The Rise Of Happiness Bigotry

"Just chill out maaaan, everything's going to be fine" could essentially be the mantra for contemporary Americans, and not just the Millennials either. It seems like everyone from pre teens to senior citizens have been bitten by the fake happiness bug here in the US. Many people claim that they are intentionally "choosing" to be happy, and if you happen to be radiating at even a slightly less sun shiny frequency than they are, well then, you must be miserable on purpose, and therefore, you should be shunned immediately. After all, why would you want to ruin the party for all these amazing people who are "living every day to the fullest" and "following their dreams"?

It only takes a passing glance at social media to realize just how badly the fake happiness virus has infected people here in the United States, and I suspect much of the Western world at large. If I were to judge the level of contendedness of most Americans by their online personas, I could safely say that most Americans are living in the adult equivalent of Disneyland. For instance, almost every single woman on OKCupid (a dating site I continue to waste my time on for some ungodly reason, probably because it's still free and I remember when it had a much more "fringe" clientele that has since been close to eradicated by the conformists dolts who now pollute it) claims to be nothing short of farting rainbows, and they demand no less of a sunshiney disposition from whomever they're hoping to attract on there. At the same time, almost every man's profile on there purports how "easy going" they are. Many of these people claim to be this way ALL THE TIME in their profiles, which has me furrowing my brow, scratching my head and often exclaiming "give me a fucking break..."

Facebook is even worse. It's so bad in fact, that much of the reason why I disabled my account was because I simply couldn't handle being lectured about my negativity and my propensity for complaining any more, often from people I knew only peripherally or barely knew at all. Any time I'd post about how I thought a movie sucked, or how my boss was pissing me off, some jerkoff couldn't resist chiming in about how I "needed to be more positive" or that I actually enjoyed being unhappy, and was making myself feel that way on purpose.

Positivity pep talks also came from people I knew well enough in real life to be even crankier and more miserable than myself, yet they felt like they needed to craft some kind of fake online persona where their lives were completely amazing. All the obnoxious memes they posted with pictures of kittens "hanging on", and various other slogans devoted to resilience and the importance of "never giving up" were completely disingenuous and I knew it. So did they. Yet somehow, they felt compelled to "call me out" on my negativity and literally ORDER me to be happy, as if it was a switch that I simply decided I was going to keep in the off position because I liked to annoy people or something.

Trust me, if happiness were a switch I could choose to turn on and off, I would have flipped that mofo on and left it "on" from the minute I was conscious enough to do so, but my life hasn't worked out that way. Moreover, when it comes to my relationship with my immediate family, I have legitimately been dealt a shitty hand. Shitty enough in fact, that I'm often amazed that I haven't ended up in a far worse place than I am now, given some of the dark emotional locales I've been forced to visit many times over the years. What some would call "low expectations" I call "extremely optimistic ones".

Simply put, I'm not wired for happiness, or should I say, the superficial "happiness" which has become a religion in this country. Of course, I enjoy and savor every moment of legitimate happiness I feel in my life, but I am also well aware that those moments are usually fleeting. That is ok with me though, because if there's one thing that can be downright dangerous to lie about, it's lying about how happy you are. If you are truly hurting inside and you do NOTHING to try and deal with that pain, the end result could be much more harmful and hurtful than it if you had acknowledged the problem early on and tried to do something to cope with it.

I'm starting to think that Americans are suffering from a real, deep seated, collective denial and even a bit of Stockholm Syndrome related to the fact that The American Dream, as it's been sold to us, is pretty much kaput. Americans are officially in the "denial" stage of this reality, and rather than confront the fact that, in many ways, we need to learn how to adjust to the economic and energy realities of the future, which will be much leaner than what we have today, they opt to essentially bury their heads in the sand and pretend they're full of joy and everything's fine. Much like how fracking is a desperate attempt to continue down the course of infinite growth and happy motoring, which seems to be reaching its zenith as we speak, the "happiness industry" is a desperate attempt to try and convince us all that "everything's going to be ok" when clearly it isn't.

The hysteria surrounding the upcoming presidential election is all the proof I need to validate this theory.

Over the years I've been given massive amounts of happiness haranguing from condescending, arm chair psychiatrists who thought they knew me better than I knew myself. Their "advice" usually consisted of reprimanding me for "spending too much time thinking about things I have no control over" and "wasting too much time worrying about what other people are doing" (again, if it were a switch, I'd be flippin' it kids...) Many times, these people made me feel REALLY guilty for being unhappy, even if they were only vaguely aware of what was making me unhappy in the first place, and sometimes, completely unaware of my state of mind, and largely uninterested in it. They just demanded that I behave the way they ordered me to behave. Welcome to my personal hell of "you be much happier and more successful at ______ if you only played by the rules/ did better in school/ ignored your basic instincts/ shut up and did what we told you to do".

Given a LOT of personal reflection, I'm starting to actually think that I might have done some of these Happiness Bigots a great service by reminding them that not everybody buys into this disgusting lie that has swindled the American public into thinking they can paleo, rock climb, yoga, feng shui or speed date their way to a brighter future (aka "spend their time and money on fruitless endeavors that will be largely unrewarding in the end"). Happiness Bigotry may very well be one of the shrewdest marketing campaigns ever engineered, as it tugs at our very heart strings, and coerces, guilt trips and ultimately BULLIES us into behaving the way the rank and file demand that we behave. After all, this phenomenon was created here in America, where virtually everything in the media is essentially a cleverly marketed consumer swindle. Perhaps I am, in essence, still a very virulent, rebellious, anti corporate rebel for denying the ultimate pyramid scheme of fake contentment.

Because, let's think about it, if Americans are so obsessed with happiness, then why are we so shitty at ACTUALLY ACHIEVING IT? Talkers talk and doers do. Today's happiness merchants are much like the mirror image of the Gnostics of the Dark Ages. While the Gnostics sought to find enlightenment in a rather Apocalyptic environment by rejecting most of the spiritual mores of orthodox Christianity, today's Happiness Bigots seek to find enlightenment by rejecting their own, very basic emotions. Their quest is similarly Quixotic, and ultimately futile.

No one is happy ALL the time, and we wouldn't be programmed with the wide swathe of emotions that we have if they weren't all, in one way or another useful for something. The nervous guy in your group may alert you to dangers you didn't immediately recognize. The angry girl in your group may have given you all the gumption to hit the picket line and ultimately get better wages. The sad, withdrawn kid may be trapped in his own personal hell, but he creates some beautiful artwork, that you ultimately enjoy and then praise him for. While your positive response doesn't cure him of his malaise, it gives him some warmth and some hope, enough to continue on to his next creation. THAT is real happiness.

Endnotes-

1) For the purpose of getting more views on this article, I almost titled it "The Rise Of Happiness Fascism", but the use of the term "bigotry" in my title is NOT to be confused with the word "fascism", which is defined as "a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism". "Fascist" and "fascism" often get thrown around by leftist nudnicks who don't feel like utilizing a thesaurus to make the correct, relevant point. And to be fair, I have seen plenty of right wing idiots use the "F" word to incorrectly defame zealous leftists as well. What both sides mean to say when they use the term fascist, is essentially how I'm using the term "bigot", which is defined as "a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion" and in the case of the current wave of people who "choose happiness" the term "bigot" is entirely appropriate.

2) "Happiness fascism" is mentioned in this article here, and although I dislike the incorrect use of the word, the author does make some good points. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/apr/10/un-international-day-of-happiness-makes-me-miserable

3) Two books that deal with this subject quite eloquently are "Fuck Feelings" by Michael Bennett and Sarah Bennett and "The Upside Of Your Dark Side" by Todd Kashsand and Robert Biswas- Diener

Analog Games FTW

In the town where I grew up we had a really unique department store known as “The Fair”. The Fair tried very hard to be on par with other more established department stores at the time, such as Caldor, Sears and K Mart, but ended up being a lot more like the popular “factory closeouts” store Building 19 instead. The Fair always had a whole lot of second rate, sub par crap mixed in with a small amount of chic, quality new stuff, so it was a toss up as to whether you were going to leave there with a new pair of Levi's or a broken fishing pole you bought for $3.00. At any rate, whatever The Fair got in as a new shipment would be quickly bought up by the population of my little podunk town, whether it was reconditioned Sanyo “Walkman” knockoffs or really awful looking pirate Ozzy t shirts. Once you saw a good percentage of your classmates in school with cheap cassette players, cheap Air Jordan's knockoff sneakers, and/ or even cheaper quality bootleg t shirts, you knew they got them at The Fair.



The Fair often got really weird stuff you'd never find anywhere else, such as a few random Slayer, Metallica and Anthrax tour shirts (three bands I was the biggest and only fan of in my town), Vietnam war era canteens and covers, machetes, cheap hollow handled “Rambo” survival knives, and a widely revolving selection of board games and playing cards. Since thrash metal, military surplus and board games are a few of my favorite things, it wasn't uncommon of me to blow my entire allowance or paper route earnings there on a weekly basis.



