We Will Find Our Way

It's been months. I'm not sure how exactly these phases occur in which I'm so utterly compelled to rant and rave about certain topics, but they do. And sometimes, I fall silent and churn emotions and information over and over in my head until they form (somewhat) coherent ideas, and eventually/hopefully, into concepts. It seems the space I set aside here is most often geared towards these diatribes, thought sometimes I like them for praise of a work or a person. I've still been writing since Hitchens died, but most of it hasn't had any place here. Much of it has been in the realm of fiction, the slow toil over 4 or 5 stories that I've been working on for years. A huge part of my mind will not shut up, insisting that I work on these immediately and finish them, but another part won't allow it. It suppresses my motivation to create something out of mere words. It prefers instead to mull, to contemplate, to enact a gross tautology in an already cyclical and repetitive system: the brain. But the apparent drought here is not all bad. Instead of merely expressing my views to a computer screen, I've engaged in real life arguments and debates whenever the opportunity has arisen. I, like most people my age, were told to shut up as children, that if nothing nice could be said, to not say anything. For a long time I struggled with that, finding myself enraged when a person would preach bullshit and no one would call them out on it and confront their nonsense. Throughout my life, I relished those times when I was able to challenge ideas that I knew were clearly wrong. And fervently would I challenge them, never wanting to cede a single point to them (though I would if they were right). There are few greater feelings that vindication, to be proven right. However, in my prolonged observations of people, they will almost NEVER admit wrongdoing or wrong-thinking. Most often these days it amounts to either one of two phrases: "Well that's my opinion and I have a right to it" or "Well that's just your opinion". If you ever find yourself engaged in a conflict of ideas and the other person utters either one of those phrases, know you're probably right. These phrases are the final bastions for the wrong. The first one I often find said by the religious, who I not only have no qualms about challenging but find it desirable, who believe that regardless of facts in reality, their opinion (faith) is ultimately all that matters. Don't ever accept such solipsistic garbage. Know they are not conceding anything, know they are frightened by the truth and hiding behind what amounts to nothing more than an electrical charge moving through neural receptors within a fatty mass of tissue. As I've said before, if you want to believe fairy tales and junk science, feel free, but once you decide to bring that to the public sector, put it on a pedestal and bully others into accepting it, know that you are the enemy of free thought. The true believers of such things will promote death, destruction and chaos in order to protect their imaginary friend. And that...is goddamn frightening. To know that there are such an abundance of religious maniacs in the world who claim to love death more than we love life is a scary prospect. And the fact that society feels a need to treat those with such convictions as reverent and off limits to offense is dangerous outlook. Penn Jillette once said, "You don't have a right NOT to be offended". The media and many average citizens are terrified of the possibility of offending the religious, though that can occur with mere words or a drawing. Somehow, the outrage is directed towards the person who is merely practicing free speech in supposedly free countries. It's made me fucking sick over the years to see the utter hostility that the religious have towards those who express their disagreement or disdain of their beliefs. It's made me even sicker to see the defense of religious bigotry and the condemnation of the offenders. As nonbelievers, we are constantly offended by the religious and should, by all means, point out how they are fucking the world so badly. We should also consider ourselves lucky to live in an age and place where are ABLE to do such a thing, without fear of being executed in the most horrific of manners (stoning, beheading, burned at the stake, etc.). Oh how the religious are loathe to acknowledge their fetid past of absolute criminal treatment of innocent people. Now they are so certain of their moral high ground, though actions they would find to be repulsive nowadays are considered repulsive because of secular concepts that have arisen since the Enlightenment (concepts that also defined the USA in its creation). They keep changing their paradigms, their moral boundaries, their platitudes in order to obscure, in that desperate moment, the fear they have knowing they're might not be anything divine looking out for us after all, and that once the heart stops beating and the brain shuts down, that it's over. I've heard far too many times, even from people in my own family, that if you don't have religion, then it's impossible for you to have morality. After either laughing at how inane that sounds or quelling the rage inside of me, I point out one perfect example: the Chinese. How could the Chinese, whose society is based on the secular humanism of Confucius, build the most sophisticated and advanced society of the ancient world? They were halfway through their Golden Age, the Han Dynasty, when God supposedly sent his only son to be tortured to death for the world's sins. How was it that the "Holy" Land was in such a backwards state of unrest while the secular Chinese were more progressed than nearly any other culture on the planet? Perhaps because they valued education and taught their people how to read and write, experiment with medicine and science instead of allowing that only the priests could be literate and that were was no need for science because God is everything. Confucius had morality nailed almost 500 years before this Christ figure was fabricated. The ideas behind Confucian ethics are so incredibly simple and logical, that they could only be intrinsic: treat others how you want to be treated, think before you act, study the world and learn how it works, respect those who work for you and respect those you work for, show deference to those in power but don't blindly follow, change only comes from within, lead by example. See that? All very basic ideas that conform to an orderly and stable society and not one mention of the divine, for that is in no way conducive to the functioning of a healthy society, but perhaps to an individual. Faith, like a prescription, should come with a similar warning label: for personal use only.

RIP Christopher Hitchens/The Rebellion Against Mental Slavery

1949-2011

Though he was born in Portsmouth, England, Christopher Hitchens came to America and became one its most patriotic citizens. Averse to the idea that his homeland still maintained a royal ruler who also headed the Church of England, Hitchens saw the brilliance of our Constitution, based on secular humanism and not antiquated ideas of superstition. Few people could speak so eloquently, so incisively, and so correctly about such an overriding and broad aspect of civilization: religion. Fearlessly he opposed the evils of religion, striking down with words those who promote the vile nonsense still espoused by theists worldwide. Not only was he a great American, but a great human being, a universal hero who still stands as an object of malevolence for the lost people still clinging to the fleeting concept of religion. Perhaps one day, a good majority of humanity will look upon the man with respect for his bold statements and attempts to combat the most destructive and backwards element of our various societies. His legacy shall not and should not ever be forgotten.



Fight theocratic Fascism in all its forms. Fight the rebellion of mental slavery.



There seems to be many people (many that I know) who don't claim any particular faith, but fall back on Pascal's Wager. They are intelligent enough to realize that religion is nonsense, but it's been bred in their blood for so many generations to be fearful of the consequences of not following a belief. And so often it's put into the heads of children to fear the master they also need to love. It's became an inescapable atavism that people believe in gOD "just in case". Hitchens drew the line (and boldly) where belief in the supernatural and mental freedom divide. One can't be partially faithful to one and to the other as well. Too many nonbelievers cannot surmount the obstruction religion has placed in all our lives, so they defer to it still while claiming nonbelief, or worse, agnosticism. I have heard with my own ears people say "I want all my bases covered" while practicing no tenets of a given religion. To me, this is a sign of cowardice, an unwillingness to stand up for what you truly believe in for fear of a possible deity's reprisal.

Of course we can never really know the absolute truth of the divine, but we can observe the reality of religion's barbarism, wish-thinking, and atavism and how it's plagued our world for so long. Of course many of us are in the process of figuring out religion's validity (or lack thereof) and they would certainly be "agnostic" in that sense. My message is for those who claim to know by not claiming to know, as though that solves the problem. We need people who are willing to use the extraordinary ability of the evolved human consciousness to fight that which attempts to keep it obscured and regressed by divine mandate. We don't need more people who straddle the fence, who pretend that there is no danger to religion, that even though they don't believe it they still treat it with respect and reverence; who claim that it's only institutionalized, organized religion that poses a threat, that religion is pure and good and then corrupted by humans. We need those who know and who aren't afraid to talk of religion being innately immoral and dangerous to the advancement of humanity. The sources of religion are all denigrating to us. When a majority of humanity could not discern the fictitious from the real (just scared mammals ourselves) religion was the element of control. As long as people were kept fearful of their death (and whether or not they would suffer or thrive for ALL ETERNITY), they accepted their own slavery, and still do today, though now religion comes with a much softer, more genial face to its lies. We don't need more cherry-picking, soft religions types who claim to only follow the "good" parts of their religion, creating an even more delusional affront. The leash and chain must be cut for those who realize that religion is baseless. All it takes is the courage to do it for one's self, to stand defiant against thousands of years of dishonesty, mind control, terrorism, bigotry, and mass murder. Shame those who judge others based on an invisible deity who also claim that said deity's "mind cannot be known", yet they instantly presume to speak for it and know its desires.

