Hive Hell — Hymenoptera Politics
The fascist monster metaphorically is the unthinking colony dwelling insect. Social in name only, these bugs are cogs in their fascist society — the hornets of hate hunt the other with their serrated knife mandibles and modified, deep red, blood ovipositor which stings with the venom of bigotry.
Take a step back and open your eyes — the pheromone laced world of the hornet, is the demonized world of the fascist. It is this delusion that is fascist reality — this is the reality the tyrant dictates and his drones live in it — with no other choice it becomes real — the laws and rites of the hive make it so, indoctrination makes it real and enemies make it worth fighting for and protecting — in this delusion, hate is as real as the sting of burning venom.
Fascists dwell in a fantasy nightmare, a land of magic and monsters — where they are the heroes but are in actuality, exactly what their propaganda espouses. The demonic fever dream, represented by hellish iconography, transports the tyrant’s devout to a world where they are the oppressed and all but those within the tyranny of the righteous must be exterminated for the salvation of the beast — the drive to protect the hive, is to the death, the abdomen of the bee ripped from its carapace after a sting — the indoctrinated fascist will die for the state and the tyrant in the same way, blinded by fear, propaganda, blood lust and hate — the life of one is sacrificed to benefit the monstrosity of the fascist state.
In writing of Mein Kampf, George Orwell opined, whereas socialism, and even capitalism in a grudging way, have said to people ‘I offer you a good time,’ Hitler has said to them ‘I offer you struggle, danger, and death,’ and as a result a whole nation flings itself at his feet.
It is this struggle, danger and death that captures the mind of the fascist. A rallying cry and a means to identify and to isolate — protect the tyrant, as the tyrant is intertwined with the state , the queen — and the hive.
The fascist is the anti-self — he is diametrically opposed to empathy — fascism is selfish — it is utilitarian — it is for the specific, subjective group, it is the importance of this group (see state, see nationalism) as opposed to the individual — this is at its core and allows for much of its nefariousness.
When autonomy isn’t protected or deemed important, it becomes easier for the state (religion, tribe) to commit atrocities against its own citizens without consequence — the state will benefit in the end — this rape, this murder — doesn’t matter — it’s all about the end game — so, settle into the collective delusion because that’s what’s legal now and it benefits the ethno-state — the citizen — the race — whose blood is bled from the same fascist, sanguine nation — defend the queen — the demagogue — protect the hive and repeat until you die .
Mucho años después, frente al pelotón de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendía había de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevó a conocer hielo.
Gabriel García Márquez, Cien Años De Soledad
This night was wicked – as he walked in Midtown, the cold lashed him – the chill — stinging — stunning – savage – a sanguine search for sanguinolent — satiation.
The night saturated the day, darkness engulfing light – the sun extinguished early on February days – bringing the frigid wind down West 32nd Street – these streets were the frozen canyons beneath the mountainous metropolis in winter – the black ice blanketing the blacktop, beneath each treacherous step – the dark, dismal grey of an ocean storm, extended throughout the city – as if whipped in by the same frigid wind.
The street lights — stars above the ocean storm – illuminating his remorse — for the untaken course – this was it – he was in, sinking ever deeper – the bleak, blackness of barbarity – of conspiracy - beckoning.
He flicked a match – watching the spark – the light – from the fire — bright – shot towards a door – ajar – refracting off a hinge — into the frozen depths of water – the shimmer made it shiver – like a lake, from the wind – light flooded the ice — sinking ever deeper — suddenly an endless abyss – forever descending – was this an ethereal plane?
National Socialism has no theory of society as we understand it, no consistent picture of its operation, structure and development. It has certain aims to carry through and adjusts its ideological pronouncements to a series of ever-changing goals…. It has certain magical beliefs — leadership adoration, the supremacy of the master race — but its ideology is not laid down in a series of categorical and dogmatic pronouncements.
Franz Leopold Neumann, Behemoth: The Structure and Practice of National Socialism 1933 — 1944
His Mantra —
Kill for each other and die for the cause — the enemies lurk among us — thus we are never safe – constant vigilance for demons, necessitates constant vigil – this is FASCISM.