One thing they had a very lucrative supply of for awhile were these small, travel sized board games with magnetic playing pieces that stuck to the metal surface of the game board. These game boards doubled as carrying cases that folded in half and held the small pieces inside. They probably only measured about six inches square when opened, and it was VERY easy to lose their miniscule pieces, but myself and a few other nerds at my school became obsessed with them. By the end of the first month of The Fair stocking these cheap games (they seemed to get two to three new ones every week), my friends and I had acquired backgammon, chess, checkers, reversie (more commonly known as “Othello”), Parcheesi and Chinese checkers. Our lunches and study breaks were soon consumed with very intense game playing, albeit with very miniscule, rather unimpressive looking game sets.



After I'd become acquainted with most of the basic board games available to us here in North America, I started to set out on the task of trying to create my own. Not necessarily my own original games per se, but my own versions of existing ones, albeit with more exciting looking boards and playing pieces. I remember making a backgammon set out of scrap plywood and glass chips that were laying around in my basement in sixth grade, and although it looked cool, I don't think anyone ever played it with me. Still, I was determined to become the game master, although the demographics of gaming were beginning to shift big time.



By the late 1980's, myself and most of the kids in my town were fully immersed in Nintendo's first large scale video game system, so my love of board and card games went on the back burner. Although I owned a Nintendo (and before that, an Atari), I pretty much sucked at video games and still do. At this time I was also dabbling a bit with Dungeons and Dragons, which my friend Sang had a bunch of books and modules for, but that quickly got boring for me as it wasn't visual enough. There's just something about moving cool looking pieces around on a cool looking board, rolling neat looking dice and looking at cool playing cards that I'm a sucker for. If you try to replace that with a computer game controller, or using my imagination for some abstract role playing game it just isn't the same (although I do admit, the dice used in D & D are pretty bad ass...)



The only holdouts my friends and I had left for actual analog games in jr. high school were Risk and a game called Shogun, which we played religiously at my friend Neil's house every weekend. These were both involved, strategy/ conquest type of games, with Shogun being essentially a Risk knockoff, dedicated to the conquest of feudal Japan. Both of these games took hours, and sometimes even days to play, and the end result was often physical violence between friends if cheating was suspected or fake alliances were formed. I can only imagine what these gaming sessions would have been like if drugs or alcohol were involved, I think you would have seen some of the biggest nerds on earth transform into completely scary, feral barbarians.



So being the true Renaissance Man that I am, lately it has become my quest to make analog gaming cool again. This serves a multitude of purposes, but a few of them are as follows.



The first is, I'm sick of all this techno narcissism going on with people so I'm moving in the opposite direction. You just got a great new live action role playing app for your Iphone? Cool. I just got a cheap set of dominoes at the thrift store. You're treating yourself to the new Wii for Christmas? Awesome. I just bought a chess set for a dollar. You're working on your new World Of Warcraft character? Great. I'm going to make my own hafentafl set. My point is, like most of technology as we know it, I think gaming has also essentially reached its peak and has nowhere to go but down, so the time is ripe for the return of classic board, dice and card games.



The second reason for my current obsession with non electrified games is that they have an historical precedent that seems a bit downplayed by many archaeologists and historians. For instance, backgammon is one of the oldest board games known to man, and remnants of ancient backgammon sets have been found all throughout Central Asia, with Iran being host to the oldest known backgammon set (circa 3000 BC). To put it lightly, backgammon is older than dirt, and much like Iggy Pop, The Reverend Horton Heat and the late great Johnny Cash, being old doesn't make it any less cool. And even though ancient artifacts are usually unable to convey emotion, unless we are speaking about artistic rendering which clearly portrays a dramatic, violent or other such intense visage, I still think that antiquated games (even cheapo plastic ones) have a certain elegance about them that video games can't touch.



Games can be put into the same category as other mundane objects such as tools, pottery, weapons, clothing, etc. They usually do not carry any imprint of emotion, except in the case of stylized chess sets or some weird spoon with a really sad looking face carved into the handle or something. Unless you know the history of an ancient or otherwise antiquated object, you can only speculate that the wonderfully powerful looking Samurai sword we're viewing in a museum was once held up by a man named Kimura San who exclaimed “goddamn, Imma open a serious can of whoop ass on Yokozuna with this!” In actuality, ole Kimura might have been presented with the sword by master bladesmith Konishi- Sama and said something more like “goddamn, that dude needs to lay off the sake, this thing's a piece of crap.”



The point is, these old games LOOK like they were really important, and their preponderance in important grave mounds and ruined cities leads me to really want to believe that they held extremely important cultural and even spiritual significance. I like to envision important decisions being made by the glow of candles, with bone carved dice being thrown by bearded men who decided the fate of the civilizations of yore, based on the roll of the dice or the outcome of a chess match. Who knows, maybe they were just created for entertainment value and to combat boredom, but I really hope the conversation went something like “that's right Erik, when I beat your ass in hafentafl, you'll owe me ALL of your estate in Greenland!” and not “goddammit Olaf, I don't have TIME to play that crap, can't you see I'm cleaning that priest's guts off of my boots?”



And the final reason I want to make analog games cool again is because their appeal is literally timeless, and they require very little in the way of resources to be able to play them. You don't need electricity, the internet, lots of money, sobriety, physical fitness, expensive sneakers, lots of room or even all of your fingers to be able to play most of them. Hell, in most instances you can even make your own damn games from easily acquired cheap or free materials.



Analog games serve as a bonding experience for friends and family, and even in the case of my aunt and my cousins (who have all been playing cribbage practically as long as they've been able to walk) they inspire healthy competition and something to do at family outings. Granted, not everyone leaves the kids/ card table in a jovial mood after taunts and jeering, but at the very least, it gets people talking, interacting and doing something. Video games just seem really... I dunno... sterile to me. Sure, they can definitely be fun and create a lot of drama, but I actually miss conversations like “you sided with Jason's army behind my back!? I'll fkin KILL you!” which was brought upon by a cheap game of Risk gone wrong.



Non electrified games have been enjoyed long before we even had a grid and will be enjoyed long after it goes down. You can bet that I'll be pulling my magnetic travel checkers out of my knapsack to decide who'll be milking the goats when I finally purchase my dream homestead, and the only grid I'll need is the one I'm playing “go” on dammit...



ENDNOTES-



-I actually have to take back some of the derogatory comments I made about video games, as I am guilty of playing two semi regularly. One is the PC freeware version of Stratego, and the other is a Bicycle "abandonware" cribbage game (both are easy to find as free downloads). Granted, I'd much rather actually play both of these games with actual, physical game boards and opponents, but that isn't always convenient. So, much like an inflate- a- mate, they serve as the next best thing.

The Irony We Can No Longer Afford

Ahhhh the irony. The Grand Old Party, hell bent on returning us to the glory days when god, guns and guts made America free, appoints a blubbering, emotionally unstable clown with a fake bake as their spokesperson. The party determined to sustain the absolutely idiotic and unsustainable lifestyle of suburban sprawl gleefully backs a semi literate nudnick named Sarah Palin as a potential presidential candidate. The Grand Old Party, known to be notorious shills and lobbyists for multinational corporations and the uber- rich, actually supports the actions of a bunch of overgrown children known as the Tea Party, claiming that they are the voice of Joe Sixpack here in America.

Okay.

The Democrats are just as bad. Mr. Change himself has yet to grow the cajones necessary to throw even ONE SINGLE THIEF from Wall Street in jail, after the banks, GM, Fannie, Freddie, ad nauseum extorted trillions of dollars from the federal government that the American taxpayer will ultimately have to foot the bill for. Mr. President has himself proven to be nothing more than yet ANOTHER shoeshine boy for the multinationals, the entity which we can plainly see is REALLY in charge of our destiny here in the Western world.

More and more these people appear to be nothing more than over glorified cartoon characters. Talking heads on a television screen, reading scripted dialog off of teleprompters. Their MSNBC/ Fox News crew of cheerleaders come across as awkward high school students in a corny after school play. You can't help but laugh at them, and pity them a little bit at the same time.

The irony is that our corporate masters dumped us a long time ago for younger, cuter, cheaper and lower maintenance Asian mistresses. They've been skipping their alimony payments, and pretty soon won't be paying us at all. For awhile we made out ok, as they were treating us to regular dinner dates at Burger King and KFC, but their Asian harem is getting restless, and demanding to be fed more than just Top Ramen. Their harem seems to have expanded quite a bit over the last decade too, taking on exotic lovers from India, Southeast Asia and South Korea.

The irony is that the banking sector held America hostage and extorted trillions of dollars in "bailout" money, so that wealthy execs could keep their condos in Antigua and give themselves raises. The irony is that these thieves stole our money and not a single one of them was held accountable for ANYTHING. The irony is that these plutocrats continue to rip us off, and we're doing absolutely NOTHING to stop them.

Irony. You see it everywhere. From overweight, suburban wanna be thugs, to "hipsters" wearing stupid trucker hats and growing bad moustaches. From ridiculous TEA Party idiots who rave on and on about freedom, yet insist that Creationism is valid and climate change is not, to "environmentally aware" leftists who drive to the farmer's market in SUV's. The whole kit n kaboodle is starting to look rather ugly, and not in a way that I find ironic at all.