I always hear statements along the lines of "Well, people need something to believe in, something to comfort them". But they don't. Existence doesn't owe you a need for belief or hope that there is more than life itself. The world doesn't owe you any sense of comfort or that there are divine rules and that a deity will make all things right in an unfair world. So many have simply checked out of life on earth for the delusional prospect of a perfect, unchanging and never-ending afterlife (if they've followed the rules).

I should note that, by and large, I don't hate religious people, for that is your choice. There are those people who do things because of their belief in gOD that make them abominations of human beings as even religious people could agree with. But I don't hate the majority of them, I just want them to think about what they hold true in their head, and to see the insanity of it all. We only have each other. For too long has superstition and unachievable moral absolutism based on outright lies have stifled and strangled the advancement of all humanity towards a better world. We need more people like Hitchens who are courageous enough to fight back against the fear-mongering tide of religion as it tries to crash down and suppress us in the very core of our being. Be well, my friends, and remember, not even the divine can control your mind; use it for the reason it evolved, to ponder our condition. Be well, and choose well.

Just break up already!

I've noticed at Socially Retarded's shows, when the crowd is actually into it, people never act so dangerously stupid and hostile as when they play, but there's never even been a hint of pointed violence. It was one of the few times that you could pretty much get as crazy as possible without the worry of beef. Their final show on 8/15 proved just that as the weirdos and bastards came out for one last time to rage and tear apart someone's residence.

Lindsey, Peach and I arrived first to find one person at Waterworks cleaning up the mess leftover from a show days before. Beer cans were fucking everywhere. He told us Raw Nerve played that show and I can only hope that beer was thrown at them. At any rate, we helped him clean up the place then came in possibly my favorite show-going person in Chicago, Erik the Jolly. I call him that because that's what he is, the jolliest dude I might have ever met, a punk rock Santa Claus with Predator braids. Shortly thereafter, Graham from SFN arrived and the few of us broke into the beer and whiskey. I then made the mistake of eating an entire personal pizza slathered with hot giardeneira. My stomach basically imploded and, combined with the booze, rendered me out of commission for some time. I think I listened to Other Women's entire set whilst shitting. They were real good from what I could tell. Their singer was the dude from Regrets, a solid band without a doubt. He didn't get as crazy as usual, i.e. going to the very back of the crowd and screaming lyrics into the faces of those trying to stay out of it. Definitely not bad for a first show.

Men as Witches played next I believe. They were alright, but the heat combined with the revolting stomach churning kept me in the back, drinking Jim and stealing Peach's beer. It got kind of blurry from that point, as I poured more and more liquor down my gullet and rained sweat through my pores. I can't quite recall if Vile Intent or Sea of Shit played next but they both had tight sets. Last time I saw Sea of Shit, the sound was awful and I just wasn't into it as I usually was. They killed it this time. I know little of Vile Intent but they were solid, despite Erik running into me full speed and smashing the back of my head against the front of the guy's behind me. Almost instantaneously he moved beside me and smiled and laughed. NBD.

Before Retarded played for the last time, I'd say I was about 7/10 drunk. I wasn't stumbling or slurring (that badly) just yet. As they were tuning up, someone yelled out "Just break up already!" which got uproarious laughter. I must say, Mitch the singer pretty much always looks pissed off when they're about to play and this was no exception. As soon as the first note started, sweaty bodies began mauling everything in their path, unless they were met by a greater force (myself or Erik) and sent flying elsewhere. I was grabbing everybody and forcing them to run with me into anyone standing around. Graham, with his shirt soaked all the way through, was a complete maniac, jumping and rolling at a constant. At one point, he grabbed me and after we smashed some fools, he fell, but as I tried to pick him up, I lost my momentum and decided to simply somersault over him. We both got back up and went back to town. Nick from Bongripper was doing his patented hammer-fist during the sludgy breakdown and managed to land one right on my head. Unphased I went crashing back into the crowd. Omar's cymbal was knocked down at one point and was recovered by Belo, as none of the band members seemingly gave a fuck. Mitch especially was just hostile and apparently choked this guy (who's name I don't know but I've seen at every Retarded show in the city; I believe he was "seizure-mosh guy") with both hands and pushed him out of the pit. I saw none of it as I was in my own world of chaos and mindless mutant behavior as I went all out for my favorite and best goddamn band in Chicago. Nearing the end, I found myself next to this guy Spencer. I immediately determined that he was of small enough stature that I could lift him and make a run for the other side. Went off without a hitch and he landed safely down. Figuring I was already in the lifting mood, I picked up Jimmy as he shredded his guitar on the last song and set him down safely as well. As the music broke down and devolved into hellish, abrasive noise (what a sweet, sweet sound), Mitch proceeded to kick over the drums and really, anything in sight. Belo then threw the ride cymbal into the crowd. Others followed suitably and began throwing whatever they could wherever they could. In a great final moment for me, Erik, standing in front of me, grabbed the snare drum and threw it over his right shoulder, missing my face by about an inch. Not that is sobered me up, but it gave me a short moment of clarity as I realized my face nearly got broken. He apologized profusely for doing so, but I wouldn't hear it. That's the risk you take.

And so ended a band that was probably better than anything you're currently listening to. The music and the shows were absolutely destructive, scary, maddening and hateful, but to me, were ultimately fun. The only other shows I'd have close to as much fun are Weekend Nachos, but Retarded simultaneously brought out the best and worst of people as far as the live music experience went, and now I am at somewhat of a loss. They just did it right without really trying, and in fact, showing total apathy to the crowd at times, while still being the coolest of dudes. Fuck, I'm going to miss you crazy, crazy bastards. Best wishes and all that bullshit.

.....fuck Canada.

I finally decided to watch some footage of the riots recently in Vancouver, and I could not help but think of my rant so many months back about why I hate sports culture, and moronic, selfish Canadian sports fans just backed up my assertion:

It was not only that I was livid because of these people's abject stupidity and complete disregard for 10,000 years of human civilization and development, it was something more. I felt a certain hatred I haven't felt in a long time. I've been keeping up with the riots in Egypt, Libya, Syria, and Greece as of late, and the plight of those people is something I can understand, and with which I can sympathize, as corrupt governments continually sell out the interests of their people to let them squander in perpetual misery. But if you live in Vancouver, in one of the most comfortable nations on Earth, and a hockey team YOU DON'T PLAY FOR loses a few games and your only option is to start destroying your own city in addition to other people's cars and buildings, you are a worthless savage and your posturing arrogance that you're somehow glorious in your revelry of mindless and stupefying destruction is exactly what this world doesn't need any more of. It's certainly not the culture of sports that is to blame; these people are clearly idiots anyway, but the manner in which sports are given such a high priority in the modern North American world doesn't help the situation. It's 2011 and you're burning your own city over a fucking game? You're an idiotic lowlife, and it's people like you that make me completely in favor of abortion, euthanasia and eugenics.

There is some justice however:

And of course, praise to this level-headed (though clearly still drunk) gentleman talking some sense into these degenerates, and whoever stepped in to finish his inaccurate punch. Canada should give this man a medal, at the very least.


Fuck you, sports fans. Never heard of anyone rioting over a pro-wrestling match. Kind of funny that a fake sport designed for kids has more mature fans.

the heretic, part 2

(This was written in response to some criticism I received over my heretical belief that man-made climate change is a hoax. Of course I was attacked personally and asked sardonically if I also believed the Earth was flat because I question global warming's actuality. The original comments to me appeared as stereotypical liberal dogma with consensus reality being passed off as fact. I have yet to receive a response, so I feel like posting this here to bolster my previous rant; I apologize for any repetition.)

