Q.: These verbatim bulletins really are the cheapest indulgence of your demented intellect. Just because 
      you cannot write a scholarly thesis doesn’t mean you are the dethroned king of reductionism. Your
      commission is to bring home the message. Its omission is punishable with confinement. There you are.
A.: I don’t know what more should I say. I’ve censored myself of all superfluities. I’m stringently digital 
      and dominantly nominal. Speaking in a broken down English so that a Tibetan monk can understand 
      it. What I am to say is clear as crystal. Elaboration would only make it less eventual. 
Q.: You are a lethargic slacker of no consideration. Your bleached skeleton stinks from every pore. The
      meaning of your effort is more obscure than the Kalevala. And formidable if someone get it. Be a bit
      rational, angel of revenge. The Bride is not adorned for such agitation. She’ll find you provoking her. 
      What you postulate a synthesis will only open the floodgate to infinite analyses if you impertinently 
      refuse to instruct. The exact contrary to what you want. Your constrained naivety is next to pathological.
A.: I’m confident of the organic presence of a higher intelligence in Neuropolis. My activity is to bring the 
      secret forth. Those who don’t like it weren’t addressed in the first place.
Q.: That will curb your potential audience to less than zero in number. And all of them instant antagonists
      of your profiled state. There’s nothing but contradictions in the summary for all sides and sizes. That’s 
      how you flirt. That your basic intents are proto-fascist is screaming through the roof. It’ll nauseate
      the sonic youth. Everybody’s is against you and your Commandos at their collective soul. With no 
       power to influence, your counterrevolution is doomed to remain an unfulfilled memory.
A.: I ain’t programmed to count with reactions. It’s hard enough to precify what I think. Real playwrights 
      could write a whole scene till I decide over a proper noun regardless of the consequences. The Author 
       has plenty of time but I don’t. Certainly not for explaining a conclusion.
Q.: You are literally talking in the air like a mental patient, Spiel! You argue with yourself till reluctantly 
       agree. That’s not an unbiased resolution. You are sucked in by a black asshole and your sanity’s at 
       stake. I hate to see you like that. Working for a phantom that doesn’t even exist.
A.: My feigned optimism is not manufactured. I escape into informal logic. I am not the One but the Son of 
      None. I’m not a lonely instrument. There must be a brotherhood out there who would join the chant.
Q.: Okay, humpty-dumpty. Have a great fall. Individual supremacy is completely alien to the tribal setting
      of human DNA. Can’t spread like a computer virus. The horde is immune to rehabilitation. You’re
      living in an unscientific fiction. An unrated fairy tale. Reducing the verbal universe to a handful of
      lame imperatives and call it a day. Let the holy ghost manage the rest.
A.: ‘The Censorium’ is the most incontestable entry of my portfolio so far. It just couldn’t be drafted more  
       unambiguous. An atomic model. 
Q.: First you propound radical dissection from the roots that hold and feed the tree of one’s life. And then
       you prohibit the evolutionary drive of social interaction. Welcome to the Garden of Ethos. No More 
      Thrill. I’ve never seen a more unpopular agenda.  
A.: The mirror projects a radical paradise in turn. A moral dictatorship of total peace. The right stuff.
Q.: Horror is the zest of living and the source of all arts. Without adrenalin we would die of boredom. Life is 
      an adventure and we must enjoy every minute of it. That is the right stuff, not your apolitical subrealism.
A.: We segregate duality in the most rigorous manner. We won’t mix up the three emblems again. There
      is one law and it’s equal for everyone. We have to defeat the forces of chaos to make the planet habitable 
      for the homo novum. These are simple things, Gina. All we need is a galactic alliance. That’s what The 
      Party was contrived to propose. An open marriage of will and sin.

Q.: O my darling Charlotte. How desperately you’re trying to make a nonsense. Your unwieldly struggle
      for minimalism is a gawky sight to watch. Don’t you know that there is no ultimate truth under the
      cheating Sun? What you see is what you get. Nothing shall set you free.