Irony is a luxury we cannot afford anymore. It's time for us to get serious and start acting like adults, because it's clear that adults aren't running the show here in the US. Post industrialized America has been a prolonged exercise in trying to sustain a society built on dwindling fossil fuels, and even though those fuels are diminishing in supply, they are increasing in demand exponentially by the day. America has set the standard worldwide for reckless, wasteful behavior and somehow made it look glamorous. Since no one wants to be left out of the party, we'll soon see the price of oil skyrocketing as oil producing nations are unable to keep up with the demand from "up and coming" economic giants like China and India.

Many will tout alternative energy sources as the solution to our oil addiction, but they are living in a fantasy world. We missed the boat on that 20+ years ago, as the infrastructure and production facilities necessary to make the switch from fossil fuels to alternative energies were never built. In typical American fashion, we shirked our responsibilities and fell asleep at the wheel because we were too busy partying during the cheap oil boom the realize that it wasn't going to last forever. We never took any pause to realize that we were going to have to wake up eventually with a rather unpleasant hangover.

It's up to us to get plan "B" in action while we still can, and contrary to what WAYYY too many optimists want to believe, plan B will have little to do with driving electric cars or relying on an economy solely based on mindless consumerism. The days of spending our money on superfluous crap and gambling for commodities in the stock market are soon to be over, likely for good.

I don't proclaim to be an oracle with the ability to predict the future, and I would caution against taking the advice of anyone who does. I WILL however, say that I feel that now, more than ever we are on the verge of a global economic collapse that will affect the way of life in the US in ways that almost NO ONE is prepared to deal with.

When I do talk to so- called "survivalists" who claim to be ready for the collapse simply because they own a lot of guns, it's laughable. Have fun eating and drinking bullets Rambo. When I talk to Christians who are convinced that the Rapture is coming, it's sad. What if there is no Rapture, and what kind of god do you worship who tells you that the best thing you can do to help your family and your community is to die?

When I talk to conspiracy theorists who think the US government is all powerful and will soon institute a One World Government, I shudder. We have the most powerful military in the world, and it took us almost a decade to restore order in the antiquated city of Baghdad. The fact that conspiracy theorists actually think our governement has enough resources and man power to hold a siege in EVERY modern US city overnight is laughable. Especially in a country of 3 million gun owners.

Truth be told, I don't know what is going to happen, only that I hope that Americans can figure a way to make it through the collapse without re- emerging as a nation full of fundamentalist Christian cavemen who bring back the practices of burning witches and exorcisms. I hope that Americans are deep down, actually not as self centered and sociopathic as I see them acting now, because if they are, we're in some serious trouble.

As the ramshackled empire of the United States of Rome burns right under our feet, the many many Neros of this country keep fiddling on whimsically, preoccupying themselves with video games, "reality" TV, P' Zones and football. Unless these people morph into something resembling responsible adults (and soon) I do not want them on my team. We need to stop looking to our government for answers, help, or guidance, because they are no longer fit for the job of governing. We need to learn and apply all those old world skills so that we can (hopefully) emerge as a stronger nation comprised of significantly less materialistic and shallow children.

In a word, we need to grow up, and fast.

My Run In With Oscar The Death Cat

Awww, check out that pwecious widdle kitty witty! Cute lil guy aint he? Little do you know, ignorant human, that this cat is literally the Grim Reaper himself, wrapped up in a fuzzy disguise of feline fatality.

This cat goes by the name of Oscar, although Charon, Hel, Thanatos or Set would probably suit him much better. You see, Oscar has the uncanny ability of being able to predict when patients at Providence's Steere House nursing home are about to die.

That's right, when a patient in the Alzheimer's ward on the third floor is about to kick the bucket, Oscar likes to get all warm 'n fuzzy with them. In fact, he's accurately predicted over 50 patient deaths at Steere House. He does this by laying down and snuggling with them rather than ignoring them like he usually does. Two hours later, Oscar wakes up and the patient does not. The victims of this terminal tabby are often touted as going "very peacefully" because of his presence.

Two months ago I took on a courier job where I deliver medications to nursing homes. The first stop on one of my routes is Steere House, and I remember vaguely hearing some chatter about a cat that could predict the death of the patients there. I kind of forgot about this until a friend recently inquired if I'd seen "the death cat" yet. Since there are about 55 cats in that home, I figured I'd google to see if the death cat was mentioned anywhere online. There are a myriad of articles about him, and one of the better ones is here:

http://www.cbc.ca/health/story/2010/02/01/death-cat-doctor.html

Aw yeah, "furry angel of death" indeed. I was happy that I'd never seen Oscar before, and was admittedly a little disappointed that he looks well... so damn cute! I figured a "death" cat would be much larger, blacker, scarier and surlier looking. Oscar's such a little cuddle bug, you almost can't resist snuggling up with him, and that's the most frightening thing about him. If he has the ability to bait people into petting themselves straight to Purgatory, well then Oscar needs to stay far far away from me.

Ahhh, but my luck was bound to run out eventually. You see, Oscar and I finally met tonight, and not only did I see him, but his full attention was placed squarely on ME from the second our eyes met. I was delivering meds to the third floor, when all of a sudden, from under the nurse's desk, ole Kitty Cat Charon himself jumped up on the counter. Recognizing him immediately, I jumped back as he started rubbing my med bin with his face.

Sensing that I was trying to avoid him, he jumped off the counter and started jogging over to me. I screamed "Get that cat AWAY from me!" but the nurses just laughed, saying "Oh come on, he likes you!" like that's a good thing or something. I wanted absolutely no part of his bad juju, and couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

Luckily no physical contact was made between Oscar and I. When the elevator reached the first floor, I asked the nurse if she had everything she needed and she replied,

"Oh, this was marked wrong, it has to go up to the third floor."

My heart sank to the bottom of my chest. I was not prepared to have to face Oscar again, having narrowly escaped my first encounter with him. When the elevator arrived at the third floor, Oscar made a b line dash out the door, with a nurse screaming "don't let that cat out!" from inside. Part of me thought it might be a good thing if Oscar actually escaped, as with the rest of Steere House as a buffer zone he'd have less chance of finding me again. Unfortunately though, that was not the case, as from the window in the door I could see him sitting in the middle of the hallway.

Staring.

Waiting.

In front of the elevator.

For me.

Not wanting to try and cheat this hirsute hitman again, I figured it was time to stand my ground. I cleared my throat as I entered the hallway and said "Oscar, get out of my way, I'm getting on the elevator." He didn't budge.

I tried a firmer approach; "Oscar, I'm leaving now, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY WAY." Oscar started licking his paw and then cleaning his ear with it.

One final time I said "DAMMIT OSCAR, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME???!!!" Oscar then lazily walked over to a nurse who was sitting in the lounge area who said "Aw, be nice, he's famous you know!" to which I replied "Yes, I know, and I know WHY he's famous, and I want no part of it!" To which she replied "You don't really believe that do you?" To which I retorted, "Better safe than sorry!"

I breathed a sigh of relief as I got on the elevator, and I hope I never see that charming (yet deadly) cat ever again. It's not often that you meet a cat who has real supernatural cred., and given his impressive track record, I'll err on the side of caution and avoid him as much as possible.

But... but... he's so CUTE!

The Evolution Of A Modern Survivalist

From the time I was knee- high to a grasshopper, frugality, conservation and self reliance were values that were drilled into my head (and no, I did not learn them from the Boy Scouts, as my parents were FARRR too poor to afford that.) The methods my parents and grandparents employed to teach me these skills were often akin to a trial by fire, but I am happy to have learned those hard lessons, as they have proven to be invaluable to me to my survival as an adult. I have always liked to abide by the old adage of "better to have and not need, than to need and not have."

Survivalism and sustainability became a bit of an obsession for me by the time I'd reached my late twenties, and I tried to cover all the bases from urban to woodland survival, from hunting and foraging to herbalism and basic farming. I geared up and tested my ability to survive in extreme heat as well as extreme cold. I also devoted a lot of time to both armed and unarmed combatives training, finding that my initial cockiness in these areas often ended up being my most invaluable teacher. There's nothing like a few fractures and knock outs to prove just how tough you really are(n't).

Like many young survivalist types, I envisioned myself as some kind of post- apocalyptic John Rambo who ran around shooting at bad guys, taking whatever I needed and having no accountability to anyone. This is the pitfall of many modern survivalists, as they seem to romanticize an "every man for himself" type of scenario, or at the very least, a scenario where only their family/ gang/ tribe and themselves matter. This myopic super hero fantasy will not get you very far, unless your bullet belt can somehow miraculously fertilize plants and purify water.

More and more I started to realize that these "lone wolf" types were overtestosteroned, paranoid idiots, and generally just a mirror reflection of the Conquistadors we already have in our government. The Rambos would swear up and down that the government was their mortal enemy, but they seemed to employ exactly the same type of fear mongering and macho posturing that the mainstream media did. Sure, they had SOME good ideas, but their plans to rise above the rubble armed with AK47's and cans of Spam started to sound ridiculously cartoonish to me. The bottom line is- if you want to make something worthwhile happen, you NEED to learn how to work with people.