"Yes, there has been a plethora of global warming research in recent years, but once you see it for the political morass that it has become, you'll know you're not seeing the full story. Politicians and mass media have employed scare tactics and manipulated people's opinions to make the theory of man-made climate change dogmatic law. The origins of this can be seen during Margaret Thatcher's administration when the miners of England went on strikes nationwide. Her method of settling that issue was to demonize these industries as great polluters and the main cause of global warming, paying off scientists to prove just that. She then, in turn, promoted nuclear power to further combat the coal miners. This was of course after the short-lived scare over global cooling in 70's, when many scientists agreed that the Earth was facing an imminent crisis of another ice age due to human activities. There certainly hasn't been another ice age. But then the consensus changed because those in power forced it to be so. It was a political ploy then, and it is now.

I recommend to you this documentary: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpWa7VW-OME&feature=related

Note that they're all accredited and respected scientist explaining why the current notion of climate change is a scam. There's no political pandering or agendas, just science. There's certainly no vindictive, scare-mongering liberal politician trying to tell you how to live. You may ask: "Well if they're so respected why isn't their opinion the general consensus?" Easy: there's no money to be made in the idea that the Earth is doing just fine. However, if people are convinced that we are facing a major catastrophe due to our actions that can be solved simply by purchasing the right things, then you've struck gold. People like Al Gore are making millions now that people are buying into campaigns with little to no credibility. The proponents of man-made climate change have used shaky science at best to persuade people to think this way, and they just eat it right up...like always.

So if the planet's alright, we would then have to face a very real crisis: that humanity can't even co-exist with itself, that people still kill each other over the most minute of reasons and we are going to save the Earth that's in no trouble in the first place? Preposterous. It's so much easier to think that we're going to save the world with hybrid cars and organic food than to face the reality of our own demise. It's a projection of our own fears of mortality, that we just love to attack. By the way, hybrid cars are filled with well over a hundred toxic batteries and far more fuel and resources are used in their construction and transportation than a normal car could burn up in its lifetime.

Now don't get me wrong, I think finding alternative energy sources is a good idea; we shouldn't be so wasteful and polluting of the Earth's natural beauty, but to cause panic amongst people by lying to them to get them to buy into your fallacious ideas? That's just shameful. (I don't mean you personally, "you" in the general sense.)

To answer your questions, no and no. I believe in science, reason and logic, not blind faith, hypocrisy and ignorance. Though I've noticed a penchant amongst liberals to instantly label those who disagree with their lofty principles as crazy, stupid, hateful, Fascistic, etc. And I am no conservative, They're just as bad, just as dogmatic, just as detached from reality.

Environmentalism has become fanatical, just like religions. Their word is law and all those who even question their supposed truths are heretics. Call me what you will, I will always question the decrees that come down from the government and mass media."

the heretic

Environmentalism: another seemingly beneficial idea until it was co-opted by the forces of marketing/advertising and liberalism. We’ve been fed lie upon lie that the Earth is headed for catastrophe because of our doing (sublimated guilt) and that anyone who disagrees is a polluting fascist. I know liberals like to think themselves on such a higher ground, but I can see that’s simply not the case when they constantly resort to reactionary labeling of disagreeing individuals in an effort to marginalize their opposition according to egalitarian dogma.

“The planet’s fine, the people are fucked.”

So much of this environmental hype stems from our unwillingness to acknowledge the fear that humanity is going to be extinct one day. Our fear then gets so easily digressed into fear for the planet’s health. We’re a petulant child, projecting our insecure paranoia to our parent world, seemingly unaware of how inconsequential we really are to it, even less so to the universe as a whole.

“Going green” has become a multi-billion dollar industry, in government and the private sector as well. Why do you think it’s become so prevalent? Because it’s true? Or because a small group of people somewhere are making literal tons of money? It’s another nice distraction for weak-minded people to think that they too can do something meaningful for the world by supposedly employing conservation. Another dead end pursuit of the American herd. The toxic batteries in your hybrid car won’t be decomposing anytime soon.

Don’t get me wrong, I think clean energy policies and alternative fuel sources are great ideas, but fuck you for trying to manipulate my opinion and that of my fellow Americans by feeding enormous lies and guilt trips. Fuck Al Gore and his rich ass telling you how to live your life. Fuck these governments that are allowing the third world to languish in continual, perpetuated misery because they’re restricted in their development to the modern world.

We can’t even save one another from basic horrors and we’re gonna save the planet that’s doing just fine in the first place? Get real.

in every direction

I haven't put anything down to verse in so long, it seems ages. It's evident that I was once possessed a certain poetic zeal that seems to have subsided, or even dissipated. I can be almost sure that it's still there, dormant perhaps. Let's face it, the past couple years have seen such a cathartic release of poems and scribblings, that I might have simply burnt myself out on them. Long have I understood that art in words is not something that can be forced into creation. The poetic intent arises organically, a symbiotic creature in a sense. But where has it been? I used to think in poetry, arranging (or attempting to) my thoughts in verse, but the music of such an expression seems to have quieted in recent months. For nearly 10 years, poems were such an integral part of my continual writing process. Sure I look back in contempt or indifference for a lot of my work, but some I can still read and am incised by their sharp words and culmination of pain and anxiety into structured thought. Maybe that was the journey, maybe that was only a phase over those years to lead me here, into a less abstract state of mind.

To me, poetry's base was always in the abstract, its origin the chaos of the human mind. At times, though, in the very best of the genre, ideas emerge that are quintessential to a sort of basic understanding of our interaction with the world that surrounds us. It puts into words that which eludes us to say because of the brevity of our elaborate consciousness. It grinds down the overwhelming collection of what's in our mind into points that stab with precision in an effort to refine our thinking. All great art does this. The work that is worthwhile is that which illuminates the processes of our existence into the unending panorama of the natural world at large, which we also express in history, science, mathematics, etc. But how often humans simply associate "science" as "nature", when, in fact, science is only our interpretation of these events in nature, as history is the interpretation and analysis of events of the past that have led up to this point, as mathematics is the interpretation of the patterns and design of what we can perceive as our existence. This is, of course, not to say that there is a designer; nature is its own design, a self-fulfilling system.

There is an unfortunate number, however, of people in this world, many in my own country, that choose to believe that nature and our existence cannot possibly be without an external creator. But how could there be a being without being itself? For if god is truly an entity as most of these people believe, there has to have been an origin for such a thing, an origin that supersedes existence itself. To me, that sounds like a total avoidance of the vast majesty of this universe. Instead of simply being in awe and knowing that we are just another blip in macrocosm of time and space, people invented a buffer of sorts to keep that overwhelming status of being completely inconsequential to the universe at bay. There is an understandable fear of being such a small aspect to a system so large, but with the belief that there is an entity that is even greater that, who looks out for us, who created us in his image, who has a set of rules for us, and, most importantly, has imbued us all with a purpose in our lives, makes the frightening possibility that we really are spurious in the face of the totality of existence.

With such a belief, you trade in that intrinsic fear (however unconscious) for obeisance to what you can only imagine in your still evolving head. We are just another small step in the process of life's evolution, a process so vast we can barely understand it. And when people are faced with things they struggle to understand, they often became defensive, and choose to find a protection of sorts to deal with that which they can't comprehend. So instead of attempting to understand the mystery, they become opposed to it, and will follow that which gives them an easy answer, something that doesn't have to let them flounder in possible existential crises. As stated, there is a certain fear of simply being a primate that can talk, living on a giant sphere with other talking primates, spinning around in a dark corner of the galaxy. But is it not that fear that has driven us to greater things than huddling in caves, terrified of the natural world? If we didn't have that fear to overcome, there would have been no need to band together, to learn to communicate, to solve problems, to create tools and harness fire. That fear is just part of the need to survive, possessed by all creatures in some instinctual form. Somewhere along the line, many tens of thousands of years ago, we developed the ability to become aware of that fear and also the faculties to work our way through our inhibitions, to overcome that which could destroy and maim us, were we still the simple primates we started out as. How these abilities came about I doubt there is a real answer for. The power of our frontal lobe in terms of structured thinking and awareness of ourselves is such a unique marvel for humans. The ignorant would call it a "gift from god", but in actuality, it is probably the result of the right collusion of genetics, environment, and time. I don't think we could ever actually discern how this spark of intelligence began to become prevalent in ancient humans' brains, but is it not enough that we simply have it and can utilize it?

