Archive for the ‘Posts Written By Others’ Category

Time For The Tinfoil Hats, Folks!

May 2, 2007

Lust, Gummo:17, 6006 YD

By VICTORIA MOORE

No, she’s NOT a beekeeper. This woman believes that her bizarre headgear can save her from the dangerous electrosmog all around us. Can she possibly be right?

Before knocking on Sarah Dacre’s door, I take the precaution of checking my mobile phone. It’s switched off, as she has requested.

“Last time someone came to visit,” she warns, “I started feeling awfully nauseous. It turned out he had a picture phone with him and had left it switched on. A picture phone!”

She pauses, looking genuinely horrified. Apparently, this type of mobile automatically sends signals to a local base station every nine minutes – “No wonder I felt so sick.”

We sit down in the living-room of the airy, north London house that, for the past two years, has been Sarah’s refuge from modern life. Save for the absence of a television, it looks ordinary enough.

But beneath the coats of magnolia paint, she points out, the walls are lined with a special paper that contains a layer of tin-foil; and upstairs, the windows are hung with a fine, silvery gauze.

These aren’t idiosyncratic decorating decisions, though. All these silvery layers are here for a purpose: to keep the 21st century at bay.

Sarah, 51, is one of a growing band of people who claim to be experiencing extreme – and incapacitating – sensitivity to electrical appliances, as well as to certain frequencies of electromagnetic waves.

“Wi-Fi, or wireless broadband networks, seem to be the worst thing,” she says.

“Closely followed by mobile phones – particularly if they’re being used in an enclosed space – the base stations of cordless telephones and mobile phone masts.

“I have to restrict the amount of time I spend on the computer or watching television, and make sure I don’t have too many household appliances on at once, because that sets me off as well.”

This may sound bizarre, but there is no doubt that Sarah’s symptoms are real.

To date, they include hair loss, sickness, high blood-pressure, digestive and memory problems, severe headaches and dizziness.

They strike with such ferocity that, since diagnosing herself as “electrically sensitive” in May 2005, she has been marooned at home.

She can’t work. When she wants to phone friends, she has to use a land-line – a significant advancement, it turns out, because she was so ill at one stage, she says, that she couldn’t even touch an ordinary receiver without feeling a violent shock pass up her arm.

Food shopping is done as rapidly as possible, once a week, at a time carefully chosen to avoid younger people and their permanently switched-on mobile phones.

And she can venture into built-up areas only if she is swathed in a net-and-hat ensemble made from a special “shielding fabric” that makes her look like a bee-keeper.

“I’m sure people laugh,” she says, “but I don’t mind as long as it keeps me well.”

Finding her own solutions – however outwardly bizarre – has been essential because, for the moment at least, the medical establishment does not even accept that her condition exists.

Fortunately, some individual doctors have been sympathetic to her plight.

Dr Sarah Myhill, who is registered with the General Medical Council and practises privately in Wales, says: “There is no doubt that electrical sensitivity is a real phenomenon – I have seen too many people affected by electro-magnetic radiation (EMR) to think otherwise.

“Clinically, I nearly always see electrical sensitivity in people who are already suffering from chemical sensitivity.

“There are many symptoms that can be switched on by electrical sensitivity, and it appears that almost any electro-magnetic frequency can be the cause.”

Even so, I cannot help feeling a little sceptical. Is there any suggestion that ES could be a psychosomatic illness, I ask Sarah (who, in fairness, does not seem to be particularly highly-strung).

“Inevitably, people suggest that,” she says, with a flick of her auburn, Farrah Fawcett-style hair.

“But at one time, ME sufferers were accused of having psychosomatic symptoms and were ignored as a result. Now, the illness is formally recognised.

“Before this, I’d barely had a day ill in my life – I’ve always been a very energetic, dynamic person.

“I had a career in banking, then in events management, and then I ran my own television production company.

I was always busy and I was always out doing things – skiing, tango lessons, looking after my son, Josh, who’s now 17. I had a very active life and I loved it.

“Now, I have no income because I can’t work and I have no choice but to devote all my energies to fighting to find out more about my allergies.”

The first symptoms started about five years ago. At first, Sarah ignored them, hoping they might be due to tiredness or stress and would simply go away.

Gradually, though, her condition deteriorated. And about two years ago, she says “everything hit at once, like a car crash. As well as the exhaustion and nausea, I even lost the sight in my right eye.”