Add to that, much of the propaganda coming from the Lone Wolf Rambo crowd was brought to you courtesy of Christian fundamentalists, right wing racialists and various other sociopaths I wanted nothing to do with. I'm seeing many of these 1990's "militia" stereotypes reincarnated in the current Tea Party and Constitutionalist movements, and they still leave a bad taste in my mouth. Moreover, I'm starting to become concerned that the Rambos might actually be gaining a foothold with the status quo, and the idea of plowing some Christian lunatic's beanfield with a bayonet in my back doesn't sound too attractive to me.

As I grew older with my survivalist mindset, I started to wonder if any community of rational, pragmatic individuals could be built around the principals of self sustainability. I wondered what the role of women and children would be, and how would we address issues such as child care, education and health care. The Rambos never showed any interest in these issues. Luckily though, I was quite happy to see many inroads being made for realistic sustainability right in my hometown. By the early 21st century, farmers markets, biking and urban farming were coming into vogue, but I was still hungry to see more discussion on what REALLY could be done in the event of a societal collapse.

Enter the writings of James Howard Kunstler, particularly his books entitled The Long Emergency and World Made By Hand. Both of these books deal with the condition known as Peak Oil, with The Long Emergency being a nonfictional prediction of what might happen and World Made By Hand being a Novel about life after the collapse.

I found both of these books (as well as Kunstler's website and blog) to be very inspiring because they are quite a departure from the gloom and doom of most survivalists. Rather than pushing a "Mad Max lording over the post apocalyptic wasteland" angle, they espouse a far more pragmatic and humanistic worldview. To me this stance is crucial, because the doomers leave me feeling highly uninspired, and I suspect that I'm not the only one. Their obsession with violence and retribution is not anything that anybody could build a society around, at least not one with any longevity.

The thing is though, for as grandiose as Kunstler' claims of the importance of community are, I wonder if he actually believes his own propaganda. His snarkiness and cynicism is apparent in his blog entries and lectures, and he seems to get quite easily sidetracked and offended by non- issues such as people wearing clothing he deems too baggy, or enjoying mainstream sporting events and getting tattoos. What James needs to realize is that in order for his own vision to become a reality, he needs to get anyone and everyone on board, including the types of people he may not like very much. He also seems a bit folly to, dare I say; a bit of undeserved self importance from time to time.

But the thing about Kunstler is- we need him and people like him. We need him because whatever he lacks in charisma, charm and tolerance, he makes up for in his ability to tell it like it is, not to mention being able to outline a workable strategy for surviving the impending collapse. He's not likely to be the standard bearer on the battlefield, much less the cool neighbor you drink beer with after work, but he's definitely someone worth paying attention to.

It's easy to hate on the self centered Baby Boomers, the whiny, apathetic Generation X-ers, and the cynically paralyzed Millenials, but every once in awhile I'll meet someone from one of these age brackets who is a bit different. They'll have a glint in their eye, a positive outlook and a lot of great ideas. I hope these people keep appearing in my life because it is far to easy these days to throw your hands up, say "fuck it!", and dismiss our future entirely. Those who are idealistic and pragmatic are as good as gold to me, even if they are as irascible and tempermental as Kunstler is. Those who fight the good fight and are simply far too dedicated and strong (and maybe just a little too naive- in a good way mind you) to even think of capitulation or defeat are the people I want in my tribe.



You can watch a good James Howard Kunstler lecture/ debate at Brown University here:

http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Political_Theory_Project/janus/events/lectures/building_america_who_should_control_urban_growth

(sorry for some reason the hyperlink wouldn't work with this address, so you'll have to cut and paste)

Unfortunately, you can't scroll past where the cursor is cued up, you have to wait for the video to load and get ahead of where the cursor is. At 90 minutes it takes a LONG time to load, but if you can make it to the 67:00 mark you'll see where my question about his tattoo prejudice pisses him off and gives Randall O'TOOL a chance to rip on his earring.


some great books:

Ragnar's Urban Survival- Ragnar Benson
No Such Thing As Doomsday- Philip L Hoag
When Technology Fails- Matthew Stein
World Made By Hand- James Howard Kunstler
The Long Emergency- JHK

Happy Eostre!

How Eostre is usually recognized by modern Heathens is by having what is called a "blot" or "forn" where an offering is made to the appropriate goddess which represents fertility. The Germanic peoples had a LOT of goddesses, many unique to a specific locale and tribe, and many having overlapping attributes, fertility being just one of them. It could be appropriate to have a forn (which is what about 99.9999% of Heathens do, as blot literally means "blood" and there isn't a whole lot of animal sacrificing going on these days) to any of the following goddesses:

Freya- Goddess of war and fertility, with a distinct focus on female sensuality.
Frigga- Odin's wife- goddess of hearth and home.
Idunna- Keeper of the apples that made the gods eternally young.
Ostara/ Eostre- German and Anglo Saxon goddesses of fertility.

Sadly, we really only know Ostara/ Eostre in name only, but we do know that she was associated with the month of April, and likely to be associated with the return of spring and fertility.

The first three goddesses I listed are from Icelandic lore, with Freya also being sporadically mentioned in what little surviving German and Anglo Saxon lore remains. Personally though, the fact that very little info about Eostre is out there is actually very exciting to me. This allows room for creativity, something that is sometimes lacking in the Heathen community. Heathens often make many lofty claims to authenticity, but it is still a reconstructed religion which is likely to bear almost no resemblance to the original faith. Since my focus is on Anglo Saxon Heathenry, I will now speak about an obscure, but still very powerful goddess and Holy Tide, both known as Eostre.

Eostre is an important and joyous, albeit somewhat obscure Heathen holiday. Much of our knowledge of it is recorded by the Christian scholar Bede who tells us that the month of April was known as Eostremonath by the Anglo Saxons. Although Eostre's true attributes are unknown, it is speculated that her name means "east" and that she is associated with fertility, as in the sun rising in the east, and spring returning. This confuses me a bit, as the previous month's Holy Tide is known as Hrethmonath, and is related to the goddess Hretha. Hretha is speculated to be associated with sacrifice and war. The month before that (February) is Solmonath, and is associated with the goddess Nerthus, also known as Hertha or Aertha. All these goddesses who possess similar names (and functions) seem to be an overlap of various local dieties who could have been one in the same, or evolutions of the same godess(es).

In the interest of keeping with the Anglo Saxon traditions, I may very well hold a Hretha forn next year, as any "tough" goddess is surely one I can relate to, having worked with both Freya and Skadhi in the past with great results. Hretha may have actually been the Anglo Saxon's version of the Norse goddess Skadhi, as we associate both goddesses (with what little is known about Hretha) with winter and hunting.

Since I like to keep the Holy Tides distinct from one another, I prefer to look at Hertha as a goddess of the earth and agricultural fertility, and Eostre as more of a goddess of the flesh and human reproduction. Both have their place in worship of course, and both have very similar, almost interchangeable characteristics, but as a modern Heathen I feel it is necessary and useful to differentiate the two. Hertha is also known as Jord by the Scandinavians, and Hretha seems to be unique to the Anglo Saxons. I have often held my Hertha blot in March rather than February, as February hardly feels like the end of winter here in New England!

Hot cross buns, rabbits and eggs all come from ancient Heathen customs and were appropriated by the Christians in order to convert the Germanic tribes more easily. Much like "Christmas" trees, by appropriating these familiar images the Christians were able to sell their new religion to the Heathen tribes more easily. The problem with this appropriation is that it came at a price, and that was the destruction of the native gods and goddesses. That doesn't mean that we cannot bring them back though, even if we don't know much about them. Through working with them and embracing the holy powers, we can re- learn the knowledge that has been lost for so long, and regain our connection with the Holy Powers!

Alex Jones and Mark Dice aint nice.

(Ahem) to all you conspiracy theorists out there (and I know a few of you...)


What's a whole whole hell of lot better than thinking that the big, bad evil government of ours is up to all kinds of no good, and responsible for everything from 9/11 to the swine flu, I offer you a better alternative. TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR OWN LIVES! There's no Bilderberg conspiracy, the Jews DON'T control everything, Bohemian Grove is NOT Satanic, the government is not going to declare martial law, and there's no such thing as reptilian aliens.



Although these beliefs are deeply held by many people, the people that hold them both frighten and depress me. They frighten me because they are just as zealous about these beliefs as any religious fundamentalist. They'll try to hard sell you on their bs and if you tell them you don't believe their crackpot theories you get subjected to a barrage of "but but but buts!!!" They're just as bad as born again Christians who try to convert you on the spot. In fact, many of the heavy hitters in the "NWO, 9/11 truth" movement ARE Christians, and not very open minded ones at that.



Conspiracy theorists depress me, because rather than take some positive steps forward "just in case" (like becoming more involved in their local farming communities for example) they opt to become a bunch of chicken littles who try to scare everybody into becoming just as paranoid as they are. Rather than empowering their community to become more respectful and self sufficient, they encourage everyone to mistrust each other and aspire to be a bunch of Mad Max thugs who think they'll rule the post apocalyptic wasteland after "the shit goes down".



Alex Jones, Mark Dice and David Eiche are a bunch of semi literate con men who use the same mainstream, sensationalist crap to try and spread their propaganda that they accuse the government of using. They run around with bullhorns and act like macho idiots towards anyone who criticizes them, and utilize nothing but scare tactics to get their message across. They are egocentric attention whores selling snake oil to people who are too ignorant to realize that they are no better than the government they so vehemently claim to despise.



