Ceremonies of Humiliation

by Thou

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coming soon: Collection of the split material Thou put out prior to last year's Summit LP. Split with Deadtank. You can get the 3 x LP Version at www.vitriolrecords.bandcamp.com,


released May 1, 2014




Vitriol Records Los Angeles

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Track Name: Smoke Pigs
Please calm down with all the violent rhetoric. Some people who put on a badge are just trying to help people--just trying to do some good. My dad, mom, uncle, aunt, brother, sister, son, daughter is a cop. I don't want to hear another word about bribery. I don't want to hear about racial profiling, broken bones, or prison rape--or another unarmed kid filled from head to toe with fifty government-issued bullets. There is a fundamental flaw in your desire. There is a psychological deficiency in policing others. Those who maintain a structure of unjust laws, those who bow to the province of the few, those who would coerce others under the implicit threat of violent subjugation--your reign is at an end. When they attack in the name of the law, we will retaliate in the name of liberty.
Track Name: Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos
It began as simple subversion of politics by just a handful of proactive liberals: support from the outside to petty thieves, criminal masterminds, and seething malcontents. While we re-educated ourselves in confinement, our allies began infiltrating the positions of repressive power. Many years it would take. But soon we held all the keys. And all doors were opened. The destruction of oppression birthed baptismal flames of a bright, new future. No more prisons.
Track Name: The Eyes of the World Are Upon You
Dwell in the Darkness of Thought and Drink the Poison of Life
Enter panoptic nightmare: Freedom ignored; hopes of privacy abandoned. Jeremy--your visions have been realized. Samuel--the world is now a prison. An omniscient presence permeates all. The cold gaze of our superiors spies on us from cyclopean eyes, eavesdropping from a universe away. All our movements are tracked and recorded. Blackest night no longer conceals. Emphasize normalization and observation producing only social fragmentation. Bureaucrats cling to their paperwork and technocrats cling to their data. Certificates authenticate life. Individuals defined in nine digits. Transparent society: This is not the answer. Secrets must be exchanged. Intimacy demands haven. But in the light of days nothing is sacred.
Track Name: Fleur du Mal
The demonic seed of European imperialists has swollen with ripeness. Its blossoms signal moral decay, salivating to conquer. A diseased concept of unalienable rights. A distorted view of sexuality. A plague upon evolution. Industrialists and aristocrats--rotting in your fancy suits, burning like cigars hung between weak lips, choking beneath the smokestacks of progress. Protectors and providers--teachers of self loathing, sentinels of the abattoirs, guardians of status quo. May you choke on your own masochistic sermons and be ground beneath the heels of conformity. My dearest comrades and young rebels--We're just more of the same. Bourgeois shackles of pacifism and inaction enabling oppression. We are accessories to slavery. Bound together by invisible reins. Pulsing through the veins. The same tumultuous, glorious blood.
Track Name: Loneliness Dances in the Gorgon's Stare
Those tools which freed us from otherworldly jailors have betrayed us to a pantheon of technology. What use is limitless knowledge if it cripples us to action? What use is logic if it drapes us in cruelty? Soul and intellect remain in a perpetual state of war. Moral atrophy: The heart grows frigid and distant; the skin becomes scaled and hard as rock; our kings are crowned in their dependence; our only inklings of nature are clouded and obscured. How we clutch to our breasts philosophies of violence. How we cling to these meaningless sides. We are as one suicidal force careening towards a unified end. Hopes and prayers cannot save us. But neither can your careful research. Neither can your complex statistics. Neither can your precious analyses. All of your science and reasoning is for naught.
Track Name: Don't Vote
Every four years the two-headed monster rises from its pit, and we have a choice between this head or that. Their party line separation is a phantasm haunting reason. It's a choice between this diseased hand or that diseased hand. We are criminals who defy law. They are criminals who defy freedom. Endless heads of a bureaucratic hydra, and so the smiling wounds we draw across each neck. While they lounge in the decadence of their capitols and dream up new rules of social conduct, we shall sink a knife in every Caesar, we shall aim our rifles and fire at every president, every senator, every statesman. Wake up. There won't be any change. In the sewer of capitalism, only the scum will rise.
Track Name: Shorties with MP40s: The Personal is Political
Our sisterhood is a vast and powerful ocean, a deep well of true meaning sustaining consistent and conflicting emotions and giving life value, while the constant flow of the tides caress the sides of impassive rock and create the contours of interaction that touch every layer of society. We are free! Free of your necrophilic hatred of life. Free of your all-in-my-head self doubt. Endless is our journey through trackless void, shapeless is our movement, assuming any and all forms, elemental is our force gaining wisdom in the face of desolation, and joyful is the sound of Medusa's laughter ringing in our ears. Although we have been exploited as passive pawns in the mad dash to domination, not even the heaviest most painful nor the most subtle and gilded manacles will keep us imprisoned in the home or racked with guilt over self realization and self control, neither can we be constrained beneath a glass ceiling in the rat race of your job world. Patriarchy ends here. Wisdom is attained in the face of utter destruction. And the joyful sound of Medusa's laughter rings in our ears.
Track Name: I am the Leviathan
Ten thousand years and what do we have: schools replaced with factories. Psychic vampires consume our moans, and houses are replaced with cubicles. For too long have we been dwarfed by monuments to ourselves, toiling in the shadow of collective self worth. Dialogue has been replaced by the ravings of mind gangsters. But soon this will all be swept under Lotan's tide. The rubble of the past creates the walls of the future. Holdouts of civilization tremble. Nationalistic pride crumbles. The protracted murder of the planet ends. Forsake your barren half life. Unchain the chthonic beasts.
Track Name: Here I Stand Head in Hands
That stained light of truth I abhor, that unflinching glimmer of experience... The world has turned its back and left me with shit. Nothing inside, only void: vacant eyes, vacant mind, vacant hope. Summon the strength. I was not wrong to be afraid. The cup of life is forever poisoned. But if all in this time lies beyond my grasp, then this one final act will be fully in my control. One brief moment, and I am freed of everything, liberated from this painful existence.
Track Name: Rats and Mice and Swarms of Lice
It's not my fault. I'm a victim of stolen youth, born a villain. This life impoverished, this mind untrained--where else can I turn but to violence, to the power of intimidation, to attack and abuse? Forever searching for advantage, any advantage. It's not my fault. I'm just following orders. Maintaining these sacred laws, ever obedient. Forever searching for any sign of crime, of deception. Unless crime would serve my own ends, then I attack and abuse. It's never my fault. I'm a victim of unwarranted abuse. Born to privilege, always on top, but always on guard, forever searching for any sign of threat. We are not safe.
Track Name: The Defeatist's Lament
Homme mort ne fait guerre et je suis mort.
Track Name: The Song of Illuminate Darkness
The behaviors imposed by society are but a veneer surrounding the darkness, a saving illusion hollow at the core. The darkness is the truth. It stands in silent righteousness, the background that reveals the foreground. And no human fabrication can supplant it with the dustbin of progress. Actualize industrial collapse. We've stolen fire from the gods to raze their concrete tombs. We've cried our sorrows to the wind and the earth. And the pines stretch upwards, Nature's fingers straining towards the sky. They will reach out and pull down every ivory tower, destroying the elite, and returning arcane knowledge and lore to all. Now we can remove our masks and seek out vengeance, a saboteur in every occupation and a wrench in every machine. Remove your masks and find vengeance. Outside the walls of civilization lies a wilderness beyond belief and without end.

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