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                   The words fail us nearly always. For I suppose they never were meant to be anything other then a string of characters side by side alligned in such a way in which to control ones thoughts, actions, the control mechanism of a lead scrape on papyrus, the obsidian fluidity of a forced imprint of direction, the elegant pictograms showing us just in which manner we do involve existen<ce, and the cutting of ones flesh with a knife to spell out a message heard so loud and clear as we harbor in theese caves of despair.



 The Mustard Bastard was formed in a direct response to this, we abhor the language that controls you, we think it is by far and away the only single handed cause for every attrocious act upon mankind and this beautiful biosphere we engage, and thus something had to be done.


Deconstru<ctionists will argue that all one needs is to break down the meanings in which we fullfill language, by taking away its sequiters, its looped beings, its handheld ideologues drenching in paragraphs, sentences this text that forms documents that induce power, that define boundry, that illicit faith, that create fantasty, that dialogue and demonstrate the creation of more mechanisms, the last words of souls erased in our continued run. Running from these symbols of power by confusing the origin, changing the breadcrumbs, eliminating their connection.


For if you have to define they, then they already own you.


Deconstructionists are only right in theory, we indeed call them compatriots, but a more direct attempt to eradicate language as the control mechanism becomes as simple as the dying burden that all poets and dissedents have upheld in their cursed structures, their misbegotten ideals of grandeur retold in epic and exploratory stories passed down from generation to generation, the answer is what we all have hoped for and none have achieved, the appointment of a Poet King.


Some people look to Christ

to save them, should you?


For their are but a few  beautiful humans that exhibit fine and natural grasp of ones power through the acceptance and love of burden. For it is a mantle worthy of sacrifice in an attempt to achieve ones status, enough so that many have accepted that a martyr is their only recourse, that one must die to live forever. How does that make you feel?


The Poet as a profession has been fully marginalized from the talented to the academic institutions that still herald these positions responsible, they pay for a few poets to be poets and deny the everyman pensmith wandering the alleys, with the publication of books being less and less profitable as a form of making ones money, the poet has been proliferated to the academic greybeards that massage each others ego and play with the language as if it was a paper to be graded. The language of the free thinking individual has been stripped from the shelves of the modern poetry, which is the reason why most people cannot name 5 modern poets to save their tempćoral lives, and the ones they do, are dead, or will be soon, modern academic incest is a disgusting slippery slope that leads to the destruction of the typical havens for poets through the years.


Poets need havens, they need a place in society that lets them be who they are, or they will die out completely as just an academic magnetic fridgework that benefits no one but the opposition to the poet king. To speak of such vaunted profession, such, poet king, requires the services of an amazing poet, a true echo of times lost to bring within his own words the humanity of communication as opposed to control. To control the language of being. These words we desperately search for consious or not, we here at the Mustard Bastard support this search.


Thus, Poet King, Show yourself!


For Language has evolved faster then our current human persona, we inhabit at this juncture in space and time a hollow human existence fed with distractions, multitasking, and mediaoverload. The only way that becomes apparent in obje<ctivity to be able to escape this wretched planet is to see it vanish, for our talent pools are draining, splicing, merging into a technological discourse, our information is no longer contained in tomes or synaptic energy relays within our own brain, they are controlled by mongers of media, no longer are we making such distinction as news, or science, or comedy, or internet message boards, we are combining all sources of information into relays that they control to package the learning and feeling, and understanding that you have about this world in which we live.


And it has a price.


They are attempting to erect the opposition to the poet king, they are attempting to mechanize ones existence it self, a controlled amalgomous entity akin to that we have never beheld.


Needless to say The Mustard Bastard refuses.


We refuse, we reject, we combat, and we will not comply to any manner of submission to this social system of control. We look for ways to subvert the information that they spoon feed you, we look to find as many people with this same extreme hatred of the system, extreme pride in ones individuality, that will not conform in any manner to the prescribed manners of life they have provided for you. It is a shit life, it comes with none of the comforts that are handed out in accordance to how well you play in their game, their is no recognition, no fame, no money, no material possessions, nothing, nada, just you and your fucking god alone. This is freedom, and if we can no longer survive as individuals or groups of individuals within the mental and physical environments saturating us, then we no longer deserve to live.


We want to blow things up. We want to destroy the world around you. We wish to take the language that we have to fight their control mechanism. The manner in which this has an effect on them is that the quality of ones counter rhetoric is of a quality so high and profound to be labelled a truth above and better then their alternatives. We will need your help, one can only be in a position to fight such battle with the support of like minded compatriots, open minded free individuals that only engage in open discourse. We need people who can fight, mentally and physically. We need artillery, weaponry, courage and heart.



The Mustard Bastard stands with you as a free human individual.This is a movement towards freedom of thought, will you join us?


Let us stand together one day.









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