I will just say this about 9/11. If the government really DID intend to use that as a mechanism to usher in a "new world order" why the hell are they waiting ALMOST TEN YEARS to do so? Wasn't Bill Clinton supposed to usher in the NWO back in the 90's? Give me a break.



Our government does not have the resources, organization or manpower to undertake such an endeavor. We currently have 150,000 troops in Iraq alone, trying to get Baghdad under control. It is completely unbelievable to me that people actually think our government could possibly declare martial law in this country, where there are over 3 million gun owners willing to shoot each other if they have to wait in line too long to purchase a Wii. If our military can't get Baghdad (a city of roughly 1 million people with an antiquated infrastructure) under control, what makes anyone think that they could hold a siege in ALL the major cities here in the US?



Conspiracy theories are like a new age, gnostic religion, sucking in gullible rubes who are afraid to take control of their own lives and actually LIVE them. I feel that the big bad ugly truth about our government is exactly the opposite of what the conspiracy theorists claim it is. Rather than being an omnipotent, all seeing, all knowing entity, it is in reality quite disorganized, corrupt and painfully inept. Essentially a lion without teeth.

Passing The Time In The 'Burbs

Growing up in the suburbs in the 1980s was quite an adventure. Wait, no, I take that back, it was totally freakin BORING. There really wasn't anything to do in my hometown, especially if you were an angst filled punk rocker like myself and my friend Brad. This led us to explore the ever popular "bad" kid pastimes like drugs, skateboarding, shoplifting, and our all time favorite; vandalism.

I wasn't much of a juvenile myself, but Brad used to take punk rock's destructive tendencies to outrageous new heights. He was always getting into some kind of trouble, be it with the law, his parents or the teachers and principal of our high school. Hanging out with Brad was one of the most exciting things I could think of doing, as he was a veritable human whirlwind of criminal excitement.

Brad was tough too. He'd walk up to people and punch them in the face if he didn't like the way the were looking at him. People usually were looking at him too, as his shaven head with stupid spiky bangs made him stand out like a sore thumb anytime he went out in public. More often than not though, anyone who taunted him, calling him either a "freak" or a "skate fag" would get knocked out cold on the spot. Brad wasn't someone you wanted to mess with, which many people soon learned the hard way.

What Brad lacked in brains he made up for in sheer enthusiasm. You could always guarantee he'd stage dive higher and more often than anyone else at punk rock gigs, and in the mosh pit he was unstoppable. Brad's pent up aggression was a good match for my devious schemes, and he and I would quite often work as a team when we launched some of our greatest pranks. Surprisingly though, one of Brad's finest moments would happen without any assistance from me whatsoever.

At our high school we never had an actual paved running track until about 1986. Previous to that it was always packed down gravel, so when the town finally scraped together enough money to pave the track, our jock loving principal McWalters was on cloud nine. He'd made numerous announcements about the track impending paving, and you could sense the childlike excitement in his voice. Knowing that this was our principal's achilles heel, Brad decided to vandalize what our principal cherished the most.

I knew that something was up one Monday when I came into school. Right when I walked in the main lobby, one of the vice principals grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to the office. I was told to sit down, as the principal got right in my face and started screaming at me. He was red in the face, and screaming "I know it was you or your punk friends who ruined my track!" over and over again. Since I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, I suggested that he call my mother so she could confirm that I hadn't left my house at all the entire weekend.

Principal McWalters took me up on my request and called my mother. After my mother confirmed that I was indeed a "good boy", principal McWalters actually apologized to me. He said "I don't know who did that to my track, but mark my words, I'll have his head on a platter!" Since I still had no idea what he was talking about, I asked if I could go outside and take a look.

There was a sizable crew out by the track, making a vain attempt to clean it off with some pressure washers. When I finally got close enough to see what it was they were trying to wash off, I could see it was a drawing of a HUGE penis ejaculating onto a smiling face. The thing was, whomever had painted it didn't use regular spray paint. They used white house paint and a brush, so on top of the brand new black asphalt, this white visage of juvenile perversity shined like a beacon into the cosmos.

It was also so big, you couldn't really see the entire image unless you got up onto the bleachers and looked at it from an elevated vantage point. It reminded me of a more perverted version of the giant intaglio figures found on the plains of Nazca Peru. You know, the ones written about by author Erick Von Danicken in his controversial book Chariots Of The Gods?

I knew right away that this HAD the be the handy work of Brad, and as soon as he came into school I could tell by his expression that he was the one who had decorated principal McWalters' precious new track. Brad was scared to death of getting caught, but none of us ever ratted him out. It was pretty funny though when the morning announcements came, and McWalters did his his best Dirty Harry impersonation, saying "Do you hear me you little punk... I'm gonna nail you..." in a low menacing tone. Brad's cut up and scabby hands were a dead give away that he'd gotten into something over the weekend He'd apparently soaked his hands in turpentine to get all the paint off so no one would suspect him of destroying principle McDouche's track.

The funniest thing too was that because he had used so much exterior house paint on the track, they eventually had to pave over where he'd painted and you could still see a 3D impression of the giant penis he'd drawn. This penis's visage remained on our track for many years afterwards.

The Pity Party is OVER

Living in the moment is one of the most difficult things you can do. Most people are constantly either dwelling on the past or so fixated on the future that they can't enjoy what is right in front of them. I am no exception to this, but I am working very very hard to re- program my thinking.

Coming from the communities that I have been involved with, there has never been any shortage of talk regarding the dismantling of the status quo. Whether it's Christians, politicians, the rich, the corporations or just the idea of authority in general being evil, most of my peers and myself over the years have denounced normalcy and all of its adherents with a fire- borne passion.

The problem was, we were all a little too naive and gung ho about "change" to come up with a pragmatic game plan for building our perfect alternative society. Instead we opted to sit around and whine about how much everything sucked. Sure we made a lot of great music and artwork dedicated to the inherent suckiness of modern American life, but let's face it, we were all pretty freakin unhappy and self defeating in the end.

I have spent many many man hours dwelling on my past and hoping for better days. I'd reflect on my past in times of despair, happiness and even boredom, pulling up mental movies of things that would either cheer me up or bring me down, only to realize that none of it had anything whatsoever to do with what my current task at hand was.

Being as eccentric as I am, I have to cast a very wide net to find people I can really relate to. I've had many many people tell me that I could really fit in if I wanted to and that I don't have to be an outsider, but it is part of my programming NOT to fit in. Plus, I'm only 5'4 and have always stuck out like a sore thumb anyway, so I might as well embrace my eccentricities and use them towards a positive goal. I have also seen our rapidly deteriorating modern world, and frankly, it does little to impress me, but the speculation that better times are/ were in the past or future is of little comfort to me anymore as well.

The thing that sucks is the bitter, cold loneliness that accompanies my odd and creative nature. It is during times of extreme loneliness and desperation that my mind presses the rewind and/ or fast forward buttons and wishes to recall times long ago when I was happy and felt powerful, or times that haven't happened yet where I hope I'll feel the same way.

It is in times of sadness that I find myself thinking of times gone by where I was treated badly by someone and end up getting even more depressed. It is in times of self consciousness and uncertainty that I resolve to think "Oh, this person is just like all those shitty people I've interacted with before" when I miss opportunities that are presented to me. It is in times of beating myself up and thinking of all the things I regret in life that I forget to really experience and enjoy life in the here and now.

We sometimes forget that very few problems are insurmountable. To be fair, one can never truly quantify suffering, but those who are able to live through shitty situations and come out on top are people who inspire me. I have had my fair share of suffering and personal setbacks in my life, but when I really think about it, it is nothing compared to what a lot of people have been through. The old adage of "Well at least you aren't crippled, burned or blind" has never comforted me, but it is true, I do have good things and good people in my life, and I am sometimes a little too self pitying to recognize that.

Shameless Plug

http://blacksungazette.com/

This is the blog of a feller named Nick Fitt. I met this irascible, arrogant prick back when he was like 15, and over the years he has cracked me up, pissed me off, infuriated, inspired and generally gotten a strong, blood pressure rising reaction out of me almost every time I've communicated with him, whether he was saying things I agreed with, or saying things that made me want to strangle him. Nick and I have been in touch off and on via the phone, the postal service and now here on the internet and I've had a love/ hate affair with him since day one. If there's one thing he's good at it's getting a reaction from me, be it positive or negative. The amount of adoration and loathing the rest of the peanut gallery regularly bestows upon him is evidence that I'm not the only one he can work his magick on.

The thing with Ole Nick (he's not even that old, he just kinda comes across that way in his bitter musings) is that he's really shaped up to be an excellent writer. Like one of the many "this guy should be getting paid for this" writers, so I implore you all to check out his musings.

Down with "average"

One way to get on my bad side (actually there are several hundred ways to get on my bad side, but one that sticks out as being particularly distasteful) is to accuse me of being average. Whether you think that I'm thinking average thoughts, have lived an average life, or aspire to be simply average at anything is an insult to my perfectionist nature. I may very well do a lot of really "normal" things in my life, but trust me, hum drum, unexciting and bland are the antithesis of everything I strive to experience.