A stream of doctors, complementary practitioners and Chinese herbalists all failed to alleviate any of her symptoms or come up with a diagnosis.

Instead, she found an answer on Google – through websites such as electrosensitivity.org.uk.

All her symptoms seemed to match those of people who believe they are allergic to modern life.

She lists some of the offending items that were in her home: “I had a burglar alarm emitting microwave radiation, I used a mobile phone constantly, I had two cordless phones and countless appliances – all of which have an electromagnetic field associated with them.”

Convinced that she had almost certainly found the cause of her illness, she ordered, from the internet, some special rolls of foil wallpaper and a fabric called Swiss bobbinet – a netting made from polyester filaments dipped in silver.

Both promised to “shield” her from any emissions from phone masts or wireless broadband systems.

Within a few weeks of the wallpaper going up and the windows being hung with netting, she began to feel better.

So much so that when she suddenly had an offer on her house, which she had been desperate to sell for seven months, she decided not to sell after all.

Since then, she has gradually managed to find other ways to help her cope.

She can use her computer for up to three hours a day, “but only if I keep myself absolutely detoxed all the time, drinking plenty of water and revolving my meals so that I don’t become sensitive to certain types of food as well.”

Her long-term (some would say long-suffering) boyfriend, Rod, a gold and silversmith who lives in Kent, has been sympathetic, she says. But there have been unexpected setbacks that might test the happiest of couples.

Last month, she had a relapse and started to panic.

“I’d been feeling quite bright and energetic; then suddenly, for three nights, I couldn’t sleep,” she says.

“I really felt it was back to how it was in the beginning, when I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was exhausted, developed bladder problems, felt ill. That’s when I decided to run some tests.”

Using an “electrosmog detector” – the name given to a device that can apparently register levels of electromagnetic activity – she checked her bedroom.

“And there was radiation streaming in through the one wall that I thought I hadn’t needed to protect. We have some new neighbours, and I think they must have installed wireless broadband.”

To ensure a good night’s sleep, Sarah now takes the precaution of swathing herself in her special silver netting.

She is concerned by the increasing spread of wireless networks.

“I think it’s a terrible mistake,” she says. “Is Wi-Fi going to turn out to be the tobacco, asbestos or Thalidomide of the 21st century? It’s looking that way.

“And instead of testing it out properly, what are we doing? We’re putting it into schools, exposing small children to it all day long, and opening up entire Wi-Fi areas – they’ve just created a giant new Wi-Fi zone in the City of London.

“It horrifies me to think of people in small houses or flats who might be affected by several overlapping wireless networks at once.”

Yet the scientific case for electrosensitivity (ES) is threadbare. The World Health Organisation’s position is that “there is no scientific basis to link ES symptoms to EMR exposure.

“Further, ES is not a medical diagnosis, nor is it clear that it represents a single medical problem.”

This week, Professor David Coggan, a member of the Health Protection Agency’s advisory group on non-ionising radiation, told BBC’s Newsnight: “There is quite a lot of evidence now accumulated on mobile phones and health – and the balance of evidence overall doesn’t point to problems.

“There’s still uncertainty and there still needs to be further research, but so far we don’t have a concern.

“And on that basis, the concern about Wi-Fi is much lower on the scale than, say, that about pan-global influenza.”

Other research has backed the view of the medical and scientific establishment.

In one “provocation” study, a number of people who claimed to have electrical sensitivity were placed in a room with a mobile phone and not told whether or not it was switched on.

Asked by a researcher how they felt, they failed to establish any link between physical symptoms and the alleged trigger.

Sarah Dacre believes that this is because the tests were carried out in an area with high background electrosmog.

“Once you are sensitised,” she says, “that’s it.

“It’s like having a glass of wine – it’s cumulative in your system.

“You don’t stop being drunk once you have finished drinking, so you can’t then be tested sober.”

She continues to campaign for electrosensitivity to be recognised as a valid medical complaint linked to electromagnetic fields.

“While I’m up and about,” she says a little sadly, “I’m going to do something about it.”

Original story here.

Advertisements

Aftermath

April 27, 2007

Gluttony, Gummo:12, 6006 YD

by: Episkopos Cain

Who are we?

Its safe to say that we are, first and foremost, people who think change is not only possible in this world, but a necessity. We have reached a cultural dead end, where any new values are either quietly co-opted to serve the needs of an elite, or as a false “choice” in a society that no longer understands the meaning of the word.

