ALBUMS:
Split 7" with Seeds in Barren Fields
"Green Scare Benefit" Split CD with Auryn
Agrarian Curse CD
split 7" with Seeds in Barren Fields:
YOU'VE BEEN WARNED
Fuck what they taught us, fuck what they say. The other shoe drops spewing the vomit of industry. They can’t save 6 billion victims of their civilized delusions. The pundits, the preachers deny what we say, but the consequence of their logic is suffocating on its last breath. Economic devastation, the collapse of their illusion. They scream for religion, they scream for false hope, anything to look to as the inevitable comes crashing. They built a fortune from their lies. Their palaces worshipped as shrines. Wavering decadance before our eyes, just to keep us all in line. We’re simply pawns in their game. Serving the architects of our lives. Accepting everything will be fine, as domestication keeps us blind. The feeling starts to subside. Elated to recognize. That the death of society, won’t be the end for us all. They’ve taken so much away, yearning to be whole again. The wildness beckoning, setting the soul free. Seeing to the chance to be free, the body follows. The cage eroding, being the final shove. Under the veil of Progress, so much as been stolen away. Stuck with the hollow feeling of what they’ve taken from me. Under the veil of Progress, our earth withers away, they’ve cut and mined all that’s left of me. The lethargic state of our empathy, covers the void of our shattered communities. Beyond their world of lies, is our primal anarchy, accepting that is what sets me free. The course has been set. The path of Progress dead ends. It’s been played out before, the light begins to fade. Unfolding before me, the fabric of domesticity. It’s already begun. The primal is reborn. Like new growth breaking soil. Life stemming from decay. As we shed our fears, wildness shows the way. As it all comes crashing around us now, just know that you’ve been warned.
''Green Scare benefit' CD split with Auryn:
REDUCED TO ASHES
Rendition of WSEE (CBS affiliate) in Erie, PA newscast on Sept. 9th while Kevin being subpoenaed by the FBI to appear before the Grand Jury was front page news:....
So what does E.L.F. want? Why are they committing these criminal acts? We spoke to a local terrorism expert [Dr. Jeffrey Bloodworth] at Gannon University.....
“They're against modernity, they're against the 20th century if you read their literature they intend, Kevin Tucker if you read what he says, wants society to devolve back into small hunter gathering clans. They call themselves anarchists and they believe modern society is oppressive.”
Under the night, beyond their eyes, the ghosts of wildness smile upon us now. Words we can not say now turned to action. And in the morning, they’ll see this war has two sides. ....
For all that exist, for all that has been cleared away. Exposed machinery tonight will be consumed in flames. These actions negate your legality. The hand of Progress has been stayed.
Shackles, interrogation, their prisons, their profits; their jails detain, but they can’t kill this rage.
For all the rivers, for all the lives lost, for all the cages, for all the oil spilt; this contagious disease, all the needless blood spilt. For all the mines, for the industry, for all the toxins, for this misery; for all their laws, for our ancestors, for all of those maligned by history.....
Reduced to ashes. Reduced to ashes, their world, this throne to Progress. Reduced to ashes, their dreams of conquest complete.
And there’s no conceit to think that this war has been won. For every fire set, for every animal unleashed; these acts remind us, of our own need to be free. Our time will come and this fight is ours.
Reduced to ashes our time will come. Reduced to ashes their progress lies undone.....
THE SACRED GAME DEFILED
The twisted irony, the sacred turned profane. The foragers enslaved to the dust bin of history. Ancestral needs replaced by some modern games to exterminate the world that we’ve thrown away.
The predator, the prey; this sacred tie. Predation extermination; this omnicide. Our fates have strayed for some holiday. What has been lost as foragers are removed for purchased pursuits of what we were meant to be. Our tie to this earth, as predator, as prey, those final moments: cycles of life to death.
For some conqueror’s dreams, for some luxurious feat; the wild remains caged. And outside, they die: waterholes are drained. The fence, their graves: a repeated history. For some living museum, some guided mystery safe from reality.
Blood spilled for luxury, blood spilled for mines, this maintained fallacy this distanced death: those fences conceal our own demise.
And this cycle will complete. It’s our world, so choose your fucking side.
The nomadic gatherer-hunters of Eastern Africa, the Hadza, like so many other struggling forager societies, are faced with insane situation: their land is being stolen by neighboring agricultural societies who see them as less than human, a mirror of the colonizing urge that underlies civilization. Societies that have always been and will always be unsustainable stealing the land to turn it into exploitable resources from those whose ancestral ties and connections go back to the dawn of humanity. In the case of the Hadza, the land that they once lived within is being turned into a nature preserve for rich, foreigners to come toy with their tainted urges to take part in our human urge to hunt. ....