A 90's era British hardcore band called Cracked Cop Skulls released a record called Why Pussyfoot When You Can Kill? I found this to be a truly righteous declaration. Why pussyfoot when you can kill indeed... life is too short for mediocrity.

Ahhh, but the sad thing is, mediocrity really hits the spot for the majority of people in this country. In fact, this country's media machine declares war on anything exceptional or outstanding on a regular basis, either by demonizing it or ignoring it. Why do you think all the great hardcore punk bands from the 1980's I keep yapping about on this blog got almost NO media attention whatsoever? They were too extreme that's why.

In my humble opinion, "extreme" is often just another way of saying something is too good, too honest, or just too gosh darn genuine for most people to handle. Being exceptional at anything is a surefire way to alienate the majority of your peers. Do you want a lot of friends? Make sure you're not too successful, too good looking, too intelligent or too talented, otherwise you'll be the bane of their existence and despised by everyone.

Rewarding an average standard holds true even in communities which supposedly ascribe to an aesthetic of extremity. I don't know how many times I've been told by my punk rock, pagan, art or martial arts peers that I was taking their alternative or revolutionary ideas just a little too far. Many times, in their opinion I was pushing the envelope just a little too much. Even in communities where people are supposed to be challenging and ultimately destroying the status quo, in many instances they've merely replaced the mainstream status quo with their own, slightly different version of it.

Perfectionism, systematic execution and untempered determination are how I accomplish anything worthwhile in my life. A pox times 1000 to anyone naive enough to think that I am "just like all those people" because I could never be average and normal no matter how hard I try. This is not to say that I have no boundaries, no morals and no structure in my life; in fact I possess all of those aesthetics in large amounts. But they are the structures I have chosen... the structures I have built... the structures that work for ME.

I actually envy average people quite a bit, as their lot in life is much MUCH easier than mine, but average people will not move this civilization forward one iota. Today's freaks, revolutionaries, malcontents and general weirdos could very well be iconoclasts who become the heroes of tomorrow. Van Gough and HP Lovecraft died lonely and penniless but were canonized after their deaths. I find this quite sad and unfair, but at the very least- they attained immortality by their art and writing being appreciated by so many people long after they left this mortal coil.

Will I be one of these iconoclasts? I have no idea. I'm not sure I really want to be one, but it has become my goal to try and influence this world (or at least my little corner of it) in a positive way as much as I can. Is it arrogant for me to assume I ever could be one of these iconoclasts? I certainly hope so. Without being an arrogant, perfectionist jerk I'd have little other reason to set the bar so ridiculously high for myself. Does anything I do impress you? That's hardly the point. Impressing me is what is important. You couldn't ever be as harsh of a critic on me as I am on myself.

So to quote Henry Rollins- "You say you're my friend, but you're one of them". I extend this to anyone who tries to stand in my way... tries to bring me down... and most importantly- to anyone who'd ever have the gall of accusing me of being average.

Thor, God Of "Gotta Do This Again"

Whenever one mentions the old Norse/ Germanic pantheon, the god who immediately comes to mind is Thor. Thor is often thought to represent brute force, blind rage and raw machismo, but I've come to find out that his energy is actually far more complex than that. Thor served as both the protector of the common man and protector of the gods alike. Thor was the lynch pin of the Norse pantheon, and when his energy manifests itself to us here on Midgard we are always very grateful for it.

Armed with an unbreakable, yet very short handled magic hammer known as "Mjolnir", Thor was the bane of the Jotuns or "frost giants". The Jotuns represented the forces of chaos and destruction and were the arch nemeses of the gods. The Jotuns were constantly trying to make trouble for the gods, as they were very jealous of the beauty and order that the gods had in their home of Asgard. The Jotuns' meddlesome ways would finally culminate in the battle known as Ragnarok, which was instigated by a Jotun with godlike powers named Loki. Thor's role in Ragnarok was crucial, as he was the only god strong enough to kill Loki's son, a giant serpent known as Jormungund.

Thor can be thought of as the bouncer at the club or the vigilant policeman. Not the over testosteroned bouncer with an attitude problem or the crooked cop, but the bouncer who removes the drunk trouble maker quickly so the rest of the bar patrons can keep having a good time. He's not the cop who spends his time writing minor traffic tickets and harassing skateboarders, he's the cop who busts the real criminals instead. In essence, Thor is the tough guy with the really big heart.

Whenever you see people performing Thor- like deeds you are often relieved and left with a very positive impression. One of the finest Thor moments I can recall is when my friend Frank removed a very meddlesome young man from a punk rock gig back in 1992. This gig was held in a very small venue, and had a mixed bill and crowd who were all very hostile towards each other. The crowd consisted of equal parts skinheads and straight edge kids, with a smattering of punk rockers and skaters thrown in. Frank and I were firmly in the last category (skaters) and were two of the few people who were there because we actually just wanted to see the bands and have fun.

Frank and his girlfriend were avid t shirt printers and record distributors, so at most local gigs they had a veritable punk rock flea market set up in the back. Most kids really liked that, but at this particular gig they weren't selling much merchandise. Most of the kids were there to stage dive and mosh, so record and shirt sales were at a minimum. The place was really cramped too, so the record table was a little too close to the stage and dancefloor to be able to make any sales while the bands were playing and the kids were dancing. One person who quickly took advantage of this chaotic situation was a local mohicaned "drunk punk" named Wacky.

Wacky was an infamous local troublemaker who was known for starting fights, exposing himself to people, and generally being an intoxicated idiot any time he went out into public. Later on we would come to find out that he was actually a spoiled little rich boy from Bristol RI, but at the time we didn't really know anything about him. All we knew is that we hated him for being an obnoxious douchebag, and on this particular evening he seemed extra revved up to antagonize people. Add to that, he was palling around with all the skinheads, which made us a bit hesitant to confront him on his idiotic behavior.

For some reason, Wacky targeted Frank's record table and kept knocking his record boxes over. At first he tried to make it look like an accident that happened due to the moshers migrating a bit too far away from the band stage, but by the third time he did it it was obvious that he was doing it on purpose. Add to that the fact that he had a total smart assed grin on his face every time he knocked Frank's records over, and his newly found skinhead buddies kept cheering him on every time he did.

After Wacky's third attempt at annihilating Frank's merchandise, Frank turned to me and said "Dude, the next time he does that something's going to happen." Frank was seriously one of the most blase people I knew, so when he said this to me in a completely un- emotional, monotone way, it was hard for me to take him seriously. Add to that Frank was one of the last people I would ever expect to "do something" to Wacky or anyone else, as he was pretty much a pacifist. I kind of half expected Frank to not make good on his word, but when Wacky had his fourth "accident" at Frank's table, Frank uttered these words which I will forever associate as the epitome of Thor.

"Gotta do this again..."

Frank walked over to Wacky in a way that was completely nonchalant and unthreatening. I heard him say to Wacky "Dude, that wasn't cool" and then saw him put his hands on Wacky's shoulders. Before Wacky could even say anything, Frank's right foot teed off on Wacky's balls with enough force to send his testicles straight to Mars. Wacky immediately crumbled into a sobbing, teary eyed, red faced heap, and his skinhead buddies all ran over to him to pick him up and drag him out of the venue.

Fearing immediate chrome- domed retribution, I clicked open my knife and grabbed my pepper spray. When the skins came back in though, they were all handshakes and smiles for Frank, claiming that Wacky was annoying them as well, and that Wacky would most assuredly not be making an encore appearance at this gig. This was also the last time any of us ever saw Wacky, as he seemed to drop off the face of the earth (or at least drop out of the local punk rock scene). We later found out that he "grew out of" his punk rock phase and now owns a yaught. Go figure.

Another fine Thor moment happened one morning when I was getting off the highway to go to work. For some strange reason traffic was backed up quite a bit more than usual, and I noticed some commotion up ahead. This off ramp was a popular spot for a couple of panhandlers, but they were usually pretty harmless.

This morning though, there was a new panhandler whom I'd never seen before. He was a lot younger than the regular panhandlers and appeared to have a very surly disposition. He was also clearly wigged out on some kind of alcohol and or drugs, as his demeanor was quite erratic and threatening. I immediately sensed that there was some trouble about to happen, so I got my pepper spray and cell phone ready.

Since the off ramp traffic was stopped at a red light, the panhandler was approaching each car in the line and knocking on their passenger side window. When the driver wouldn't roll their window down and give Mr. Meth any money, he either spit at their car or start punching their window. I was about the tenth car back, and he was on car number three when I noticed most of the other commuters taking out their cellphones and dialing frantically. I was pretty much ready to blast him with my pepper spray once he got to my vehicle, when all of a sudden a police cruiser rolled up on the street that the off ramp emptied onto.

A cop jumped out of the cruiser at lightning speed, opened the cruiser's back door and started quickly walking over to the panhandler (who at this time had advanced another three or four cars closer to me). Without even missing a beat, the cop walked over, grabbed the panhandler by the back of the neck and started pushing him to the police cruiser. He ducked the pan handler's head, shoved him into the back of the cruiser, jumped back in the driver's seat and sped off. This took the cop all of about 40 seconds to do, and the entire ordeal on the off ramp only added an additional four or five minutes to my morning commute, tops.