True change is not impossible, but it is deemed dangerous by those who benefit from the way things are now. Subversive and radical ideologies that fail to understand this are doomed to failure as they become part of a larger overall system within society. An idea may be revolutionary for its time, but within 10 years it will have been bastardized and sold on a t-shirt. They become, just like everything else, another resource to be exploited, a lifestyle choice instead of a choice of life.

In the past, we have often witnessed political revolutions, but rarely social ones. A revival of life, with meaning beyond shrill partisan screeching and the bottom line, must be advanced towards. A renaissance, if you will, of modern life. However, this can only arise through understanding of and discrediting the current system.

We are, above all else, neophiles. We seek an uncertain but better future over an unpleasant present. And there is no greater goal than that.

Guatemala Awaits Anti-Christ

April 25, 2007

Lust, Gummo:10, 6006 YD

By JUAN CARLOS LLORCA
The Associated Press

He calls himself the Antichrist, wears the number 666 tattooed on his arm and claims a following of 2 million people.
And, Jose Luis de Jesus Miranda is coming to Guatemala whether it wants him or not.

The Central American country has banned the leader of the Florida-based Growing in Grace church, arguing he is a security risk because he provokes conflict with Roman Catholics and evangelicals. But Miranda still plans to fly in on a private jet today to celebrate his 61st birthday and meet with thousands of followers from around the world. “It has been predestined, and angels will make it happen,” said Axel Poessy, Miranda’s media director. “He is, after all, God himself.”

It is the Puerto Rican-born former evangelical priest’s latest attempts to expand his following in Central America. Most of his supporters are in Miami and Colombia, but Miranda holds a congress every year in the Americas. He has a 24-hour Spanish-language television network and a radio program on 287 stations.

He often takes aim at the Catholic Church — the most powerful faith in Latin America — calling all priests child molesters and saying chastity vows go against the Bible’s teachings. Members of his church have torn up images of saints and other religious symbols in El Salvador, and marched in Guatemala and Honduras.

He preaches that sin and the devil do not exist. In January, he revealed tattoos of the numbers 666 on his forearms and declared that he and his followers were Antichrists because their beliefs supersede those of Jesus Christ. The Bible describes the Antichrist as someone who will fill the world with wickedness but be conquered by a second coming of Christ.

Guatemala’s Congress labeled him a terrorist, and immigration officials have been instructed to refuse him entry. Honduras and El Salvador also have banned him. “Many have told me that I shouldn’t pay attention to a crazy man like him, but Hitler was also crazy, and look what he did,” said Julio Morales, the congressman who proposed the resolution calling Miranda a terrorist. “We took this measure because they have burned crosses, images of Christ in other countries and demonstrated in front of an evangelical church in Guatemala, just to create confrontation.”

It was not clear, however, if the government would be able to block Miranda’s private jet from landing. His right-hand man, Carlos Cestero, said Miranda has been in Guatemala at least 14 times in the past decade — before he declared himself the Antichrist. Followers see Miranda as a savior. Critics say he is a dangerous cult leader. “What is more evil than all the exorbitant titles associated with him is the power he exercises over his followers,” said Daniel Alvarez, a religious-studies instructor at Florida International University. “He wants attention, shock value, and he’s always trying to top what he did before.”

Miranda, who lives in Miami, founded the Growing in Grace church in 1986 and based the church in suburban Doral. Hundreds have followed his lead by getting “666” tattoos. The number often is associated with the Antichrist or the devil.

In an upscale Guatemala City neighborhood, Andrea Recinos, 18, hunched over as a tattoo artist carved “666” on her back, along with angel wings. “I wanted to show my love to the apostle,” she said, referring to Miranda. “I wanted to show the whole world that I am an Antichrist.” Other followers get “SSS” tattoos, referring to Miranda’s motto of “Salvo, siempre salvo,” or “Saved, always saved.” He believes sinning is impossible because Christ died for the sins of mankind.

Original story here.

For Anyone Who Think Pagans And Discordians Get Along…

April 13, 2007

Gluttony, Groucho:71, 6006 YD (later)

This is from Episkopos Cain’s blog, and was written by him. If you would like to read the original, with applicable links, please click here.

Episkopos Cain:

Now I am not normally one for internet drama, unless its particularly funny, but this is a special situation and deserves some scrutiny.