Do not question — your kin because they are part of you— and you — part of them – only they know who the true enemies are – those enemies are great in number and they are out there, they caused his father to lose his job — they closed the Tick-Tock, Book Shop, and ran the last McyDys out of town – demonization of the other – yes, this is about more than this small house, on this quiet street, in this quiet neighborhood, in this quiet town – this is about the fascist’s selfish personal rapture – born-again into the cult of the tyrant — the Higher Party.
He watched, as the MAGA-MANSTROSITY, ascended the stage, into the swarm — to take his place among and within them – screaming of victimization — demonization dreams – the crowd of White, Christian Volk — whooped and hollered of God, Country and an imaginary Gilded Age – the red of their party — a picture of hell.
These demons were in a frenzy — for the main event — the devil from Queens — would soon satiate their desire for hate.
The most powerful man on earth was coming to visit these forgotten Volk.
A wRiThInG, HoOtInG, sHoUtInG, ChAnTiNg, twisted mass of fascist humanity.
The swarm looked upon its savior and screamed with adulation – for blood and bigotry.
The MONSTROSITY spoke of insidious, amorphous enemies – without need for reality – the swarm’s collective delusion knew these enemies — born of grievances, whatever they might be – ignorance, fear and hate – he would identify the heathens and they would all agree.
Rallying the swarm of lemmings – a tribal cabal of controlled chaos, indoctrinated with its messiah’s reactionary politick — it would do his bidding — for he was the only one that knew them, forgotten and now found – he destroyed veracity, replaced with his mendacity – his words now all that mattered — listen and repeat:
listen and repeat.
[I] was still so used to living in a state governed by the rule of law … Regardless of how much worse it was going to get … everything which was later to emerge in terms of National Socialist attitudes, actions and language was already apparent in embryonic form in these first months.
Victor Klemperer, Language of the Third Reich, 1957
The sun scorched the burnt earth – saturating the day – before night, consumed light – death, consumed life – darkness engulfed day – extinguishing light – painting over the sun – deep, dreary, distinct, desolate — darkness – the kind that winter whips into a frigid February – a freezing malevolence – blood blanketed the ground, in a sea of sanguinolent sorrow.
There was no going back now — flames still roared in the distance, his throat scalding – the cantankerous chaos conjured an image of a demon’s cigarette smoke – savagely silhouetting – in the satanic, sanguine sky.
Eclipsed by fire – the sky radiated – smoldering – a metaphorical, NEO-Dresden – painting the sky.
Wisps of that long ago war – emulating a terrifying reality – flames burst the empyrean firmament – burning – a terrifying titian — staining the dissipating darkness — as it lamented the day.
He stared up – engrossed — in the hell — burning — above – it was the distant orange – of a New England sunset – in the autumn – auburn and ochre – umber, sienna, maroon – over the Atlantic – the deep color of vermillion and violet – and a little ultramarine – about to be swallowed — by an ocean of oil – dark as a thousand, demon dreams – as if the earth ended, in a liquid, black hole – that was the most perfect darkness — he’d ever seen.
The heat – literal or not – his senses – rocked by conspiracy – scalded him – the burn – excruciating – scarred — forever – by heaven’s inferno – boiling above – the sound of the wind – of whipping water – simmering – a screaming silence – a helicopter – hysteria of a summer, cicada song – nature’s crescendo – deafened by desolation, darkness and dread – in the background – demons — praying – to their god – staring – into the fire – raging – in his Kingdom.
Insane – with remorse — for the untaken course – the thoughts bounced in his brain – why’d life become this malign – the melancholy misery – maliciously moribund – mendacity masked the monsters – murderous, lustful, mayhem meandered his mangled mind in Manhattan – the facade of reality – he knew now – vicious conspiracy – delusion — torturous confusion – ever deeper went the light – still amazingly bright, in the water – these weren’t celestial beings after all – but it’s strange — how they float – their eyes deep red with furious rage – burned his soul – his mind wasn’t blind to the storm — raging within – it was violent – it was pain – the horror — he had witnessed – the horror he had done — wasn’t a nefarious nightmare – not a demonic dream – it had happened and now all his thoughts were the light consumed by the water and the hell — he was in – the realization rocked his head – the Mexicans – the Other – caused all this dread.