Actions such as Frank's and the cop's completely illustrate the power of Thor. He's there when you need that extra bit of strength, energy or enthusiasm when you're faced with a challenge or conflict. Thor isn't just there to help you beat up drunk guys with spiky leather jackets or haul off unruly transients either. Are you trying to move a refrigerator up to the second floor? Yell "Hail Thor!" and see what happens. My guess is that you'll have that damn thing up the stairs in no time. Do you have a particularly stubborn tree stump you're trying to remove? Yell "Hail Thor!" and you'll get that sucker out with ease. Trying to reach the summit of the mountain? Trying to get that spaghetti sauce perfect? Trying to meet a seemingly impossible deadline? Can't find that box of precious family heirlooms in your overcrowded attic? Thor can assist you in all of these endeavors.

And luckily, Thor was with me just last week as I was traveling down highway 95. I'd missed my exit and had to backtrack a bit when two cars passed me on the highway. They were both going well over 80 mph and weaving in and out of traffic erratically. They were either drunk, racing each other or having some sort of road rage episode, but once they passed me my reptile brain immediately kicked in. Sensing impending doom, I started to pump my brakes, as it was a bit rainy out.

It's a good thing I was paying attention too, as a few hundred feet ahead of me one of the cars lost control. I saw this and moved over into the slow lane, but the car was literally spinning 360 degrees right in the middle of the highway and blocking all three lanes of traffic! Luckily there were no other vehicles up ahead, but I was fast approaching, as was an 18 wheeler right behind me. I thought to myself "If this person doesn't regain control and get their car and get out of the middle of the highway, I may hit them, and the 18 wheeler will definitely hit them, and annihilate me as well!"

Well, just as I was about 100 feet away from the car, the driver managed to get over to the side of the highway. The 18 wheeler and I passed them unscathed, but not without yours truly hysterically screaming "HAIIILLLL THORRRR!!!!" the entire time. The irony was that earlier in the evening I had actually hailed Thor at a heathen drinking ritual known as sumble. I had never hailed Thor at sumble before, but that night it seemed strangely appropriate for some reason. I'm really glad he listened.

Thor's energy is swift, efficient, hard working and righteous. Frank couldn't have said it better, as many times in the lore, Thor was the god who rolled up his sleeves and took care of business, again, and again and again. Many hardworking heathens of today are well known for being Thorsmen, as we are not much for mysticism. Sure, us heathens have magic and mythology just like every other religion, but heathens like to be doers rather than talkers. We're not afraid to use mundane solutions to solve problems, and that's what Thor is all about. Swift, simple solutions for what appear to be complex problems.

In fact, an Icelandic gentlemen I met recently actually said "Even though Iceland is a Christian country, whenever we get in trouble we hail Odin and Thor, because we know Jesus won't do anything for you when you need him." I found this highly amusing, but also indicative of Thor's popularity, even long after the indigenous heathen faith of Northern Europe has supposedly died.

While other religious types might pray for you to have a successful moving day, the heathen horde will show up to one of their folks' house at 6 am with an army of pickup trucks, hand trucks and boxes. It's funny that Frank is to this day an avowed atheist, as he once coined yet another phrase that I like to associate with Thor. This famous Frank witticism is "talkers talk and doers do" and I have added this to my repertoire as well. Nothing could be more true, as talk minus action equals nothing, and with Thor on your side, you can add yet another saying, this one being "It's getting done, and it's getting done NOW!" (That's a Badger original by the way...)

So to recap, we can sum up Thor in three statements:

"Gotta do this again!"
"Talkers talk and doers do", and
"It's getting done, and it's getting done NOW!"

HAIL DONAR!
HAIL THUNOR!
HAIL THOR!

Runes And Runemagick- Exploring the mysteries of the Elder Futhark

This is taken from a runes workshop I did at Rhode Island Pagan Pride Day recently. This isn't the original handout, and some of the graphics are missing. In place of the missing graphics though, is this great new rune casting plate I painted the other day!

There are many runes and runic systems out there, but the oldest and most popular is known as the Elder Futhark. The Elder Futhark is the oldest known European rune row, and is slated to have been used from the 2nd to 8th centuries, although the legend of the runes purports the usage of the runes from as early as 250 BC. Over 3000 runestones have been found in Scandinavia, with many more scattered in the countries which surround the Baltic Sea. There have even been runestones found in England, Ireland, Scotland and the Berezan Island in Russia. Several runestones have also been discovered in North America, but their authenticity remains questionable. Runic inscriptions were also added to pre- existing stone structures in Turkey and Greece by Viking traders and mercenaries.

The Legend Of The Runes

I trow I hung on that windy Tree

nine whole days and nights,

stabbed with a spear, offered to Odin,

myself to mine own self given,

high on that Tree of which none hath heard

from what roots it rises to heaven.
None refreshed me ever with food or drink,

I peered right down in the deep;

crying aloud I lifted the Runes

then back I fell from thence.

Havamal, stanzas 137 and 138

In the Havamal, the legend of the runes states that Odin (the high god or “allfather” of the Germanic tribes) hanged himself on a tree for nine days and nights to receive the power of the runes. The runes manifested themselves to him in the form of nine staves which fell at his feet. This is the “bind” rune which encapsulates all 24 of the original Futhark runes.

The nine staves are what the entire Futhark looks like when all the runes are laid on top of each other. From these staves Odin was able to learn the wisdom of the runes. Legend states that these events happened in the year 250 BC, although most of the runestones found are dated between the 2nd and 8th centuries. The true birth of the runes is not known, but their popularity throughout Northern Europe in the early first century is a true testimony to the power and influence they had on the indigenous people of that region. Their appearance in places far away from the Baltic Sea is also a testimony to the hardiness and ambitiousness of the Viking raiders, explorers and traders.

Uses Of The Runes

Although commonly thought of as merely an alphabet or simple divining tool, the runes actually have many varied meanings and uses. As one can tell, many of them resemble the letters in the English alphabet, and they do in fact have phonetic values, but each rune can also be associated with a color, a sound, an object, an action, and much much more. They also relate to each other in a form of code which is hidden by the way they are ordered in the three rune rows, or “aetts”. Runes are often “read” in much the same way that tarot cards are read, but they can also be used for meditating upon and sending by means of galdr (Old Norse for “spell” or “incantation”). There are also runic yoga and runic martial arts systems, although these are likely to be more contemporary developments developed in the 19th and 20th centuries.

The word “Futhark” is actually an acronym for the first six runes in the first row (or aett) of the Futhark. The phonetic values of the first six runes (Fehu , Uruz , Thurisaz , Ansuz , Raido , and Kenaz are F, U, Th, A, R and K. The 24 Futhark runes are divided into three
different “aetts” (eighths) and the order which the runes fall in is very important, as is the significance of the number 24. Twenty four is twelve times two, and twelve is both a very important magickal and natural number. Using this easily divided number makes for rune casting which is very orderly and easy to learn.

How to read runes

Runes are commonly used in much the same way that tarot cards are used. One can do a rune reading by selecting either 3, 6 or 9 runes, with a 9 rune reading offering the most information. A standard three rune reading will illuminate basic questions about the past, present and future. When doing a nine rune reading, one can use the Yggdrasil or “world tree” spread as shown here:
When doing a three rune reading, the first rune represents the past, the second rune represents the present, and the third rune represents the future. If more information is desired, a full nine rune reading can be done, which will reveal the true nature and needs of the individual, as well as the obstacles and advantages which may be unseen to them. Like anything, practice is the key, and remember- all readings merely serve as a guide, as the future is never written in stone!

When runes are “sent” for a magickal purpose, they can often be sent in the form of bindrunes or rune rows. A rune row is often inscribed onto a stick (stave) and is a magickal working which has a personalized rune row which is necessary for a desired result. A bindrune is a rune row which has been combined into one shape. Bindrunes are often inscribed onto a charm, amulet or hex, and usually contain three or more runes. Depending upon how a bindrune is arranged, different viewers can pick out different runes, as the possibilities when inscribing them are limitless!

When one looks upon the 24 Old Norse runes, one cannot help but be moved by the intensity they emanate. The runes are the wellspring of all creativity, the gateway to ethereal knowledge and the imprint of the gods and ancestors. They are truly elegant in their simplicty. One could devote an entire lifetime to their study and still barely scratch the surface of their true meaning.

Reading List:
Futhark, A Handbook of Rune Magic by Edred Thorsson
Teutonic Magick by Edred Thorsson
Runes Of Mind by Thor Shiel
Advanced Runecraft And Spellcraft by Thor Shiel
The Old Norse Wizard by Thor Shiel
The Poetic Edda by Henry James Bellows
Germania and the Agricola by Tacitus
Gods And Myths Of Northern Europe by HR Ellis Davidson
Lost Gods Of England by Brian Branston
The Norse Myths by Kevin Crossley Holland
Organizations:
The Troth- http://thetroth.org/
Thortrains Network/ Trollwise Press- http://www.thortrains.com/UncleThors

Fearless Iranians From Hell changed my life

Look at this album cover for a second. Just look at it. If you're over the age of 30, or even a younger person with an eye for history, you'll recognize this as the sinister profile of the now deceased Iranian Mullah known as Ayatollah Khomeini. No image in 1980's America could inspire more fear than his.