It is because of this development that certain groups of early humans were able to migrate from the heart of Africa to nearly every region in the world. I'm in awe to think of tribes making journeys over countless generations to newer and unseen lands, over thousands and thousands of miles, without maps, without written languages, without domesticated animals, without agriculture. How marvelous to think of the epic scope of transformation amongst these people as they dispersed all over the globe, dropping certain physical traits, the genes becoming more specific to the unique tribes, the formation of sounds into language, unifying people even more so into cohesive units. I think of ancient Scandinavians, descending out of the nomadic steppe tribes of Central Asia, who decided to just keep heading North. The impression is that of a group who were not content to stay put but rather to experience what could possibly out there in lands unknown. They had the courage to keep going, all the way to the Arctic circle, so far from equatorial Africa, so far removed from humanity's origin, and they just kept going. I think of those other Central Asian steppe peoples who would go on to found the beginnings of Chinese civilization, arguably the first (certainly in this writer's opinion) while others closely related took similar corridors east, but stayed in the North to resume the nomadic life. People came together after their ancestors traveled for thousands and thousands of miles in possibly as many years in fertile lands in the Wei Valley, wild and unbroken, and began to work together to build what would become society. I won't go into how incredible early Chinese civilization was, how intelligently and creatively they crafted their society. I think of the ancient Polynesians, not satisfied resting in tropical paradises of Indochina, they went further, built simple yet sturdy boats and traversed thousands of miles of treacherous open ocean, to settle across millions of islands, navigating by the stars alone, guided only by wind. Marvelous isn't it? To think how far we have come, to ponder the endeavors of humanity, is absolutely beautiful. The drive to overcome perceived limitations has brought humanity to this point, and it's wondrous to even consider, all the pain, death, strife, and war included in said history. To just have come so far out of cave-dwelling a couple hundred thousand years ago is mind-blowing. A couple hundred thousand years is nothing to the lifetime of this planet, and to have proliferated that much? Now that's miraculous.

"Wonderful where people come from."
-the Preacher, Deadwood

judgmental prick/beast from the East

In a genre so beset by poseurs and hipsters, it's hard to find new worthwhile metal in this world. I've largely given up on discovering new American metal that's actually worthy of its namesake. But thanks to the Information Age in which we live, I've found at least two acts that are currently profound and interesting music. The first is Tengger Cavalry, which, from what I read, is a one-man band out of China with partial Mongolian ancestry. Long have I been enamored with Mongol history and culture and also with the various peoples that express their musical voice in the form of throat signing. To the average Westerner, I'm sure, throat singing just sounds bizarre and alien, but after immersing myself for so long in this style, the beauty and emotion are latent. Perhaps what stands out most of throat singing is that it sounds inhuman, nothing like what we consider in the West a "beautiful singing voice". I find it closer to black/death metal vocals that have only arisen in the past 25 or 30 years. If we look at the cultures from which these different voices derive, we find some similarities. My theory is that Mongols and Tuvans developed their unique vocals from the seemingly endless years they spent (and still spend) riding the harsh steppes of Siberia and the Gobi, where desolation thrives and human edifices dot not the landscape. There is an overwhelming emptiness here. Life is sparse, wind, earth and sky are everything. It's Mongols who long worshiped the Great Blue Sky and all it encompasses; it was Genghis Khan who wished to unite all of humanity under its banner. For the metal vocals to which I was referring, I'll just stick with Norwegian Black Metal of the late 80's/early 90's. These people found their heritage in the vast forests and frigid mountains of Scandinavia, in the icy fjords and snow that never melts. If we look at their Viking heritage, we find similar people: consummate warriors, great travelers, prone to extreme violence with a mind to conquer, and unarguably tough as nails.

Exhibit A:

Tengger Cavalry's music just takes me away to another world, a place where modern life does not bombard me with constant lies and fake morality. It is a place where survival supersedes all, where life and death's meaning haven't been obscured by boredom-induced neurosis over trivialities. The music is alive with the strife of tribal war cries and the idea that the world is as large as one's horse can take them. I find this fusion not only fascinating, but lasting. I've searched through much Chinese metal, and discovered that most of it is generic and simply emulates the cliches brought about by more mainstream metal. It seems they've simply tried to recreate substandard Western metal, and, for me, does nothing. There's too much uninspired, boring metal as it is. But that's the way it goes nowadays, a broad spectrum to appeal to the masses rather than a deeply introspective and unique take on the genre. For every Burzum, there's a thousand Dimmu Borgirs. What I find most dreadful about most Chinese metal, is that there is no reflection of their culture present in the music. I've gone on about this before, but their history and cultural roots extend much farther than Europeans in terms of civilization, and to me, should be inescapable to the creators. To deny all that seems disingenuous and makes for uninteresting music. Tengger, on the other hand, embraces the rich musical history of his ancestry and has created some absolutely breathtaking and original metal. It just works.

Exhibit B:

As extensive as my love for metal is, death metal was one genre that has really not intersected with my interests until very recently. It's always been there in my periphery, but never really came into the forefront. There always seemed something not all that engaging in it; it appeared to me, in a way, that it was heavy for heavy's sake, without truly creating a profound listening pleasure as did, say, Norwegian Black Metal. Of course, my perceptions of the sub-genre, for the longest time, were bands like Cannibal Corpse and Six Feet Under, who are rather dull. Years ago, I read the anus.com review for Massacra, whose album "The Final Holocaust" they deem as the best album in the style. Say what you will about those at the ol' anus, but when it comes to true and worthy metal, they're above and beyond anyone else on the internet. I recall downloading a couple of Massacra's tracks, not knowing they were from the "Demo '88" version of "The Final Holocaust" and not the album proper from 1990. The definitive versions on the album are far different from the early rough cuts, but both are brilliant in their own way. The "Demo" versions allude to a thrashier origin, more related to the early Slayer idea of mixing NWOBHM and hardcore punk, them speeding up and amplifying the fuck out of it, whereas the official album is undeniably real death metal, a progress fulfilled.

Still, by and large, I'm not as infatuated with DM as much as other metal, but along came Chaotic Aeon out of China, and I felt after listening to it, how I should after most good metal: like my ass has been kicked. DM has been so marginalized since its inception by mainstream "tough guys" who co-opted the riffage to emphasize how bad ass they are, all the while creating garbage music that contributes nothing to the tradition of metal. It's a ploy, a sham, a sad effort those more concerned with creating an image and a style, to convince other (and themselves) that they too can be metalheads, without understanding or respecting the genre itself. But in this time and place: "It's my music, bro, you can't tell me otherwise!" So weak, ineffectual rock band continuously rehash the angular guitar riffs of old metalcore bands like Integrity or Rorschach, all the while their music is actually more akin to pop or it's just a simulacra with the actual intention to just "have fun" and "party", when metal is not about that. At all. Metal has always been for the alienated, the outcast, the ugly, those who can't/don't/won't conform to the sheepish ways of their peers, for those who know that the music the majority loves is just empty and invalid entertainment, meant to keep you sated and satisfied, whereas metal has always been about hungering for more than the scraps you're given by family, religion, society, education, etc. It's not about just accepting people and ideas for who and what they are because that's what this modern liberal society dictates that you do. It's more based on Mongol society in the time of Genghis: merit and what you can bring to the group. If it's honest and intelligent and devoid of ineffectual pandering, then it's accepted. Metal is not pop music; work is not considered important because "Hey, this sounds good", there underlies a deeper meaning to it beneath the abrasiveness and screaming/growling. It's about how a few wolves can decimate and scatter the flock of sheep, not becoming a mindless herd itself.