Now, I’ve been on the internet, in a regular sense and as a Discordian, for about 3 years now. And each time I have tried, as a Discordian, to interact with Pagans, it has failed miserably except for a very few exceptional people.

First off there was the jack-offs at the now defunct Obsidian Mirror. To be fair, it was only really two admins out of the three who were the real problem and neither of them was the owner of the site or the forum in question (the forum was hosted elsewhere), but it was a flavour of what was to come.

Next was Mystic Wicks. A few of us from PrincipiaDiscordia.com decided to help out Verthaine with some work he was doing over there. At first, it all went well and we were integrating well with, I thought, the majority of Pagans there. Boy was I wrong. The owner and his minions came down on us like a ton of bricks, pretty much based on our irreligion and refusal to be impressed by their admin powers. However, there is much more to that and if you want the full story you can sign up at Eris Bar and Grill to read up on the events.

After that, a few of us became suspicious. It seemed like most times we tried to interact in a non-hostile/O:MF way with any other religion, we became public enemy number one. Kind of flattering, in a way, but not when you really have no ill intent. I suppose it just goes to prove how threatening our irreligion is to conventional order, even of supposedly open and permissive religions with a history of persecution (both real and imagined).

So, I was thinking of giving Paganism at large another chance and went over to Spiritual Forums. At first it looked good, maybe a bit strict with speech for my liking (no swearing etc) but otherwise fine. However, after I was asked to explain my religion by a forum regular, my links to POEE and Subgenius.com were deleted for being “commercial” and “mocking real religions”. I was also informed that Discordianism was not a real religion and that if I insisted it was, I would end up banned (you wont find this thread by the way, it has been deleted, because it shows the admins breaking their own rules).

I tried to reason with the admin, with sensible debate. However, all Discordian threads were locked down and we were told to go discuss them in the Lounge, which is sort of the main chat area of the forum. Anyone who did so, however, got banned. I tried to mediate with a PM to one of the moderators, however when I tried to log on the next day, I was informed I had been banned for the High Crime of being a Discordian. A proxy got me back on, where I found this lovely little message awaiting me:

To all SubGenius, Pastafarian, Last Thursdayism and Discordians, you are not welcome at this forum, and any new members suspected of being such will be banned.

I know this is harsh and drastic, but if this is left unchecked, they could very well destroy this forum. I hope our long term and regular members understand the need for such action.
Now, I know I was foolish for trusting the benevolence of such an obvious Greyface, but even I didn’t expect this harsh a response. There was some trolling, I admit, but it was in response to the unfair banning of several people, who had the audacity to stand on their hind legs and act like they had a spine.

To date, they have banned every new member, claiming they are a Discordian, or abusive, or without any reason at all.

I think that its fair to say that interaction with the vast majority of Pagan religions is now pretty much impossible for me to do. These jackasses should know better, but their CoN programming means when they get hit by a bigger religion, they find someone smaller and weirder to retaliate against. Predictable, really. To quote the Good Reverend Roger on such matters:

I am getting just a little sick and tired of being the whipping boy for every two bit wannabe “Pagan” that comes down the pike. It occurs to me also that I really don’t feel the need to keep patiently explaining things to assholes who have had their minds made up by their masters.

I think I’ve really had enough of their shit, and it’s high time I did something about it. Indeed, I think it’s high time I SHIT MY HATE. Never liked those fuckers, anyway….Sorry, I guess I’m just an asshole. Or even a Discordian. A badwrong Discordian that really doesn’t feel the need to put up with their bullshit, anymore. I never signed up to be anyone’s fucking doormat, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to put up with this…

The fucking Wiccans want to hate on us? Okay, no sweat. But don’t be shocked when I hate right back. Fuck them AND their hypocritical fucking “karma rule”.

That was written after MW, but it still applies. I have no problem if you want to debate or discuss or even not believe in Discordianism. Thats not the issue. What is the issue is that the Pagan world seems to need a new whipping boy now Christianity has some teeth again and Islam is even more crazy. Sorry, this religion wasn’t made for persecution. And unlike certain Pagans, we don’t whine and try to be morally superior, or find a smaller religion to pick on. We fight back.

If you do want some sites where Discordians are welcomed, but not in the majority, then I suggest either Mystic Awakenings (where the owners are friendly and there is a Discordian/Subgenii mod) or Questing Spirits, where the owner herself is very much a Chaote.