Armed with high tech toys, the new hunters mock their distant relatives in what ultimately amounts to the furthering conquest of wildness. The earth and those who live within its cycles die while the blood thirsty power addicts bask blindly in the glorious luxury of their own demise.
THE FINAL ACT
In these darkest hours, in their final days, I can feel your pain and I share your rage. As we are left here, so isolated, unable to see beyond this misery. This created situation, left with no where to run and hide away. The fear overcomes, despair comes conquering; left onto ourselves death seems like such a relief.
Despite what we see, this totality; their hollowness exposed. This vast decay as it all comes down around me. I’d hope that you could see this; I wish I could take you there with me. ....
This final act, this desperate gasp; this last hope for autonomy. We’ve lost our lives to their nightmare. This is not what we were ever meant to fucking be. This final act, this desperate gasp; this last hope for autonomy.
Drowning in this world they’ve created, unable to face another day. And now they’ve taken our own ability to carry on. But I would hope that you can find it in you to keep on fighting. ....
With the gun to her head, with the blade to his vein, with the noose on her neck; with this last breathe of life. I know that you can’t see the world without all of this. Stuck within their shell, stuck within their time. The needle in his arm, the pills in her mouth, the bottle in his hands; this last search for relief. In this last final choice, in this hope for more, if you must go now, let us leave their world in flames.
This is not how we were meant to be, this is not our own destiny. When their world comes crashing down around us, I hope that we can find our own sanctity.
As we face the end of this civilization, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the insanity of it all. The fears, the depression, the impossible demands, the simultaneous over and under stimulation of our being, and the lack of any community to turn to all add up and we can all feel it. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we all know it’s there and we either deal or avoid it in our own ways.
Like anyone else, I’ve lost enough friends and family to the despair. And in my mourning I sympathize. Without knowing what lies beyond this train wreck of a society, it’s impossible to find any reason to live. But this will end and our time will come. I hope we’ll get there together.
From the 'Agrarian Curse' CD
ANATOMY OF THE MACHINE
The chemo failed her, for the second time around. The tumors spread, throughout her body. An unshaken faith, as she asks, "why me?" But across the world, it's the same story. And this time, she works the factory. Assembling components, where there was once a village. A techno-wonder, a fucking toxin-heap. It adds up, as she succumbs to this machine.
Lives synthesized. Ecosystems cast aside. This logic immortalized: for this air conditioned nightmare.
Under a pile of crushed cars. Under the sky of falling bombs. Alone in our sanitized homes. We breathe the cancer of Progress.
It's long term suicide. For medicated silicon smiles.
A system built beyond capacity. Temples built with our own blood. Comprised of slaves to power: it may change faces but it still remains the same. The iron lung, a smoking gun, a sealed fate: until we pull the plug.
It could never, have been sustained. We are the cancer, in this iron cage. It carries on, because we believe, that we are more than, cogs in this machine. It pulls the reigns on all our lives. Until we realize, that the grid is the enemy.
EMPIRE’S PLAYGROUND
It's stumbling, bloated, dying body, throws itself into the sea. Colonial dreams of conquest complete, bleeding the Earth of everything. Communities torn and bodies enslaved, souls stolen by missionaries. Conquered, decimated, "liberated" their told, and the cycle is set to repeat.
Shackled limbs, piles of hands, scorched earth decay: another kingdom for Europe.
This blood thirsty cannibal spreads its disease. An imperial wound across the southern hemisphere: an eternal frontier, empires in need. The agrarian curse of insatiable greed.
We've been here before. We'll be here again. Because your modernity, is built upon graves.
This is what we've become, an empire of slaves. This is what we've become, blind to consequence. This world that we've made, grown beyond capacity. This world that we've bought, this is our legacy.
It comes through your TV, and to the foods you eat. The shit-zone of global technocracy: their blood covers our hands.
STARVATION’S SERVANTS
Outstretched arms are what remains, of peoples once connected with the living spirit. The wildness, the breath of the forest: intertwined, through all the lives. Till their plow, till their sword, and now our soul lies amputated.
The gods of sun, the gods of seed, the gods of soil, the gods of oil: the desert patriarch, the hungry priests, the hanging martyr, sustained disbelief.
Empty stomachs, fill these empty skies, with false promises given by the hand that feeds. While their standing on our backs.