Exhibit C, just because it's so goddamn good, even better than the original, in this judgmental prick's humble opinion:

Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them

And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you

Pleroma Pie

Driving home through wind sharpened by ice, I turn on 98.7 in the car, as my cd player has been malfunctioning due to the cold, and I hear a short piano piece, obviously written for the harpsichord or clavier, and for a couple of minutes, I'm absolutely mesmerized by the combination of melody, harmony and skill. Like so many times when I listen to that station, I wait patiently for the end of the piece to find out what it is I just heard. Peter Vandergraaf's baritone voice soberly tells me it's this:


Not ashamed to admit that I thought of tears whilst hearing this. I didn't cry, but I was so moved by this piece, a short and masterful work of the early 1600's in this almost unrelatable modern day. But there is only so much I can say, the real beauty is in the hammer hitting the strings.

apparent chaos

Though I'm not the misanthrope I once was, I still maintain a general dislike for most of humanity. Nothing personal, I just view these people by and large according to the Carlin Personality Types: stupid, full of shit, and fucking nuts. Some people are indeed all 3. Yet...I still care, obviously, enough to rant and rave about it to whomever might be so inclined to read. And why? Simple; because you people FUCKING FASCINATE ME. Whether it's someone who exemplifies bold and courageous action, intelligence and wisdom, or supreme idiocy and pointless drivel, I'm ever amazed and perplexed by what I see. And I'm addict for what confounds me. I'm not one to let mysteries go unsolved; I seek to know more than anything. But then again, I'm not really one for incessant questioning, I prefer to discover facts & truth on my own accord. I'm a sucker for questions with no easy answer, or even none at all. But that has its downfalls, of course.

Being lost in a labyrinth can be exhilarating and a gainful challenge, but with it comes frustration, repetition, and the occasional despair. But all the absurdities, all the wastes of time and energy, all the dead ends...they ended up amounting to a worthwhile understanding, something I can't really express here in words, an acquired intrinsic element to my mentality. Not all questions can be solved, but we can attune ourselves to how we deal with apparent chaos in our lives. After all, imperfection is the essence of our existence, making perfection its antithesis. We can only strive for what's real, not what's ideal. Remember to breathe.



"There is no reality
This is a mere dream"

For me, I find the value in hardcore for a sense of outward experience, my demeanor to the world. In metal, I find to truly gain anything from it, it's best for solitary listening, in meditative states. Integrity is where those two roads meet, music simultaneously designed for destructive moshing culminating in an egregious display of "fuck you" to the world and being in communication with the internal consciousness as it transcends the oppressive mind to portray the infinite and inhuman.

Say What You Mean

I recently watched Bertolucci's "The Last Emperor" in its entirety for the first time, and within the near 3 hours, one line really stuck in my head. The child emperor asks pedantically one of his favored eunuchs why he must learn to read and write. The eunuch (played by Victor Wong, grandpa from 3 Ninjas!) responds to him calmly: "Because your Majesty, if you can't say what you mean, you will never mean what you say!" I know this phrase, or variations thereof, is a sort of common cliche or proverb, but it intrigues me to think of its origins and place in society.

Immediately I'm reminded of Confucius, who taught actions supersede words and that words should always match the action ("Perfects acts need no words"). For a language I don't speak, I'm utterly fascinated by it. Whereas in English, our thoughts our expressed in combinations of basic phonetic symbols read left to right, top to bottom. Chinese is expressed in symbolic ideograms ranging from a few simple lines to immensely complicated representations, but still only sounded by only one syllable, sometimes two, written perpendicularly to ours, top to bottom, right to left. From what I've gathered in the various novels, histories, and poetry I've read, the words are concise as can be, while expressing complex ideas. Economy of language, which I learned from Ezra Pound years ago, finds its hallmark in Chinese. I think I'm so interested in it because of its diametric opposition to English, a hodgepodge language filled with illogical nuances, that somehow is both extremely effective and highly insufficient in terms of expression. We also seem to be a society that gives far more attention to those well-spoken and wordy rather than those who embrace action first and speak little of it.

I'm not sure why I find myself so engrossed in a culture so far removed from my own in both time and place, but Confucianism just makes more sense to me than the world of Christendom that has encapsulated this hemisphere. In an effort to say what I mean, I would say that I'm a humanist in the original Confucian sense, that we forge our own destiny within our natural world, but not in the modern liberal sense, where the notion that the world is imperfect and somehow owes people idealism. "Certain unalienable Rights" are a very nice, quaint idea, but let's not forget they were drafted by slave owners who also said "all men are created equal". America is a great place to live, don't get me wrong, but we were founded on an inconsistent, contradictory basis. Now we're barely out of the primordial cave, but such is the modern mentality where it seems most people think we've reached our evolutionary apex and things are just great and swell the way they are and they should stay this way, awash in mediocrity the "freedom" to do as you see fit, no matter how idiotic and useless it is, as long as no one gets hurt, right? Evolution isn't linear, we are not moving towards one great human utopia on earth. These things move in cycles, it's about adapting to your environment, a process that will not, that cannot, ever end. But now, people largely seem content just working, buying things, accepting endless indoctrination whether subtle or latent, buying more things, working more to pay for those things, and trying to believe that everything will turn out a-ok, as long as the taxes are paid.

I often think of what it would've been like to know a world without rampant technology, without television, cell phones, internet, recordings of music, central air, indoor heating and plumbing, prepackaged food, etc. To me, it would seem a person lacking all these things would be a more "real" human, a more complete one. We have the option now to give up so much of our lives to technology (not judging here, I do it plenty) in lieu of dealing with reality. There's certainly nothing wrong with technology, in and of itself, it's all in how we deal with it, what uses we make. Seems beyond insane to me that in America within the next 10 years, a majority of people will have or will desire a 3D television, yet we'll still be in the dark on curing major diseases, not killing one another over matters petty and political, and what the hell to do with all these starving homeless clogging up our streets. Americans focus A LOT of attention on trivial matters and doing things simply for fun while the country as a whole shows its fractures.

But ultimately, what does one do? Lament all glaring errors and lose your own life trying to fix everyone's problems? Not give a fuck and just have fun, regardless of reality? Again, I find my answer in a Chinese proverb: "If a man does not discipline himself, he cannot bring order into the home." It all must start within the individual to make a conscious effort to effect civilization into the shared human world.

Also: "To keep things going in a state of ten thousand cars: respect what you do and keep your word, keep accurate accounts and be friendly to others, employ the people in season."

Yet we live in a ferocious and hostile world. How can this be? My guess is that ethics are not fully ingrained into humanity yet. We have them and they make sense on paper, but we're still not at that point where we can be a civil and peaceful populace, if it's indeed possible at all. The only thing one can really do is act civil in their own way and promote benefice in their own natural way. It's simple to be a human, but it's not easy.

3 Tenets

Address blind faith.
Challenge hypocrisy.
Correct ignorance.

Wherever you go.

It took years, but I now relish it when my ideas are challenged and people tell me I'm wrong. One's conceptualized thoughts can only grow so much inside the mind; they must be put out there, they must face defiance. Without rivalry, stagnation occurs. Without enemies, there are no heroes.

All things maintain a natural aversion. Best not to try to escape it, lest we lose our own reflection.

New Mosh Generation

"Did anyone call shotgun? SHOTGUN!" I yelled as we prepared to depart Cheeseville. Yeah, I took front seat and I'm not even in the band. The sun had just gone down and the chill began to rise, but felt good after breathing in spray paint fumes in the basement. Evan made a "RISK" stencil and he, Varg, and I sprayed each CD individually. If you got one, I wouldn't recommend putting it in a CD player you give a shit about; there's a good chance that stuff will chip off inside of it. I think the first 50 copies of the Risk demo will suffice as more of a collector's item. Just download it for free anyway: http://www.megaupload.com/?d=SBX7LJBP


Half-buzzed from a couple Old Style's and a hitter or two, Danny and I tried to find ridiculous music on the radio to sing along to. I think we hit gold with GNR's cover of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door". I can never contain my laughter when Axl sings "Hey, hey, hey hey hey hey" in his overly-nasal style. We were all laughing pretty hard, trying to keep the chorus going and throwing in various other GNR lines into the mix. After that song, I jumped around the radio when I hit ELO's "Fire on High" which I switched off much to the chagrin of Evan who yelled and demanded I keep it on. I'll admit, it's a nice little piece of music...