But as for the rest of you, you may wanna watch out. This latest incident has pretty much proved Discordianism cannot seem to coexist with elitist windbags and two bit wannabes. I think its safe to say in the future, we wont be as nice or as forgiving as we have been…

Viva St.Vonnegut!

April 12, 2007

Envy, Groucho:70, 6006 YD

NEW YORK (AP) – Kurt Vonnegut, the satirical novelist who captured the absurdity of war and questioned the advances of science in darkly humorous works such as “Slaughterhouse-Five” and “Cat’s Cradle,” died Wednesday at age 84, his wife said.

Vonnegut, who often marvelled that he had lived so long, despite his lifelong smoking habit, suffered brain injuries after a fall at his Manhattan home weeks ago, said his wife, photographer Jill Krementz.

The author of at least 19 novels, many of them best-sellers, as well as dozens of short stories, essays and plays, Vonnegut relished the role of a social critic. He lectured regularly, exhorting audiences to think for themselves and delighting in barbed commentary against the institutions he felt were dehumanizing people.

“I will say anything to be funny, often in the most horrible situations,” Vonnegut, whose watery, heavy-lidded eyes and unruly hair made him seem to be in existential pain, once told a gathering of psychiatrists.

A self-described religious skeptic and freethinking humanist, Vonnegut used protagonists such as Billy Pilgrim and Eliot Rosewater as transparent vehicles for his points of view. He also filled his novels with satirical commentary and even drawings that were only loosely connected to the plot. In “Slaughterhouse-Five,” he drew a headstone with the epitaph: “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”

But much in his life was traumatic and left him in pain.

Despite his commercial success, Vonnegut battled depression throughout his life and in 1984 he attempted suicide with pills and alcohol, joking later about how he botched the job.

His mother had succeeded in killing herself just before he left for Germany during the Second World War, where he was quickly taken prisoner during the Battle of the Bulge. He was being held in Dresden when Allied bombs created a firestorm that killed tens of thousands of people in the city.

“The firebombing of Dresden explains absolutely nothing about why I write what I write and am what I am,” Vonnegut wrote in “Fates Worse Than Death,” his 1991 autobiography of sorts.

But he spent 23 years struggling to write about the ordeal, which he survived by huddling with other prisoners inside an underground meat locker labelled slaughterhouse-five.

The novel, in which Pte. Pilgrim is transported from Dresden by time-travelling aliens from the planet Tralfamadore, was published at the height of the Vietnam War and solidified his reputation as an iconoclast.

“He was sort of like nobody else,” said Gore Vidal, who noted he, Vonnegut and Norman Mailer were among the last writers around who served in the Second World War.

“He was imaginative; our generation of writers didn’t go in for imagination very much. Literary realism was the general style.”

“Those of us who came out of the war in the 1940s made sort of the official American prose and it was often a bit on the dull side. Kurt was never dull.”

Vonnegut was born Nov. 11, 1922, in Indianapolis, a “fourth-generation German-American religious skeptic Freethinker” and studied chemistry at Cornell University before joining the U.S. army.

When he returned, he reported for Chicago’s City News Bureau, then did public relations for General Electric, a job he loathed. He wrote his first novel, “Player Piano,” in 1951, followed by “The Sirens of Titan,” “Canary in a Cat House” and “Mother Night,” making ends meet by selling Saabs on Cape Cod, Mass.

Critics ignored him at first, then denigrated his deliberately bizarre stories and disjointed plots as haphazardly written science fiction. But his novels became cult classics, especially “Cat’s Cradle” in 1963, in which scientists create “ice-nine,” a crystal that turns water solid and destroys the Earth.

Many of his novels were best-sellers. Some also were banned and burned for suspected obscenity. Vonnegut took on censorship as an active member of the PEN writers’ aid group and the American Civil Liberties Union. The American Humanist Association, which promotes individual freedom, rational thought and scientific skepticism, made him its honorary president.

His characters tended to be miserable anti-heroes with little control over their fate. Pilgrim was an ungainly, lonely goof. The hero of “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” was a snivelling, obese volunteer fireman.

Vonnegut said the villains in his books were never individuals but culture, society and history, which he said were making a mess of the planet.

“We probably could have saved ourselves but we were too damned lazy to try very hard…and too damn cheap,” he once suggested carving into a wall on the Grand Canyon, as a message for flying-saucer creatures.

