. Boy didn’t go well either. I failed an english class. I cut my knee open on a broken brick. I ate a strange carrot cake with an aesthetic musk so strong the staling failure of the taste was softened somewhat. I graduated.

University (few memories remain- something about ancient greeks- first girlfriend (got dumped in second semester)- second boyfriend (men are terrible)- lost virginity- took a philosophy class and was up myself about it- ) ended and I felt adrift in the world and then I moved out of my parents house to take a job across the country I felt so confused in those early cold nights of that first year in the real world and then I eventually adjusted and started to work cheerfully away but the company did some downsizing so I started doing odd jobs in that part of the country because that’s where my friends were now and then I started to get older has girlfriends two and three (got dumped and got dumped respectively) and then I started to wander about if it was too early to start a family but also if it was too late to start one in a global sense because it seemed like everything became faster less clear more confusing and then I had my second attempt at writing a novel and this one I barely made half of the first chapter before I gave up and then I considered the permanence of the world (the wall would fall but a month later) and then I did eventually meet boyfriend three who became husband one who became late husband one and at the funeral small birds flew amongst the spring flowers in their glee as my grey body floated like a ghost amongst the thin grave stones and then my father died and Sally (whom despite having known her since a young age I had barely a frosty acquaintanceship with) came round to see me after and the conversation was uncomfortable and I retired and I tried to write a novel again and I never had a child but that’s okay (?) and I ended up buying a dog and it had one lazy bloodshot eye so it looked very goofy as it bounded around and the world grew faster and faster and faster and faster and the angel of history was dragged backwards screaming into the future and everything became strange and terrifying and I saw few people and began to feel the days grow cold and then I wrote this memoir and then I died.

“Jhr gfjhadgf kj hasdgfkjhs dbfkjh gs dfjk. Hgsdf kjhgsad kjfhgsdkjfh gsd kjf gsdkj hgfksj hgfjks. Hgfks dbvc kj hgf kj hsdvfgh adsbfkjh sdfkja shgf kj asdhgfj hgsfuo yew h gfygsea. Jk fyga sd jk fgsjydtrsdjhf gkhsd, gfhdck hds c, jk hdvbfk jhsdb fkjs davf ksda kjfh gsdh jkfg sdjh gf ljs gf d j s d, h gfjk hsad gfkhgs dakjfg sdojf dgoy uwe gfouyewbf jyev fjsbfk. Jhgs dfkjh bsda kvfj hvs jkh! Dfvas jhfg ksjh fdls havf… Ksalj fhbs?

Dakj hfvkjh svck hge vwc jkh esbjk cvae sjb fkj sdhb fjhs dv kchj bsl jehb kja ehsvf. Kh es abl cjhbkycvjl esh vfk se: bfkh evs. K f hv abes j. Khfv a kshv fkj hsa bfjs ab. Vckh vs eak cjhb s ealj hcv  bhc b jse abh kjchvyje blub kcja svec lje sbly vdlu wayv. Kcw euf bjhk. As vfys fgl uekfbek cy           liu ewhg flj ufg liuewb fhjebrf. Yuluewa ghughdf jls gfhj sdb cuilw icpq oiuw feg qo eg fpw qe efg- Dsl hflow qpuupw euwei pghfh jhdfbfl jhsdl. ajhfb ljway ueewh jlfgu ile bj hf. Ebl fj hbe lf jh sd ljf hb ds nfd bn jsdf idshfjf jksdfh hr uer jhdf 10101001.” -191 Words.

Am I a genius? How about now?

“It was a cool crisp spring morning. The birds were shimmering over the sunlit meadows. I had been deliberating fucking the brains out of my brother’s wife for ten days. On the eleventh day I awoke, brushed my teeth, regretted it when my descent of the stairs greeted me with over ripe freshly squeezed orange juice, and I relented to converse with Janet for the first time. How strange that day seems now! After all that has happened… Will happen?

I had perhaps a few minutes before my brother would come down the stairs and go to work. He was such a drone like that: always working. I had but moments now. I kept the pace brisk with Janet. It was clumsy and the dialogue broke apart in soggy places but I kept it going at all costs. Mere seconds remained. I hurried through unnecessary silences                       to the important parts of conversations. I was blissful transient alone afraid besotted with la belle femme terrifying brilliantly ecstatically- Any second now I had to hurry. i screamed inwardly as Janet became withdrawn. I didn’t know whether my poor heart could cope and I expected to entirely break down any second.”

The words change but the song remains the same the same the same…

On the Circumstances of Production (Constructed Late at Night on a Mobile Phone on the Eve of Global Proletariat Revolution)

How can I live in such proximity? I wrote this on my phone on my computer on the back of a napkin on a train on the walls with blood spray paint braille how can I be written like this I am writing I wrote I will be writing. I am the writer and what s written for I write myself. My words scream with the Goddess whose eyes and I’s are nothing. My every plosive popping pulsating putrid pustule poof! I scream the orgasm of alliteration and time and climb and rhyme. I touch myself with metatextual references and hidden ironies. I seduce with my sentences I avow with my vowels. I am the definition of the phrase “Reading for Pleasure”. I now masturbate my own meanings by reading myself. I feel the fleshy trusses give way- the nuances of my subtext- I try to unravel them and reveal them as plainly text but, in doing so, forever defer my own words from what I describe. Once again their is an ecstatic awakening in such frustration. 

It has come: the thunderous crescendo where the text flies apart and apart and the world shatters and the characters disintegrate and the very words themselves cllps n2 cnstrctns wth brly   whspr f th rgnl “n-tnded” mn-ng.


It’s quiet. The late evening has ushered the last of the daylight birds away to their twig beds and now night has fully taken over the landscape. The sleepy buzzing of late night insects falls on the hushed ears of those nestled in silent glades. The trees no longer hold their solidifying texture. They are like ghosts now. Huge dark arms swoop over invisible paths amongst the thickets and ferns. In the midst is a clearing and within that a modest bonfire. Alongside it sits a dark figure. There is a snap of a twig. The figure looks up. A bush trembles. The figure retrieves a fearsome knife. They rise gently to their feet. There is nothing now. They stand for a while. It is only when they sit down that the huge orange monster slinks through the undergrowth once more. Its eyes narrow and the knots of back muscles tense and coil like snakes. It’s hot breath hits cool leaves and leaves tiny beads of condensation on them. The figure can not hear this happening. Eventually they pounce. The figure spins round and raises their arms but soft figures fall helplessly against sharp claws. Their pinned. Their knife is on the ground. One hand holds those jaws at bay. Reaching across the soil (almost there!). Fingers whitening from strain. Gripped. The beast bites. The figure slashes. Slashes again. Now the beast is thrown off. Now the beast is slashed open. The bite mark leaves the figures face broken. The following desperate claw marks scratch the figures chest and arm. The knife drives into the animals heart again and again.

The figure will eat well tonight after months of berries and small insects. They will likely die from their injuries.

The moon shimmers down on the shuddering scene. Happy and sad. Cruel and merciful. Alive and Dead.