After what seemed like an egregiously long ride, we arrived in the alley behind the Albion House. Two other vans were parked, hazards on, with the other bands carrying in their gear. We began to unload when I noticed a police car coming up the alley. For as long as I can remember, cops have made me uneasy, even if I'm not holding or doing anything that would warrant trouble. Always felt they were more interested in just fucking with people rather than the whole "serve and protect" facade. But we went about our business as they ticketed the van belonging to Like Rats and no one else. It's things like this that kinda legitimizes my paranoia. At any rate, we got everything safely inside, had a smoke, and went in search of food. Diego instructed me to a nearby Mexican place (tacos al pastor is my staple hc show food) but I couldn't find it, so we got falafel instead. We scarfed it down ASAP as there was no way we were missing Black & Blue, aka The Chris Schuman Experience. Chris is a dude whose friends I've known for years and vice versa. He comes from Elgin where I used to work, with several of his longtime friends actually. And in that interim of me being "out of contact" with the S-Wood Fam, Schuman and Diego befriended and now live together (Whipple Wimps). Anyhow, he was already drunk when we got there around 6:30 and continued to pound beers until they played. Since my dumbass left the Wild Turkey at home, I mooched beers off of Peach and Evan and even went so far as to drink a Four(not a Loko) to maintain the slight drunkenness.

B&B began a little before 8, with guitars feeding back and Schuman pacing around goonishly as a good hc frontman will do. He certainly looks the part. I couldn't quite make out what he said before they started, just that it ended with "we're Black and Blue! Fuck you!" Their style is straight ahead hardcore, fast but not too fast, with mosh parts but not excessive to the point of just being dumb. I remember in the first song Spider bursting out from behind me and doing his running mosh, which to those unaware, means "FUCKING MOVE". Evan came out to the floor, most likely to maintain his title of Chicago's number one mosher, which he did with ease and brutality. He even threw in a few spin kicks that caught a couple of people on the arm. Dude is a joy to watch if you find hardcore dancing interesting. Often times I'll be more focused on the maniacs in the pit than the band. And there certainly was plenty of action here, with Schuman dropping the mic and slamming various attendees against the plywood over concrete walls. During the first song, his mic got unplugged and the band just kept playing while he fucked with the cords. He re-electrified it just in time to finish the song in a dramatic move. After much pitting (not from me however) they went into a cover of Minor Threat's "Salad Days" and "I Don't Wanna Hear It", both to excellent reception. Their next song really grabbed my attention with the groovy guitar line backed by a raging rhythm section. I had no idea the title or words, but I hope to in the near future. Truly not bad for a first show.

As always, I stood outside with a drink and a smoke waiting for Risk to begin. Varg was out there, too, while the rest of the band set up their stuff. Varg does what he wants, don't forget it. I was somewhat surprised by the small crowd that night, however. There is usually a much bigger turnout, with the basement and backyard filled. I'm not sure where everyone was and I wasn't aware of another show that night. On the plus side, a non-packed basement meant one could actually breathe and not tempt heatstroke.

The blunt Evan lit up was intended for after the set as a celebratory inhalation, but he had the good sense to light it up right as the band started, announcing Risk's new mantra: "If it ain't gettin' puffed, your ass is gettin' snuffed." He passed it around to the band as they were tuning up, getting that tension going that I've come to expect from a good band. Danny passed it off to me then I to Schuman and that first crash was heard followed by that infectious bass line into "WE'RE RISK!" Unfortunately the mic went out, so Evan just sang with outspread arms. There was all sorts of mayhem and plenty of ignorant moshing. Evan's banter was just priceless, especially when he called me out as Risk's "only real fan". Big Wheel needs the publicity. Probably the first and last time you'll hear a Discharge cover out of them. Best moment by far was after one of their songs, Evan put up the "T" sign with his hands and took some sips of water. I yelled out, "There's no time-outs in hardcore, pussy!" He managed to spray a perfect mist of water right in mine and Schuman's face. Chris responded with a loogie shot perfectly into Evan's ear. Had he been lacking earplugs, that would've been a horrendous wet willy.

Their set reminded me of some MW lyrics:
"We are the army of drunks
Our weapons are set to destruct
We've come to punish all foes
Now it's our time to erupt!"

It appears the NMG is going to be fueled by alcohol, THC, and whatever toxic shit they put into energy drinks. Another awesome, unpredictably chaotic show from Risk. My only hope is they get more destructive with each set. Someone needs to promote utter foolishness since Duress ended...

After the set, I was approached by a super-drunk older guy from the "cornfields" who had that look of pure happiness on his face, the kind that actually manifests physically within the body. He raised his fist for me to bump and seemed highly appreciative of all the ridiculous action. I had never seen him or his two friends before, but he was telling me how much he loves these kinds of shows and that they never happend where he's from, wherever that is. Sometimes it's these interesting random meetings that make these so much fun. I went out for some air, which felt amazing after standing amongst so much body heat in that cramped basement. Danny brought the van back around and we proceeded to load it back up. I think I scored another beer from someone at that point and went down to check out The New Yorker, featuring members of Raw Nerve or something. RN's a pretty good band, much better live than on record I think. I think TNY would be the opposite. I recall it sounding cool, but not something I want to stand around and watch at a show. Schuman resurfaced at this point with a bottle of Jimmy from the liquor store which he so graciously allowed me to sip from, then he disappeared again, probably to puke then get more booze.

The only time I've seen Like Rats was their Black Flag cover set at the Albion House Halloween show. Turns out they don't really sound anything like BF at all. Their style is one of relentless hostility without sounding like typical tough guys. What I really liked about them is that their music is constantly ripe for moshing of all sorts without trying to be. It's not garbage "mosh metal" that's become so popular nowadays; it is what is without some stupid label that predicated the music. People were moving furiously for this band, including those aforementioned dudes from the boonies. I swear, one of them looked just like Grover Gil from A Christmas Story. It was a lot of fun to watch that little guy spin around and throw fists. At one point, one guy took a nasty spill and smashed his knee real hard on the floor. People went to pick him up but he yelled to be left alone and, like a fucking man, army-crawled out of the pit where he eventually pulled himself up and went outside. Like Rats finished out their brutal set to a great reaction from the (relatively) minimal crowd.

I think it was around this time that I ended up in a somewhat heated argument with Jeff Klepper about China. His stance was "Fuck China. They've never done shit", while mine was "China's always been more advanced than the West and will probably take over the world someday." It got kind of stupid but entertaining. We never finished our debate, but I think I had the winning hand. He gave me some of his Bacardi Raz (I did what I had to, alright) later on so it was all good.

In a brilliant move, we walked to the liquor store where Peach bought a 6-pack of Old Style tallboys; what a fucking lifesaver.

Razorfade was up next to finish out the night, their first time headlining in Chicago. I found it quite humorous that a straight edge band was playing after all the drunken debauchery and pot-smoking that went down. The singer, Carlos, is one friendly dude however, and member of the Streamwood Families. I've always enjoyed seeing them play, a blistering, ultra-angry youth crew style, with plenty of beats for dancing like a crazy person. I think they covered Minor Threat too (guess which song!) to a crowd of equally enthusiastic moshers. Carlos really tears it up in that respect, with his lanky arms and long legs flying at top speed as he runs back and forth fluidly. Best to stay out of his way. Other than their set at My Friends, The Pit earlier this year in Indy, this was definitely my favorite time I've seen them. It's interesting to not think of them as a "newer" band anymore. They've definitely become a staple of Chicago hardcore.

Unconscious Oppression

This is a poem by Ezra Pound entitled "Commission". This sums up everything for me. I'm sure there's thousands of words I could use to explain it, but if you read it, let it sink in and digest, you'll understand perfectly.


Go, my songs, to the lonely and the unsatisfied,
Go also to the nerve wracked, go to the enslaved by convention,
Bear to them my contempt for their oppressors.
Go as a great wave of cool water,
Bear my contempt of oppressors.

Speak against unconscious oppression,
Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,
Speak against bonds.
Go to the bourgeoise who is dying of her ennuis,
Go to the women in suburbs.
Go to the hideously wedded,
Go to them whose failure is concealed,
Go to the unluckily mated,
Go to the bought wife,
Go to the woman entailed.

Go to those who have delicate lust,
Go to those whose delicate desires are thwarted,
Go like a blight upon the dullness of the world,
Go with your edge against this,
Strengthen the subtle cords,
Bring confidence upon the algae and the tentacles of the soul.