He retired from novel writing in his later years but continued to publish short articles. He had a best-seller in 2005 with “A Man Without a Country,” a collection of his non-fiction, including jabs at President George W. Bush’s administration (“upper-crust C-students who know no history or geography”) and the uncertain future of the planet.

He called the book’s success “a nice glass of champagne at the end of a life.”

Vonnegut, who had homes in Manhattan and the Hamptons in New York state, adopted his sister’s three young children after she died. He also had three children of his own with his first wife, Ann Cox and later adopted a daughter, Lily, with his second wife, the noted photographer Krementz.

Vonnegut once said of all the ways to die, he’d prefer to go out in an airplane crash on the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. He often joked about the difficulties of old age.

“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life; old age is more like a semicolon,” Vonnegut said in 2005.

“My father, like Hemingway, was a gun nut and was very unhappy late in life. But he was proud of not committing suicide.”

“And I’ll do the same, so as not to set a bad example for my children.”

Original Story here.

*****St.Vonnegut was canonized by the First Church Of Discord in 5965 YD (1966 CE). -BVH

5 Discordian Archetypes

March 30, 2007

Gluttony, Groucho:57, 6006 YD (later)

I didn’t write this piece; I found it on Dr.Jon’s blog, and he says he found it here and here. A good theory, in my opinion.

5 Discordian Archetypes:

the Hung Mung totem, or philosophical type Discordian: these are a big fan of using statements like “Nietzsche says” (a fun party game, much moreso than Simon says, but let’s not get into that) or “Thornley and Hill skid into existentialism here”, or “Discordianism is the logical progression of surrealism” and other statements like that to justify why they’re laughing at a 50 year old joke instead of finding the purpose of life, solving the problem of ego, or hooking me up with free cable (and yes, Discordianism is one of the few things in life that is nihilistic and existentialistic simultaneously. Deal with it). They are wonderful people to have on your side in an argument about Ayn Rand, but get a little dull sometimes.

the Van Van Mojo, or magick type Discordian: These folks may call themselves “neo-pagans”, “witches”, “occultists”, “chaotes”, “lv10wizard\lv5psion\lv5sorcerors” or any other number of names, but what they mean is “I light candles, chant, draw sigils and may or may not practice tantric sex, ergo I am awesome”. They are big fans of “calling the pentagon”, giving elemental significance to the 5 apostles, and giving elemental significance to the 5 basic elements (I got boom=fire, sweet= water, prickle=air, pungent=earth, and orange=spirit), and other things like that. Unfortunately, they usualy suck at card tricks, so they lose.

the Sri Syadasti, or psychedelic type Discordian: Ah the Syadasti Discordian. He giggles when its 4:20 and has almost as many Phish albums as he does stories about last year’s Burning Man festival. They’re fun but get rapidly tedious, and if they become convinced you’re from the CIA, its all over (I would tell you to ask Mord the Foul about Lord Omar’s later years, but alas, “they” got to both those pour souls)

the Zarathud, or traditional Discordian: This group loves to go on and on about how much modern Discordianism has deviated from the original vision and why this is bad. These are few and far between, but they are growing, and they’re insidious “Back-to-Principia” movement is gaining sway in many prominent swing states.

the the Elder Malaclypse, or way-out-there Discordian: Our last sub-type are, well, way out there. These people aren’t weird for philosophical reasons, or cuz they’re tripping, or cuz Eris appeared to them after 4 hours of chanting in sanskrit. They’re weird because that’s that and if you think shoes shaped like dinosaur feet aren’t proper attire for a job interview well then you’re just not getting it. These people will either re-define our faith, our eat your dog while composing a symphony made of computer error sounds. Possibly both.

Smash The Tablets Of Law

March 27, 2007

Greed, Groucho:54, 6006 YD

by: Episkopos Cain

I thought I had woken up after sleeping uncomfortably in bed, however, this couldn’t be true as there was no longer any bed under me, only a sparkly brown and yellow dirt. I stood up and looked around me. In the distance were mountains, far closer was a low flat topped hill. It was like nowhere I had been before, yet intimately familiar. Then I saw her. Dressed in full bronze armour, a helmet over her head and a double bladed sword in her hand, she walked up to me. As I got closer, I saw that her hair and armour were covered in blood, a large shield with an apple covering it, the word written on it clearly visible.

“Ah” I said. “OK then. Whats all this about?”

