Paul Christensen Quotes

Would they ever let go, these grey, turtle-faced creatures? Would their stranglehold on the Western world ever cease?

Childhood is bound like the Gordian knot with my memories of the Black Sea, and I still feel its waters welling up within me today. Sometimes these waters are leaden, as grey as the military ships that sail on their curved expanses, and sometimes they are blue as pigmented cobalt. Then would come dusk, when I would sit and watch the seabirds waver to shore, flitting from open waters to the quiet empty vastlands in darkening spaces behind me, the same birds Ovid once saw during his exile, perhaps; and the same waters the Argonauts crossed searching for the fleece of renewal.

And out in the distance, invisible, the towering heights of Caucasus, where once-bright memories of the fire-thief have transmuted into something weird and many-faceted, and beyond these, pitch-black Karabakh in dolorous Armenia.

What is the purpose of these dolls?"

"To play with, of course."

"Do they look Ukrainian, with their plastic eyes and muddy features blended from every race on earth?

I swear it only hit me then, with full conscious force, who the real villains of this piece had been from start to finish…those lying, cancerous dogs of the mainstream media!

Thom pulled nervously at his 'Kings' t-shirt. The Kings are a brutal West African gang that he follows onscreen. Such 'tourist shows', as I understand they are called, have become wildly popular in recent years, as global unrest makes actual travel less popular.

Armoured imaging teams, using tiny remote drone cameras known as 'flies', take the viewer inside the violent, gang-controlled regions of Nigeria and Cameroon. Using a touch screen, viewers (or 'zoners' as they are sometimes called) can follow the action from multiple angles while cheering on their favourite gang.

it seems that he didn't want a world turned to mud. He believed in a soul.

For a fair maid of England hath told me
That the crows are departed the Tower.
So I'll seek for my bailiwick elsewhere,
Sniffing out some new dungheap of power.

The night I killed Packo I had a terrible dream. A hideous female corpse was floating towards me through a closed window. Calling itself 'Bonna', the corpse kept insisting that it was the real rebel, the real iconoclast. Its face had the same grim, sickly look I had observed on USA establishment figures, and I believe that it was the baby boomer generation incarnate…utterly enslaved to globalism, yet still desperately wanting to be seen as 'edgy' and 'rebellious'.

Are you ready to bring back a weapon from another world?