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The slaughter house of consciousness

Friday, July 31, 2009. Merciless invasion deep into the crust. Bones twisted beyond imagination,. Burned bodies lying upside down. Skull deformation, this nameless extinction. Shackles of blood rusted barbwire. Tormented visions of the past echoes. A civilization burned by its own fire. Child turned ******, mother turned ******. Defiant creature in its own miserable curse. Deriving pleasure from an undeniable apathy. Where xenophobia becomes the truest friend. Where poison quenches the extreme thirst.

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The slaughter house of consciousness | morbidechoes.blogspot.com Reviews
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Friday, July 31, 2009. Merciless invasion deep into the crust. Bones twisted beyond imagination,. Burned bodies lying upside down. Skull deformation, this nameless extinction. Shackles of blood rusted barbwire. Tormented visions of the past echoes. A civilization burned by its own fire. Child turned ******, mother turned ******. Defiant creature in its own miserable curse. Deriving pleasure from an undeniable apathy. Where xenophobia becomes the truest friend. Where poison quenches the extreme thirst.
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1 autopsy of civilization
2 posted by
3 ragpicker
4 no comments
5 dwell in hell
6 insanity injected clones
7 abcess
8 teratoma
9 perpetual suffocation
10 constantly eats emotion
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autopsy of civilization,posted by,ragpicker,no comments,dwell in hell,insanity injected clones,abcess,teratoma,perpetual suffocation,constantly eats emotion,hits upon denomination,black mental amputation,engulfing in hibernation,unforeseen,situation
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The slaughter house of consciousness | morbidechoes.blogspot.com Reviews

https://morbidechoes.blogspot.com

Friday, July 31, 2009. Merciless invasion deep into the crust. Bones twisted beyond imagination,. Burned bodies lying upside down. Skull deformation, this nameless extinction. Shackles of blood rusted barbwire. Tormented visions of the past echoes. A civilization burned by its own fire. Child turned ******, mother turned ******. Defiant creature in its own miserable curse. Deriving pleasure from an undeniable apathy. Where xenophobia becomes the truest friend. Where poison quenches the extreme thirst.

INTERNAL PAGES

morbidechoes.blogspot.com morbidechoes.blogspot.com
1

The slaughter house of consciousness: July 2009

http://morbidechoes.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html

Friday, July 31, 2009. Merciless invasion deep into the crust. Bones twisted beyond imagination,. Burned bodies lying upside down. Skull deformation, this nameless extinction. Shackles of blood rusted barbwire. Tormented visions of the past echoes. A civilization burned by its own fire. Child turned slaves, mother turned whores. Defiant creature in its own miserable curse. Deriving pleasure from an undeniable apathy. Where xenophobia becomes the truest friend. Where poison quenches the extreme thirst.

2

The slaughter house of consciousness: Dwell in Hell

http://morbidechoes.blogspot.com/2009/07/dwell-in-hell.html

Saturday, July 18, 2009. No secrets buried here. They all seek the final count. Behind the horizon lurks. A territory of death paramount. Domination refuted by domination. Acceptable standards for war. Peace is a mere imagination. Cataclysmic clue from the stars. Blasphemy of the bones. The casket man smiles from the corner. Indoctrinated zombies, blood thirsty farmer. Screams of violently raped women. Pus of the molested child. In the name of counter terrorism they came. Beheading of the infidel. Subscr...

3

The slaughter house of consciousness: June 2009

http://morbidechoes.blogspot.com/2009_06_01_archive.html

Wednesday, June 24, 2009. There is this place, a virtual stigmata. Where my buried secrets are unleashed. Sparking a defiant hollowness within. Rusted corners of the mind having a feast. They all come to send clues , subliminal clues. To a world rendered so obdurate. A world that was once so clam and blue. There is this place, with the final message. Anthrax like prototype of hurricane faced emotions. Swallow this poison or crumble down to my inner demons. Like a wingless moth at the mercy of this wind.

4

The slaughter house of consciousness: Abcess

http://morbidechoes.blogspot.com/2009/07/abcess.html

Monday, July 13, 2009. That day , this mind never returned home. Its world upside down, a pile of deterioration. Excavated from the heart, a dilapidated throne. That impulsive rush, while falling in love. That smile was an orifice to extreme penance. Absolute ruin casted into every decaying bone. A promise of the face , gentle touch of her hand. Burning my arteries of sensation, unseen molestation. Lust in the eyes, deformation of tempting flesh. Taking for granted, this time rushed away.

5

The slaughter house of consciousness: Teratoma

http://morbidechoes.blogspot.com/2009/07/teratoma.html

Wednesday, July 8, 2009. It bleeds from the rain. All these dripping saliva,yellow terrain. On a forbidden location. A mouth full of disease. Burning with smelling lips,always trying to please. This bitter pill notion'. It speaks from the drain. All these gutter words coming from a lifeless resonance. A throat full of confession. With no one to hear, a putrid suppression. Of the body, this melting of the skin. Falls upon a red abolition. This vomit full of pain. Will it ever end. As death rapidly descends.

