We as humans are a culmination of what our society wants us to be.
We are zombies with full cups, swaying from side to side.
We are the underlings of a powerful society that resides up top.
We are the puppets of our societies propaganda.

Every newspaper is a façade as strong as the Berlin Wall.
Every sign pokes at the abyss of one’s brain.
Every speech spews fiction with confidence and style.
Every twitter feed brainwashes all those who desperately follow.

They make us believe, as we sing with patriotism.
They make us believe that it is our own idea.
Every one of us is an ignorant bead.
One by one the interminable necklace is molded from our naiveté.

Lets say “society” told us our world was a lie.
That the notion of “the afterlife” was based on natural selection.
That every character on plasma inculcated a false notion.
Would we believe that? Would we believe:

There is a hypothetical world of imagination where the powerful climb and the weak fall.
For one a miraculous and perilous journey up.
The other a devastating and short journey down.
Two outcomes lay ahead and fate is fate.

Howl! Howl! The eerie noise of the beast echoes…
Left, Right! Left, Right! The eerie noise of the beast echoes…
Both mammimal trekkers who have reached the peak of life.
Those who lag behind, powerlessly pale, become their prey.

What do we think?
Who cares what we think!
Our thoughts are a blurry image of societies.
Their thoughts an inception of our minds.

Through sweat and tears, the world is a ladder.
A ladder to immortality or a ladder to immorality.
We look down sweating, but look up in hope.
If we fall down, we start anew.

Howl, Howl, the noise of the beast echoes down low.
Left, Right! Left, Right! The noise of the beast echoes up high.
Conquering those of the same tongue and nature is the goal.
Each Left stomps a Howl, Each Right tramples another Howl.

A war governed by natural selection?
How Darwiniesque of an idea.
But the Economist says so, it must be right?
They are Ivy intellectuals, our nations finest and most trustworthy, aren’t they not?


A shining, low probability progression.
Howls fall, and feet go up.
Each step up a chance to taste the pap of life.
Each step down a lunch or dinner with the Hellion.

What about Breakfast, screams the firing pits of Doom.
Breakfast? The Unspoken One has no time for Breakfast!
His schedule is far longer than his Holiness’s.
The prey, the prey outnumber the Predator.

The Predator, the Waldo in a swarm of underlings.
A Waldo, whose lascivious desire to conquer consumes his incognito.
One by one, click, clock, the lifeless bodies fall down.
Click, Clock the Hellion’s guest list overflows.

Once in a blue moon, the lonely Creator is welcomed with a visitor.
His loneliness, residing in a tent in a wilderness of beauty.
He has time to attent to those on mother earth.
But his guests, although outnumbered, outdo those of the Prince of Darkness.

On occasion, our Father turns Predator vs. Predator as he is lonely.
The burning of gasoline and glass, the piercing metal of a shell.
There are many ways for Predators to mobilize.
There are many ways to meet the Almighty.

Is this War?
Is war a swagger way to enter Elysium?
Or an awkward stumble to the firing pits of Doom.
Predator vs Predator, Discovery Channel says so.


We fear death because the Hellion is a horrid host.
We look forward to Death because his Holiness’s tent is beautiful.
A lottery of fortune or misfortune, the odds astray.
The Light is lonely and the Darkness has too many friends.

We live life not knowing what is there to come in the future.
However there is hope in life, we just hope that our Creator gets lonely more often.
Howl! Howl! Left , Right! Left, Right!
Natural selection is the Almighty’s selection.

Now, now would we ever believe that garbage?
Well, you tell me…
This theology is on every piece of paper and every code of program out there.
Plastered effusively on billboards and in textbooks, so what you think?