Go in a friendly manner,
Go with an open speech.
Be eager to find new evils and new good,
Be against all forms of oppression.
Go to those who are thickened with middle age,
To those who have lost their interest.
Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family___
Oh how hideous it is
To see three generations of one house gathered together!
It is like an old tree with shoots,
And with some branches rotted and falling.

Go out and defy opinion,
Go against this vegetable bondage of the blood.
Be against all sorts of mortmain.

Words set in stone do still erode.

Writing is like performing an autopsy. You don't learn anything by scratching the surface. You have to rip the guts out, cut and weigh the vital organs, the skull must be sawed open and the brain carefully examined. Nothing is gained unless your hands are covered in blood and bile and viscera. Good writing is the act of exposing what's really going on under the facade of what we're restricted to perceive by the five senses. It is the act of creating by destroying, whereas mediocrity and works made for profit only are the opposite, by their conception, they destroy something worthwhile.

However harsh or painful, writing that is artistry draws out the real regardless of personal sensibility. It makes you think of things you don't want to, but should. It makes you realize why life matters by knowing that only death is guaranteed. One can only "feel alive" when death is no longer denied, and that we know our inconsequential place in the universe.




Though the sun shines, the wind grows ever colder. Winter shall soon be here, leaving the trees bare and the grass gray. I'm looking forward to walking alone through the snow at night, listening to this album by Darkthrone. The title track really comes alive when one is alone and on foot in freezing temperatures, wrapped in unforgiving icy winds. This song especially, with the guitars distorted almost to the point of pure noise while playing rapturous minimalistic melodies combined with the inhuman voice (drawing it away from mundane societal norms and into the harshness of nature) and unrelenting idiosyncratic blastbeats makes for the perfect winter music. Beauty is not something perfect, it is in the understanding and overpowering of raw ugliness.



Speaking of profound metal, this next song might be its pinnacle. I don't think I've ever gotten so lost in a piece of music as I have with "Det Som en Gang Var" by Burzum. It lulls you into a sort of dreamlike state with the gently distorted guitars over a smooth keyboard lines, then breaks into drums of war, the uprising of humanity out of primordialism into organized, warlike apes. Varg's tortured screams set against mid-tempo (techno-inspired) metal reflect a humanity that has lost all meaning of human nature, that seeks to shut out the cold, unforgiving world. But we can't, we're just a blip in the history of Earth, while it spins around like a giant electron, uncaring for our petty desires and needs. This music certainly isn't for everyone, but it's a bold statement of personal anguish in the face of universal decay.

It should be noted: I have no interest in Varg Vikernes' politics, just the music.

Now you know my name, but I don't feel the same.

Most of the time, after writing for about decade now and taking it seriously, I'm starting to think I have a grasp on how it should be done, however vague the notion, it's coming into the clear.

But still, sometimes, I really think I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about and that none of this makes any sense.

"future beef" - No one cares about the slaughterhouse cow. You like them after they're killed by someone else, washed clean, cut up and packaged for easy consumption. You'll like me better after I'm dead.



I hated the city for a long time. All the traffic, all the noise, and the fact that there are just too many people. When one is misanthropic, these things tend to keep you away. But over the years, I've gradually acclimated myself to enjoying it. A part of me even wants to move there. But how I long to hit the road and just SEE this enormous country and all the beauty and wonder that is still present. I've never been out West, never seen the vast wilderness of uninhabited lands, never seen a desert, the Rockies or the Pacific.

"Growin' old and I wanna go home..."

Let's get crossed out and come to harm.

I have a darkness, which frightens lovers away. Whenever I assist the
dying, I cannot help but absorb a tiny spillet of their existence. Over
the cycles, the endless parade of death... I've accumulated a vast
reservoir of evil. I cannot bear to lose the one thing that mitigates this twisted core of my existence.- Stark, Farscape

Where I used to see bitterness in my past over myriad mistakes, there are now only lessons. All that hate and regret and wasted time no longer sums up to despair, though it can never truly leave my head. The past hasn't changed, only my mind. Perhaps the greatest thing I've ever done for myself was lose my mind; I know how it can cripple oneself against the will in such strange contradictory fashions. A mind out of balance with its host has been adjusted, no longer spins in pointless, grinding cycles. This is not to say I no longer hate or feel pain, but that it doesn't leave me mentally paralyzed. Without pain and ugliness, one doesn't know pleasure or beauty, nor can see that they reflect one another and contain each others' elements (Yin in Yang, Yang in Yin).

"Governing by the light of one's conscience is like the pole star which dwells in its place, and the other stars fulfill their functions respectfully."
-Confucius, "Analects", Book Two, Verse One

Of course he was referring to governance of the Chinese Empire, but clearly understood that that microcosm reflects the macrocosm, that existence mirrors itself on all levels of reality, from the universal to the subatomic, and that knowing and fulfilling one's own nature is what makes humanity successful. We cannot aspire to copy others outright, we can only aspire to be our truest self, and henceforth, prosperity, in both the material and immaterial sense. We cannot be complete ascetics nor simple tools of government; humans in their respective societies are complex creatures and to find any value in life, we must understand these parts and balance them accordingly to our situations. The whole point of Confucius' works was that he idealized the template for humanity by pointing out there is no ideal template, no ingrained moral structure, and no divinity dictating our lives. There is us and only us, monkeys with language all alone on an indifferent planet, and we have to make it work for ourselves by balancing our faculties of reason, passion, wisdom, and courage.

Think of trees, as they grow, unprejudiced, towards the light of the sun.

The spirit of shirtless boy wanders from show to show.

11/12/10
Risk somehow managed to get on college radio at UofC. Peach and I left the burbs around 4 and after almost two hours made it to Cheeseville, and actually got a parking spot up front for once. Right before their practice set, I overheard Evan in mid-conversation say "Oh you didn't know?" The following phrase has been forever ingrained in my head so when I hear the former, I'm now naturally inclined to think: "YO ASS BETTER CALL SOOOOMMMMMEBOOOOODDYYYYYY!" Evan, in his infinite wisdom, decided to adopt that as the pre-introduction, to be uttered in unison right before "We're Risk!" To my readers both faithless and hypothetical, that was the catchphrase of the New Age Outlaws from late-90's WWF, which would announce the arrival of the Road Dogg Jesse James and the Bad Ass Billy Gunn. Chicago hardcore and vintage wrestling phrases being brought together? Sign this observer up.

So we loaded up and piled into NifeLheim and made the journey out to the University, and after a shitload of turnarounds, we managed to park right in front of the studio building. Campos was still en route, just a little Varg lost in the big city. I also noticed that since none of us wore cardigans, button-up shirts, stereotypical hipster glasses, or had weak beards or styled hair to look like it wasn't styled but just fell that way, we really didn't fit on the campus. Most of these types that attended here all had really stern looks on their faces, like they were trying to suppress a friendly demeanor, sans the radio guys, who were totally cool and into Risk's ridiculous antics.

When we got to the studio, the first band, SPANYURD, was setting up. I could already tell by how dramatically the bassist was slapping his instrument, that it probably wasn't going to be something I enjoyed all that much. We were in and out of the room, a few others showed up in support of Risk, and Varg was still "on his way". Peach and I decided to wait in the street for him and assure him a convenient parking spot. Whilst waiting, a school bus stopped in the street, put on its lights and opened its door. Normally when this occurs, people just wait for the pickup/dropoff. This idiot fucking cab driver, however, laid on his horn (like the fucking idiot he was) for the WHOLE TIME the bus was stopped. As much as I try, I doubt I'll ever fathom the depths of human ignorance and stupidity. Anyhow, Varg ended up parking a block or two over and we guided him through the labyrinth up to the studio where SPANYURD was in the middle of a "song". I stomached it for about 30 seconds before departing. I can only watch someone jerk off a guitar for so long. God knows how many noise bands I've seen doing the EXACT same thing. Ryan Wilson had showed up at that point, a dude whose band I've seen a bunch of times and talked to for a microt or two here and there, but never a formal introduction before tonight. We all bullshitted for awhile and continued to wander the halls until Risk was actually ready to go.