The golden eyes within the helm looked at me. “Its for my amusement and for your possible education. After all, isn’t all life
but a learning experience?”

“I thought that was all Yahweh’s shit, testing people and so on?”

“Its not really a test though, is it? You can’t fail, or succeed, only learn from it.”

With that, she beckoned, then turned and started to walk away. I followed, seeing what she had in store. We stopped suddenly. Looking down, I saw two weapons on the ground, a short sword and a hammer. “Choose only one” she said. I thought for a moment, then reached for the hammer. The sword had the advantage of an edge, but was purely a killing weapon. Hammers had utility in their favour. I stood back up straight, but Eris had vanished. Making my way back to the plains, I saw suddenly a flurry of activity there. Walking down the hill, I saw that they were men and women, all busily at work, consuming the resources of the area to make new things. But as I drew closer there were other things I noticed.

They walked curiously, sometimes bumping into others thats transected their paths. Instead of stopping or apologizing, they just carried on. Occasionally when it came to several against one, the one got trampled on. I also watched as they fashioned bladed items and handed them to others, cutting them as they grabbed it and took it to other areas around the plains, where they were dumped in piles for more blind drones to fall over. One man just ate continually as he walked, whatever he could find, if it was food or rock he didn’t care. Blood ran from his mouth and there were children following him, crying out in hunger. Seeing as he was closest, I walked up beside him and shouted “hey!” It didn’t have an effect, so I attempted to grab some of the food he had held against his body by his arm. Immediately, he grabbed me and shouted “get off my stuff, FUCKER!” and nearly broke my arm shoving me to the ground. I let him walk on, then dusted myself off and rubbed my arm until some life came back into it.

Getting up and moving on, I made my slow way to the flat hill I had seen at the centre of the plains, watching as I went the mechanical scenes of destruction and mindless suffering. Making my way onto the flat surface, I saw someone had erected a huge tablet in the centre, with writing on it. Getting closer, the writing was obvious. Words and phrases jumped out, such as “everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public order …”.

Under that though, other words could be noticed, as I drew closer, such as “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” But under that there were even older scratchings and carvings. I made out one barely, that read “ now on, till (Ahura) Mazda grants me the kingdom favor, I will impose my monarchy on no nation. Each is free to accept it , and if any one of them rejects it , I never resolve on war to reign.” But even under these carvings there were the oldest ones, the ones that had always been there. “Blood shall be spilled and more blood, for there is never enough…”, “war brings strength and only the strong have the right to rule” and “cities of the nations the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance, do not leave alive anything that breathes. Completely destroy them–the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites– as the LORD your God has commanded you. Otherwise, they will teach.”

I had an idea as to what to do. Lifting the hammer, I swung as hard as possible and struck the tablet. As the first crack appeared, everyone stopped what they were doing, at started to move towards me, an urgency in their step that I hadn’t seen before propelling them. Spurred on, I struck again and again, until the tablet crumbled, its lower sections totally destroyed, collapsing in on itself. But what I saw horrified me. Instead of stopping what they had been doing, or even attacking me, the crowds had turned on each other. They were spilling blood and crushing bones, like a horrible theatre that would never end. I noticed that an armoured figure was beside me again. “Why are they doing this?” I demanded. “Why didn’t it help them?”

“Whoever said it would help?” came the reply from under the helm. “You think they want to have their illusions ripped from them, the true extent of their handiwork displayed for them and everyone else to see? They’ll torture themselves with guilt, unless they can lay the blame on someone else. You were a target first, but then they saw what those around them forced them to do too. Consider the lesson taught.”

I looked back, and no-one was there.

An Ode To Amerika

March 13, 2007

Greed, Groucho:40, 6006 YD

“The human body is not a thing, or a substance, given, but a continuous creation . . . an energy system . . . which is never a complete structure; never static; is in perpetual inner self-construction and self-destruction; we destroy in order to make it new.”
-Norman O. Brown

thinking: daytime hookers are the the worst of all. not a stitch of makeup: no teeth: dazed look in the face: like even they don’t remember who they are.