A.: Thanks for reminding me of my whereabouts. That’s why censorship is inevitable. There can be no
       consensus between enemies. It is all-seeing but there is a single eye. The beast must give in or let the 
       beauty die. No forgiveness and no concession. O.S.P. is the final solution to the human problem.
Q.: You are steering a ghost ship on the stormy sea, captain of the heart. A stray dog has remained your 
       only companion. The horizon’s lost and the sails are dismasted. No rainbow of mercy implied any 
       longer. Whatever you touch will turn into grey.
A.: The civilization we encounter is a tremendous achievement of historical materialism. Against the 
       perennial slaughter of the natives, our specie has pretty well stood the test of time. We have a technology
      Nostradamus couldn’t imagine. We progress one day more than a million years before. The clash of
      cultures shouldn’t lead to extermination. A global civil war can be won. We could live in a world 
      without avarice. Famine could be stamped out overnight.
Q.: I am not controverting your benevolent ideology. It is your methodics that concern me the most. 
      Adding a new fertilizer to the murderous vegetation won’t efficiently divide the wheat from the chaff. 
      Evil versus evil is an irksome strategy. Worse than good against good if there is such thing.
A.: Our warfare is a zero-sequence operation in the ethereal sense. Negative against negative hits the 
       positive mark. This is the most delicate quandary of the whole experiment. Would need a real electric 
      wizard to elucidate it. Not me who doesn’t know what is a battery. My censorship recipe is exclusively
      formulaic. Doesn’t serve any corporate interest.
Q.: No question about that. But you shouldn’t dismiss liability so bluntly. It’s fine that you dare but have to 
      be able to defend your theses if confronted by the literati. What is the proper code of conduct of a UR?
A.: Our ideals are firmly shaped by the hypothetics of the Wild West. A good Clint Eastwood movie. Need no 
      master of laws to figure it out. Nice and easy does it and it’s cool enough for me.

Q.: You talk like a convicted felon out to impress the sophisticated. Your lousy parameters only dispose your 
       artistic negligence. You are a philosophically challenged pseudo-demagogue. Incorrect and dangerous.
A.: My mission statement is to give the last judgement a new style. Something better than clinical psychiatry. 
      More scandalous than a massacre. Louder than the mutual slander of the oppositions. An irresistible
      attraction over the global village. A tour de force of the Octagrammar.
Q.: It’ll all come down as sheer hate speech to the mortal majority if ever distributed. You’re churning out 
      these unprovoked pamphlets for an imaginary class of wild mutation. Let me tell you something. Your 
      people is ne vivam. You’ve got no brothers here, dear sister. Your love is not for sale.
A.: I hate to be lurking in the dark but cannot change my tone. ‘The Censorium’ is an emotionally motivated 
       rescue effort done without prejudice and afterthought. As uncensored as anything. Setting its own
      Moebian example. 
Q.: I’m glad to hear you so well satisfied with your sheet of shit. And that’s where the party prematurely ends. 
       With the unceremonial burial of the aborted foetus in the vault of unborn ideas. Only the shame and the
       guilt of desire remain. This is not the part you were cast to play. You should be on the frontline
       campaigning day and night for the Socialist Kingdom if you weren’t the degenerated archetype of an 
      Antihero. A scrounger of the matrix.
A.: I can depict the deal very distinctly now. Redemption has always been a business venture. The renegade
      Jews invented it. 888 is not a throwback of 333 but its cognitive antithesis. Sacrifice is not my cup of tea.
Q.: You had started the thing out as a wannabe rockstar. The crucified wolf’s triumphant return. Only melted 
       down to this somnambulic lamb that you are now after the Passover of 1984. What could I do to 
       rejuvenate your desecrating spirit? You would sooner pull the trigger than to face a public.
A.: The ethical superiority of the self-conscious elite is an absolute patency. In this dark age of liberty when
      anything goes any way, there’s no likely medium for an efficacious infiltration. We have to prepare for
      an overnational coup d’état. We ought to come out of the blue like an anticipated surprise. Sub rosa is the
       word. The Overnational Front are liberators of the Purgatory. They shall be greeted with flowers by 
      the whores of Babylon.

