Sirius Fenris
I come from the dog star to eat the moon, Destroyer of lies, caster of runes, To gather the tribe I howl this tune, For your deep midnight is our high noon: We gestate in the womb of your doom.


He looks at you with bright, friendly eyes

A smile like sunshine.

“You can trust me. I’m on your side.”

And on the inside

He pictures you

Bound to a chair with electrical cord, naked, panting and haggard

Driven beyond your senses

With pain

While he gives you that warm, shy smile

Open, relaxed, so very sane.

“Really, I’m just like you.”

It must be true, for there is not a glimpse of human guile,

No tick, no twitch, neither blush nor flinch

No tell-tale smell

Of the timeless raging hell

That seethes beneath his perfect mask.

He tells a harmless little joke,

Baits his little trap

And you laugh

And you like him

He’s so confident and charming

He grins

His invisible hooks sink in

Like digger-wasp venom.

You’re just another human being

An emotional machine.

“I like you. You’re special.”

He is incapable of seeing what it is to be a human, being

And since you’re capable of believing

That when he looks sad he’s really grieving

That when the muscles in his face move

There must be some motivating feeling

You cannot see what hides beneath:

A cunning and carnivorous beast

An onion skin

If you peel  back one layer

You’ll weep

Only to find another new and wet, shining within

With nothing at the centre

But a hole

Of hunger.

He is Cain

Who knows no god but his brother’s blood and pain

He is Nero

Held up before you as an artist, a statesman and a hero

He is Ghengis Khan

Unleashing in the souls of men the golden hordes of Hell’s demonic spawn

He is the Pope

Wringing numberless atrocities from your boundless naive hope

He is at the top of every church and corporation

Running for every office for every party of every nation

His empty smiling face on every television station

The fractured paralogic of his words

Swirls about your sense of truth paralyzing your world

A cloud of ink obscuring his always-broken word

His name is Legion

He is your dear and fearless leader

You are his beast of burden

His food and his breeder.

“The rich are not like you and I.”

“Yes. They have more money.”

“No. It’s something different….”

Ah, but to Great Men the same rules do not apply.

We’d be mad, but they’re just funny

We’d be cold, but they’re just distant.

Such great minds may be erratic

And in private often dramatic

But they will reward loyalty: just ask Hemingway

Whose quip turned our attention away

Who was given women, wine, the freedom to play

And ate a shotgun shell for lunch one day.

And just look at poor Ezra Pound

Tried as a traitor and imprisoned as a madman for daring to share what he’d found

For refusing to let the Good War go its evil way without making a sound

He called down their wrath

For he unmasked the true government of mankind

The secret order of the psychopath.


One Response to “Poneros”

  1. Nice one Sirius. I ordered the book “Political Ponerology” and I’m nearly finished reading it. Wow! I think if everyone were to read that book, things would change. Thanks for recommending it. Happy new year.

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