Ryan mentioned that he wanted to film the set so I gave him Peach's camera. I had originally intended on filming it, but I gradually acquired the desire to get a little moshing in, so big ups to Mr. Wilson for doing that. What follows is that video, and it mostly speaks for itself. These dudes Jeff and Cody thought it would be funny to encourage our friend Brett Zimmer to punch Evan in the face during the first song. I knew he would probably just do it, but they immediately offered him $20 to do so, which he gladly accepted. While they were testing for sound, a slightly intoxicated Brett took off his shirt, as he claimed it was better for the acoustics. But we all knew he was just being inhabited by the spirit of shirtless boy, who attempts to ruin shows wherever he goes. Thing about hardcore, though, is you're usually welcome to try to start chaos for a band, especially if they're close friends. I don't think shirtless boy was ready for Evan's hip-hop-kido expertise (he should have known by the intense freestyling that occurred before and throughout the set) and the video clearly shows the outcome of that conflict. Shirtless boy ended up bloody and bruised, but his attempted ruining of their set was a win for all involved.



On the way back to Cheeseville, Danny and I were up front in NifeLheim, where we witnessed a mugging at a 4-way stop. One dude was running to the cab stopped perpendicular to us where he tried opening the door only to be grabbed by the perpetrator who pursued him. They tangled for a few seconds right next to the cab before first dude was dropped to the ground, some contents of his pocket stolen, then second dude runs off with first dude now in pursuit. Ah, Hyde Park, lovely neighborhood. Another ridiculous night in the name of hardcore.

Ukraine is key to Europe

At some point around 2am on Thursday I had woken up to see a text on my phone from Evan that RISK would be opening at this show, making it their official debut. Peach offered to drive as they had planned on a quick practice at the cheese factory beforehand. After sitting through an hour or so of traffic we arrived at the Fulton Market around 6:30, unloaded the equipment real quick to the front door and proceeded to search for parking. I pointed out a spot in front of semi-truck right around the corner where Peach performed some highly shady parking maneuvers, including backing up into the HUGE truck behind him. After that minor ordeal we returned to their practice space, through the epic walk in freezer of seemingly endless gourmet cheeses (including some 8-year old Extra Sharp Cheddar, more on that later). I think it took more time to load everything in and down the dark stairway to the basement than it took for them to actually play. They set up and ran through their set once while I broke down weed for the remainder of the evening. Before I know it we were dragging the cabs back upstairs and loading them into "Niohoggr", formerly "Nifelheim". All the vans the company uses get their names from Norse mythology (Yggdrasil included). Now I've driven some "worn-in" work vans in my time but this one emanated noises from the engine and various bearings and connection points that began to sound more organic the harder the gas pedal was pushed, where it would usually take a second or two for the the gas to actually kick in when pressed upon.

We arrived at Summercamp a little after 7:30, where Danny pulled an epic U-turn on Kedzie to park almost right in front of the house. So we loaded out, smoked, and began to file into the basement, where maybe 20 people had gathered. Now I've only been coming to shows for only about a year and a half and am meeting new people at every one, but I didn't recognize 99% of the crowd tonight, and very young they seemed. I noticed while Risk was setting up, the several kids right up front socializing, slightly amused that they might not be ready for Evan when he grabs the mic and begins assaulting the crowd. And as I learned that evening, Evan's small stature and boyish looks (complete with Hitler Youth hairstyle) are just scenery; dude is a maelstrom of fearsome moshing violence.

Instead of just saying who they are, they turned it into a song: "We're Risk", that Evan screamed and then proceeded to attack us up front. He ran full speed, and due to his low center of gravity as opposed to mine up high he was able to push me against the wall...or where I thought the wall was. There was actually a closet there, door open, that I fell all the way into, smashing my shin on something on the way down, dented bones now on the left to mirror those on the right that I got about a decade ago when I slipped and hit my shin on a steel trailer hitch. I immediately got up and tackled Evan against the opposite wall, crushing others in the process, and then throwing him back up front in time for "Do Drugs". I was thinking of saying how it's refreshing to not hear a straight edge message, but grindcore shows and alcoholism/pot-smoking seem to go hand-in-hand, though Risk is pretty far from a gc band. They tore through their last 3 songs, the highlight probably being Evan pointing at people individually while singing "YOU! YOU'RE STILL IN MY HEAD!" followed by stomp-moshing, then closing with their Repos cover. First show success. Though Evan mentioned afterward: "I don't think these people like hardcore." They have a show coming up on the 27th @ Albion House (Black and Blue debuts), and it's bound to be far more destructive. Come get your face knocked off of your face.

We then disassembled the equipment and loaded the van back up, put everything in a nice order, tarped it and went and got some tacos at La Cocina, which I persuaded Varg into buying me. We returned filled with some damn good tacos al pastor, but we had missed the next band, so we stood out back, smoking and drinking NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. Hercules from Omaha played next. Having never heard them, I wasn't expecting anything, good or bad, but they really tore it up. Their music would shift between fast screaming over blastbeats into weird 70's arena rock style guitar riffed breakdowns, which I was surprisingly enthused over. That's one of the greatest things about coming to these sorts of low-profile house shows: you're almost always bound to discover for yourself a really great obscure band. Would totally see this band again.

Scare Quotes played after them. The super fast grind wasn't bad, but what was really great was being told how horrible I am in this world for being a straight white male. I was just overpowered and moved by own guilt. But seriously, I totally appreciate your stance, but telling a bunch of hardcore kids about LGBT equality is preaching to the choir. Have you seen some of the haircuts here? These kids don't care. "America fucking rules!"

We spent the next 40 minutes or so in the back alley, smoking (tobacco), drinking (root beer) and (apple juice). Ya know, I never thought I'd be in favor of banning any sort of drink, but holy shit does 4Loko make people obnoxious as fuck. Not that it bothered me; I thought it pretty humorous to watch dudes scream at each other while they're standing face-to-face and have it be a friendly conversation. Whatever band was next we missed as we stood out in the cold, sharing acid and mushroom stories with certain members of Socially Retarded and some strangers.

At some point we were back downstairs while Retarded was setting up, taking up a lot of extra space with Aleks' monstrous case of effects pedals. It seemed to take forever for them to actually get situated, all the while feedback was dreadfully humming throughout the narrow basement, creating that aura of tension, and impending disaster. What followed could only be described as "disastrous", but in the best possible way. I've seen SR 8 or 9 times now and I've never seen such belligerence from the band. It was absolute mayhem in that basement with the most senseless, ignorant moshing I may have ever seen. Jimmy was jumping off the bass drum, hitting unsuspecting fools with his guitar (not on purpose) all the while getting clobbered by waves of drunken goons. It appeared people were trying to hug or strangle Varg from behind. At one point, Aleks' entire case fell off its stand while still producing warped electronic tones and him standing there with a drunken smile, an effects pedal in one hand and his middle finger up on the other. The movement of the crowd was chaotic with people jumping and falling left and right. This one dude was on the floor and as I went to pick him up, he began purposefully convulsing, kicking his feet all around, "seizure mosh" I guess. Jimmy again mounted the bass drum only to slip and bring down a couple cymbals before jumping back up and smashing back into us. I recall him raising the guitar up and pressing it against the ceiling in a sort of triumphant pose while guttural noises erupted from the amplifiers pressing towards their threshold. Someone jumped on my back at one point (still not sure who) and we two-man moshed for a good 15 seconds through the maniacal crowd. I don't think I've ever been so enamored with being a mindless mutant among many others, having a great time at all our expenses. And as far as I could tell, no one got hurt at all. As their set ended and I thought the mania would cease, the singer Mitch turned around and charged me. Figuring I'd just go with it we almost made it to the very back taking out bystanders and throwing each other around like idiots. These guys have had some memorable performances, but they really raised the bar with this one.

We returned to the cheese factory around midnight or so to load everything back down in the basement, have a celebratory PBR, and eat some unbelievably good cheese: white cheddar and garlic dill cheese curds, basil colby, smoked string cheese, and what I've now found to be the greatest cheese ever, 8 year old Extra Sharp Cheddar. It just crumbled apart when pressure was applied, and I tried to eat as much of it as I could. It's kind of strange in a way, eating food that was formed when I was a sophomore in high school, but I didn't care, for its savory goodness far exceeds any sense of rationality or moderation. Beer and cheese is how every Risk show should end.