Now I've shed all their lies, all the wounded lives set aside. And now my, only prayer is for a life returned to the eternal wild.
BLOOD OVER BORDERS
They say this is our nature. They say this is our desire. They need us to believe: that we need their control.
Warfare is a contrived response to a created dependency. Domestication, subjugation, sedentism, civil delusions: breeding a society built beyond its means.
Control: over our bodies. Control: over this surplus. Control: over our wildness. Control: over our lives.
The stakes have been laid. The boundaries have been raised. The alliances have been made. The stakes have been raised. Blood soaked lies, a reinforced sedentary demand for reliable control. The border fences, blocked migratory paths: a cancerous growth, the cyclical pattern.
We once: lived as bands, lived free. We once: lived without tribal divisions. Agriculture: carved up lands, communities. Civilization: blood lust and warring.
Once we are removed, everything else becomes a resource. To conquer and grow, to plunder and pillage: feed the needs that are created. In the middle East, the forests of the Americas, in the deserts, the plains and the seas: time and place, it happens again: civilization has blood on its hands.
This war will not change, this war will not end: blood will spill.
This war will not change, this war will not end: oil will spill.
This war will not change, this war will not end: soil will spill.
Till we bring civilization to its end.
THE DOMESTICATOR'S HAND
The ten thousand year mistake. Never had such a decision put so much at stake: the surrender of our adaptivity. Selective breeding, prolonged needing: genetically deformed for a thickened herd. Selective breeding, ecological grieving: the wildness bears our scars. Forced breeding, captive living: reduced to the sum of all parts. By the domesticators' hand.
They've built the stockyards of their dreams. This is what we're all bred to be. Consumable fodder for their biological killing machine.
They don't give a shit about our lives.
THIRTEEN DAYS
They raise their toast to, their own mass profit gains. The shareholders smile. They see no end in sight, to their system or their greed. But the end is not theirs to see.
The price of their small victory is the greatest threat of what we were born to be: re-emerged with our ancestry.
What they've wrought is omnicide. What we've bought is ecocide. A blind complicity: inflicted wounds without relief.
But there, are those, who cannot ignore this wholesale reduction of our animality. Here stand, the Huaorani, our fates intertwined. Surviving millenniums fighting off the sedentary, just to retain their own primal ways.
For Exxon, for BP, for this American dream. Civilization, annihilation: while it fights from its knees.
This is what you ignore: this selfishly driven urge. As the Amazon runs to shit: for thirteen fucking days. This is what you ignore: an unspoken moralized war. As our world runs to shit: for thirteen fucking days.
The road brings the demise. Missions reign and demonize, such "savage wastes of flesh", sold for wages or left for dead.
This is, our reality, regardless of our choice. So long as Industry wins hearts and minds. Until the Earth is bled dry: they will destroy every last bit of life.
For ten thousand years, or thirteen days, it consumes all the same.
WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT
And suddenly it happens. This world where machines now rust. The night sky devoid of all of our synthetic suns. Their buildings falling, a return to unabated decay. Their world has fallen, as the toxic air fades away.
And here we stand. We scarred but we're still alive. The sins of our parents: replaced by songs for our children.
It was never easy. The fallout will always remain. Bodies forever turned carcinogenic. The sea and the soil, tainted by our legacy of plastic. Our nightmares will stay as we're overcome by the present.
Again the bands still gather around a bow drill fire. Communities arise from decay: ancestral bodies begin to remember. As we awaken to our beings after the death of the civilizers.
The past lies before us now. As we become the future primitive.
The end of their days; is the beginning of our lives. Freed from self-imposed restraints the wanderers will re-arise.
AMOR FATI
These walls will crumble, under the weight of ten thousand failed attempts. Domesticated lives spread thinly over the surface of this façade. And now it's withering away.
The forests have fallen. The soil has washed away. The reserves have dried. The grip of the iron fist loosens from around our necks. Their image of control fades into nothingness.
Our senses awakened. Their era has ended.
Haunted by what we don't see but cannot ignore. This itching sensation, that something's gone horribly wrong. It comes as waves, it comes as floods. It comes as winds, it comes as sun.
The pumps run dry, the virus spreads. Our nightmares will come to haunt us.
And as the end comes for the machines. As the ambient electric hum fades. The cracks deepen, the wildness returns.
As falcons reclaim their perches where cities once laid, overdrawn. A monument to this living earth, an epitaph soaked in blood.
Will we learn that when you walk a straight line through the circle of life that it's inevitable that you hit the other side.
A forest reborn, over fields of concrete. Our place is here. Among the feral herds.
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