Amerika, will you remember me when i’m dead? will you feel for me – even for a second? after all we’ve been through together… how many of your babies are dragged to the gutter every day without you even noticing? just let one of the zillions of light bulbs you employ go dark for me: that’s all i ask. also: turn around the magazine covers in demented homage to one who was a whore for too long. good ole Amerikans, look at those covers thinking about mannequins and blow up fuck-me dolls… magazines purchased in your stores, Amerika, and the stores are run by the little japs you still don’t quite trust, do you? what is inside those tiny music players, anyway?

you suckle on the tit of north amerika; once proud, and now schizophrenic, but you still think you’re on the ball, don’t you Amerika? you still think you know it all. all those idiots pour into your armpit, Times Square, each and every year just to watch a ball drop, and you try to clean yourself up like those daytime hookers on welfare check day. i wince, and try to look away so you don’t have to pretend to be embarrassed. revolutionary tactics have never worked on you, have they Amerika? Your mindset is Berlin in the 30’s… just slowly enjoying the degeneration: hold on, don’t think about any of it too much, or you’ll become guilty: just smile.

you and i are a lot alike, Amerika, believe it or not: its just about esthetics with the two of us. and while I don’t look like someone who should be on the cover of a Wheaties box anymore, you should see yourself, Amerika. we’re both in decline, and trying to hide it. the funny part is we both secretly know we’re enjoying it, and just don’t want to admit it. the problem is, Amerika, i haven’t got any kids to worry about. take that.

why are your skies never black, Amerika? is the rest of the world the same, or is it just you? denying the dark?

your sewers reek of foul BO, Amerika, don’t ever forget it. shh. shhh. i know i’m cruel, but i only say it because i love you. yeah, yeah i did say that, but don’t spread it around: i have a reputation to keep. if you’re going to mention it, give it another name, like when you renamed SARS as “influenza 3”: it’ll just be between the two of us.

kiss me, you beautiful bitch. and you are a bitch, aren’t you, Amerika? despite your penchant for drag, there’s no bastard or son-of-a-bitch there, just old world goddess of smut. i bow to you and your wretchedness, O Amerika. i’ll remember your insane sunsets until i’m ripped apart atom by atom by entropy, Amerika: like the breasts of hell swooning in the sky. kiss me, Amerika, but no tongue, i know your habits: just hold me as we watch your muchroom cloud tangerine sunset and touch my moist thighs, you slut and wonder if its from sweat or is it that revolver you’re hiding in your pocket?

how many revolvers do you own, Amerika? freedom is now a four letter word, when did that happen? the people here love you, Amerika, that must count for something. they wear blinking lights in their shoes in homage to you, my dear: they’d wear blinking lights from head to toe, if they could. i hope they get to some day, it will make them all so happy: and that’s what progress is really about, isn’t it Amerika? making the small people’s lives happy with small things.

goddess bless you, Amerika: i hope you sleep well tonight, so close to your enemy: the rest of the world. really, Amerika, i’m only cruel because i love you. you always hurt the ones you love the most, because despite your foul breath, gaudy jewelry, and prostitutes smeared from head to foot with aquamarine eyeshadow i love you still. in my own fucked up way.

by: Tabula Rasa, KSC
El Kabong Kabal

Reasons Why Nobody Takes Wicca Seriously

March 8, 2007

Lust, Groucho:34, 6006 YD

Original Page Here

For those of you who have never heard of it, and I expect there are many, Wicca is one of several new-age “religions” with myriad traditions, some that date to prehistoric animism, others that were made up last week by a hairstylist in Oregon. Unenlightened types typically misidentify them as witches and shun them for being satan worshipers, whereas enlightened types correctly identify them as pretentions cretins and shun them for being gullible, obnoxious, shallow, and self-centered.

Kinda like Valley girls with no fashion sense.

Luckily, it’s a do-it-yourself kind of cult, so they don’t gather en masse for their rituals and then descend in smaller masses upon any restaurant that offers a buffet for under two dollars. Instead, they sit at home and chant over a bowl of something the cat coughed up after smoking whatever happened to be in the spice rack – as if people whose daily feeding ritual includes peeling back foil to expose the ‘tater tots could have any other use or tarragon or chervil – all the while hoping that one day, maybe one of their “spells” will work.

Eko, Eko Zomilak
Warts begone and come not back

All the same, it’s interesting to know that all you need is a second-hand bathrobe and a Bead-dazzlerTM to start your own religion and proclaim yourself Most Laureled Goat-Boy of the Night Goddess Beulah-Mae, and if you can find a pack of pinheads who will be impressed, you’re on your way to becoming an institution.

I think that’s how the Pope got started.