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The Ragpicker's Poems: November 2011

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html

Thursday, November 17, 2011. A craving held between the lines of absolute wrath of the soul and a timeless serenity. It calls for the end of everything that is yet to come, but not before the inception of the time that is glaring towards infinity. Its somewhere between these lines a universe exits that holds the answer to all our collective unanswered questions. An extract from the Black Book. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Travelers , always remember one thing - Nothing is what it seems! My WoRLd iN WorDs.

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: April 2011

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html

Tuesday, April 5, 2011. Ever since I was a kid , I used to read comics of all kinds. Ranging from the so called 'decent' ones to the extremely graphic ones. I was also too much into watching cartoon shows that were typically aggressive , violent or depicted war of some kind. There was always something that bothered me which I never really understood that baffled me for decades. I always developed a natural soft corner for the antagonist. Always. . Don't talk like one of them, you're not! Only a cynical m...

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: Lestat

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2013/07/lestat.html

Tuesday, July 9, 2013. Sometimes my reflection appears vague,. Falling upon scabs of those endless remains. It picks up rags of those withered unattended. And gaze upon the past, that once made sense. Surrendered to the everyday that comes. Without a thought and without a reason. Like the nail that pierces inches deep. A soul, burned by the heat of a million suns. I touch the cold and ugly stalemate. An emptied mind with nothing much to lose. A body that decayed under a misplaced fate. My WoRLd iN WorDs.

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: December 2010

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2010_12_01_archive.html

Wednesday, December 29, 2010. Hour hand seems to be in a race. It keeps rushing for years. I have lost my words , in search. I crave my own despise, my eternal wrath. Casted purely through a furlong. A story of a sinful child winded by oblivion. Hinted by the sense , but always weak in math. Hour hand rushes through the ages. I observe the drifting silence. Across the glowing of the city's street lights. And a daily facade , everything changes. I sometimes wonder how can emptiness. She was everything once.

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: August 2011

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html

Monday, August 8, 2011. I stare down into the end of the horizon , that has no promises held for anyone. A senseless life we all lead much oblivious to the inordinate abundance of whatever reality has to offer. A deeply sedated being concluded for every notion and the inculcation of false morality into a vice society has led to deprivation and scarcity of almost everything except with a touch of reality in essence. An extract from the Black Book - Ragpicker , Oct 15 , 1984. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: March 2013

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2013_03_01_archive.html

Sunday, March 31, 2013. Some shades are hard to find. The ones that shields the broken. And the curtain falls slowly behind. Ending a life,that was never chosen. Silence for years renders the heart to stone. Waves of nothingness crushes. Upon the aisle of all that remains. I walk this lifeless city without a trace. Dreams echoes in the haunting wind. Coldness holds me tightly by the skin. Rusted and lost, I paint my world. Of scars and the heart I could never win. I walk these deserted streets. It has be...

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: 2000

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2014/01/2000.html

Monday, January 13, 2014. A vessel to the craft of inept. Breed me a change, bake me a chain. Flock with the illusion monger. Carnival of the hideous splits longer. An untamed notion sits quietly in the corner. Without a sow and grim reaper. Am I this archetype chained pretender. Eradicate whats left of this abyss. Swim into the circle of fire again. Each step is a blackhole on its own. Beyond the hopeless spoils and the fame. A steep climb to the endless realms. Of addiction to this hollowed scripture.

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: September 2011

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html

Thursday, September 15, 2011. Heart beats to the rhythm of stalemate. Pretense of a long lost dream chaser. A paper cut descend within a perfect wait. Cognition of inert memory eraser. Inside a fiction free mind. Serenity hits upon a shapeless stone. Mind seeks a path of sustenance. Blackout of a long lost wind chaser. Saturated towards the realms of infinity. Demarcation of thoughts eraser. Inside a fiction free heart. Oblivion transforms to art. That stone hits upon this serenity. Ever from the start!

backyardstains.blogspot.com backyardstains.blogspot.com

The Ragpicker's Poems: October 2010

http://backyardstains.blogspot.com/2010_10_01_archive.html

Friday, October 1, 2010. It picks up through the rags once left,. Cold , unattended ,withered by the rusting red. Scabs of nothingness left for nothing except decay. Lying on the corner of a misplaced way. That eats the thought , kills the pain. Numbs the will , scarves the sane. A place far from black of the words. And bright of the day. Miles passed , not a tear that covers the face. Where did those smiles go, left without a trace. Now theres nothing but a silent pain to embrace. My WoRLd iN WorDs.

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The slaughter house of consciousness

Friday, July 31, 2009. Merciless invasion deep into the crust. Bones twisted beyond imagination,. Burned bodies lying upside down. Skull deformation, this nameless extinction. Shackles of blood rusted barbwire. Tormented visions of the past echoes. A civilization burned by its own fire. Child turned slaves, mother turned whores. Defiant creature in its own miserable curse. Deriving pleasure from an undeniable apathy. Where xenophobia becomes the truest friend. Where poison quenches the extreme thirst.

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