74 lines
4.4 KiB
Plaintext
74 lines
4.4 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... State of Seige
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by Curtis Yarvin
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>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
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|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
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Only the dogs are brave enough to go outside; and only the bravest of the
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dogs, the wildest, the craziest. Even so the soldiers shoot them. They shoot
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everything. The orders have been in effect so long that they have taken root,
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like clipped vines, and grown into deeper, older layers of the brain. They are
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instinct, now; they are reflex. When the wind blows, which it does rarely, it
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carries the echo of fusillades, the smell of sap, of sawdust, of restive trees
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blown to shreds, in the broken leaps of their destruction inviting further
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volleys, until the smoke clears to reveal - a sweating heap of slag.
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This is all conjecture, naturally. On such days we keep the steel
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shutters closed, and crawl on the floors. Mice in our own homes.
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But, the dogs have no such fear. They have the bravery of the pack, and
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the viciousness too; and so it is that the soldiers also have begun to move in
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packs. They no longer lounge carelessly on corners, but trot down the streets
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in brisk formation, the muzzles of their guns flicking from side to side like
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snakes' tongues as they track their comrades' backs, trigger fingers held back
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by something no one knows what, some vague memory of order, or of friendship,
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or a pheromone perhaps. They seek out the enemy; and whatever appears must be
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that enemy, it must be shot, and therefore having been shot it must have all
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along been the enemy, a deduction implacable, irresistible, bullet-tight.
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And so the dogs pile up, corpse upon corpse, sticky fur on sticky fur,
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packs in death as in life. The soldiers do not eat them; due, maybe, to some
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ancient code of battle. God knows what they eat. Perhaps nothing. Maybe they
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have transcended the need for food, and need only an injection of oil every
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morning, intravenous, to keep the gears lubed. They run on solar power; they
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photosynthesize, like plants. They are elements of nature. Maybe they have
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even become gods. In these days anything is possible.
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The dogs have not become gods. They lose a battle every day. They are
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being decimated. Eradicated. Liquidated.
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But, they are not such finicky eaters. We believe that this is why, in
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the end, they must triumph.
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_______ __________________________________________________________________
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/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
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((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
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[ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/468-5802|Lunatic Labs........213/655-0691|
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\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Ripco ][............312/528-5020|
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(' ') |ftp - zero.cypher.com in pub/cdc |ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
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(U) |==================================================================|
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.ooM |1993 cDc communications by Curtis Yarvin 12/30/93-#250|
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\_______/| Save yourself! Go outside! DO SOMETHING! |
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