Q.: Good boy, has learned the cranky script by heart. Would look great on the big screen. Why don’t you 
       go to Hollywood with your pulp? You’ll never make it on reality TV.
A.: All I am initiating is a world-wide non-intervention pact. We leave you alone – you leave us alone. A
      country for traitors to their forefathers. An island for the alienated. That’s what our petition is about. Or 
      else we go on general strike and faith no more.
Q.: Don’t get so corybantic, it’s only you and me versus the world. I know how big you can dream. And how
      little you can do. Without my supporting role you’d be a homeless junky on skid row. And that’s a fact, 
      not an allegory. You live as a symbol and that’s how you’ll die. Unless you learn to moderate your 
      distraught expectations. 
A.: When you are born a universal failure you have no choice. You must do what thou will. I cannot
       compromise. I’ve got nothing to lose.
Q.: Stop playing the innocent victim of a malevolent destiny. It’s you who were begging for the blessing of 
       madness. You never wanted to walk the line. The borders are your prison.
A.: All I ever wished was to kill the crime. That’s been my only reason for being. Unless I can do that, I’m
      not interested in processing the decay. I am an entombed warrior longing for the rise. All pigs must die.
Q.: Charming enticement for deranged Mansonites. That far you can get. You shouldn’t abuse enfranchised
      slogans. Who will determine who is a pig?
A.: The Atheist Church of the Antichrist will. On scientific bases, of course. It’s all premeditated.
Q.: So kill and murder are as obverse terms in your paradictionary as sin and crime. That’s how you want
      to eliminate the poles apart. By further deriving them. Caught by the cogweb, aren’t you?
A.: That’s correct. Thou shall not murder. But you must kill. Or at least cooperate. To kill the crime is the 
      foremost duty of every citizen of the world. I am appealing to the alternative masses. 
Q.: When the UR will patrol the streets of London in their custom-made uniforms. Another song of future
      nostalgia for your Dystopian operetta. Who is the mother of all resident evil? 
A.: Psycho-logically speaking, it all comes down to the gratification factor. The most intimate domain of the
       judgement. If the executioner doesn’t hate his job, he’ll go to Hell alongside his clients. This is the 
       darkest region of the human pneuma we shouldn’t further investigate. Leave it to the forensically 
       inclined.  We must cling to the surface and avoid the details. It’ll be all detectable by the look of the eye.
Q.: So the judgement will execute itself by tactical surveillance. I don’t see what makes you differ from 
      old-school globaritarians…
A.: I am working for Eternity, baby. I can tell right from wrong by superior instinct. Whatever’s the grisly
      outcome, the guilty is always the one who started the fight. That’s a basic law of independence. The 
      liquidation I’m fantasizing is bloodless and silent. Keep that in mind entering the Censorium. A very
      humane solution. No brutality will be tolerated.
Q.: Be careful with such unwarranted promises. It makes you sound only more of a perverted Anti-Satanist.
      A transcendent spy should be less idealistic. It can’t be done without the dogs of divine terror. And
      underworldly donations. No wonder you’re reluctant to drop in the arena.
A.: Crime is when you enjoy causing suffer. It might be the easiest to detect. Those are the first sort to be
      thrown in the everlasting fire. The sadists and the masochists. Alongside the criminally insane. You see, 
      there is no racial discrimination to it whatsoever. I don’t know what’s the matter.
Q.: The matter is you, wolfchop. You are unconsumable for Christian Marxists. Even with your Wittgenstein 
      Sauce. You’ll never be on the Menu of imperial gatherings.
A.: My Protocol is challenging the lions of Zion. We do not negotiate with humanists. The Party is not a
      home of the brave. We disrespect paragons and martyrium is strictly forbidden. Don’t follow anyone but 
      our own moral compass. The crew of the Brideship is recognizable by their uniquity. Only their 
      destination is common. The sanctuary city of Eden. Far far far away from the Abendland of democracies.