The Ayatollah (note the name "Ayatollah" is actually a title) was responsible for deposing the Shah and establishing Iran as the world's first (and so far only) Islamic fundamentalist state. Khomeini had been exiled to France when Iran was still under the rule of the ultra- corrupt US puppet Mohammed Reza Pahlavi (aka "The Shah Of Iran") and returned triumphantly in February of 1979 after the Shah fled to Egypt during the Iranian Revolution. Shortly thereafter in October of 1979, 52 Americans were taken hostage in the American embassy in Iran's capitol city Tehran.

America had found a new bogeyman.

Just the mention of the name "Ayatollah" would inspire fear in the average American. I can recall my grandmother looking at his face on the cover of Time magazine and exclaiming "oh my god, he looks so EVIL!" Professional wrestlers would create Iranian personalities and become arch enemies of whatever patriotic good guys they squared off against. Car shows and rodeos often featured someone dressed up as the Ayatollah, who would be lassoed by rodeo riders or run out of the arena by monster trucks. Nightly newscasts would show clips of Iranian students chanting "Death to America!" on an almost weekly basis.

Although the hostage crisis had finally ended in 1981, by the mid 1980's Iran was rumored to have been involved with several anti US and anti Western terrorist acts and bombings, either directly or through the use of proxies. This included the 1983 bombing of the US embassy in Lebanon, as well as the bombing of a US Marine barracks in Lebanon later that same year. Iran was often the recipient of Ronald Reagan's ire in his presidential addresses, until he was caught red handed trying to secretly deal arms to them in 1986. From there on out, the American media decided to focus on Libya as our main cause of security concerns.

1984 would become a banner year for Western civilian airliner hijackings, as well yet another bombing of a US target in Beirut, this time being the American Embassy annex. A militant Lebanese Shiite militia group known as Hezbollah were purported to have been responsible for the lion's share of these anti- US aggressions, and they were sponsored by (you guessed it) Iran. The Ayatollah would remain America's number one bad guy until Colonel Muammar al- Gaddafi started to give him a run for his money in 1985. The gauntlet had been thrown down between Islamic fundamentalism and Western capitalist imperialism, which would eventually culminate in the September 11 attack in 2001.

So what was I doing during all of these terrorist attacks and hijackings? Well, by 1987 I was fully immersed in the extreme musical expression known as hardcore punk. Hardcore punk was exactly what it said it was, a more extreme version of punk rock. Although the hardcore scene didn't exactly espouse any love for the Ayatollah or Islamic fundamentalists in general, it definitely was not on the side of the status quo or mainstream thinking in any way, shape or form. This mind melt of "anti- conformity" (which was, in essence, just conforming to the rules laid down by far left radicals) started to have a significant effect on me the more I got into hardcore. By the time I was 14 I was attracted to just about any seemingly subversive piece of music I could get my hands on.

Thrash metal was also becoming big at this time, so naturally there was quite a crossover between hardcore and metal. In fact, bands that were influenced by both punk AND metal would become a sub genre of their own known as "crossover." Since I still had long hair in 1987, I prided myself as one of those crossover metalheads who had a real love for extreme music, but was firmly grounded in the leftist politics espoused by most hardcore bands. Don't get me wrong, I loved metal, but the sex, drugs and Satanism angle they worked didn't really do anything for me. I was much more interested in hearing lyrics about politics, and the crossover scene delivered high speed, anti- Reagan anthems played by longhairs, skinheads and mohicans alike. It was definitely an exciting time to be a curious 14 year old from the suburbs.

So on a cold night in October of this magical year I was with a group of older friends doing our weekly record shopping. This night would find us at Strawberries Records and Tapes in downtown Worcester Massachusetts. This particular Strawberries was like five times the size of a normal one, and had quite a large "Progressive" section in the basement level. The Progressive section was where you would find anything and everything related to extreme heavy metal, goth, punk, industrial, or any and all otherwise underground records.

It was on this particular night that I saw Fearless Iranians From Hell's "Die For Allah" LP and immediately became intrigued. I knew nothing of this band, but judging by their record label (Boner Records) I figured they had to be good. After all, Boner Records had great bands like Verbal Abuse and Fang, so if FIFH were in a similar league with them, I figured they must be pretty decent. In all honesty, I have absolutely no desire to listen to Verbal Abuse or Fang ever again in my now advanced age, but you better believe that I'm still very much enthralled by the Fearless ones.

I took this record home and gave it a spin. The whole presentation from the minimalist artwork to the song titles, to the lack of band photos, to the over the top lyrics was truly ominous. What struck me as particularly odd about FIFH was their militant support for suicide bombings and radical Islam. Even though as I said before, the hardcore scene was quite leftist, many hardcore bands expressed a dislike for both Reagan AND the Ayatollah. The fact that FIFH openly supported him was something that I found strange, and actually a little frightening.

This band was clearly onto SOMETHING, but I just couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. I kept sitting there thinking "This has to be a joke" during one song, only to start thinking "Ummm, maybe it's NOT a joke" the next. I mean, just check out the lyrics to the first song, which was the title track of the album (this is from memory, so die hard fans, kindly cut me some slack!)

Were coming to your town, gonna set you free
The deathmobile's loaded with artillery
Machineguns in front gonna shoot you down
Fearless is here, so don't fuck around

We've got guns and bombs, and we're on patrol
Our weapondry will take its toll
Beyond belief, beyond control
We're stoned as shit, and we're ready to roll

DIE.... DIE.... DIE..... DIE FOR ALLAH!!!

I thought to myself "woo, this is completely OVER THE TOP!" Not to mention that musically, they kicked serious ass. They were on par with DRI, Corrosion Of Conformity, Cryptic Slaughter, Attitude Adjustment, The Accused, or any other number of crossover heavyweights from the time, but actually had a depth to their music that most of these bands lacked. Rather than playing at a million miles an hour and having unintelligible screaming, FIFH infused a lot of subtle melody, tempo changes, and actually discernible vocals in their music. Don't get me wrong, it was still pissed off and raw as fuck, but it was... I dunno... a little more advanced than the previously mentioned metal/ punk bands were.

So yes, upon re- reading those lyrics I was thinking "how could I NOT know this was a joke?" but when I flipped the record over to side two, that's when things got really weird. Side two of Die For Allah's first song was a lengthy instrumental with spoken word in Farsi dubbed kind of low in the mix. Again, I was conflicted. If these guys were from San Antonio TX as their contact address implied, how could they have someone on their record speaking fluent Farsi and not really (at least) be Iranian ex- pats living in America? I started to think that maybe they weren't kidding after all.

Well, by their third record "Holy War" I knew they were a joke. The cover of this release featured a cartoon of the Ayatollah sitting on a flying carpet, getting stoned from a giant hookah pipe. It definitely lacked the starkness of their first LP, and the almost sinister amateurishness of their debut 7" EP (which contained the hit "Blow Up The Embassy", man that song is great!) It also had really really good production and the songwriting was starting to become a little too much of a heavy metal wank a thon for my tastes. Don't get me wrong, I still think Holy War is a great album, but it's not nearly the kick in the nads that their first two records are. I never bothered picking up their last release "Foolish Americans", as by then I'd kind of lost interest in them.

I recently found out that FIFH actually had a behind the scenes Iranian Svengali named Amir. Amir was actually their original vocalist, but quit the band before they ended up recording anything. Amir however, stayed on as a silent partner/ member who ended writing a lot of FIFH's songs, as well as contributing the Farsi spoken on the song I mentioned, as well as on another song on their last record. Amir was an Iranian ex- pat whose family had relocated to Texas after the fall of the Shah's regime in 1979. Since it was mostly those of the upper and middle classes in Iran who weren't too keen on living in a new religious dictatorship, they comprised the bulk of the Iranian diaspora to the United States and Canada in 1979. Given that Amir's family probably weren't huge fans of the Ayatollah's new fundamentalist theocracy, it should be fairly obvious that FIFH were indeed intended to be an ingenious parody.

But not everybody got the joke, including yours truly at first. When asked if their fellow Texans hated them in a recent interview, FIFH drummer "Omid" replies;

"How do you think they reacted? They HATED us!"

FIFH were apparently loathed by everyone from skinheads, leftists, police officers, right wing radio hosts, leftist boy bands, gangs and various religious organizations. This was apparently all part of the plan, as they pretty much set out to piss off the entire planet. Given the fact that most Americans suffer from a sub par public education and a severely underdeveloped sense of irony this is not surprising. What is surprising is that many members of the supposedly radical punk rock scene didn't get it either (myself included initially, hey I WAS only 14!), and that is due to the fact that FIFH represented a far more advanced take on political commentary than 99.9% of their 1980's punk/ metal cohorts did.

What was de rigeur for most American hardcore, punk and crossover bands in the 1980's was an avowed hatred of Ronald Reagan, with the exception of a handful of nationalist punk/ metal bands attempting to ape the "Oi" scene in England (and failing miserably at it). Almost every band complained about Reagan and endorsed skateboarding. If there was any humor to be found in their lyrics at all, it was usually in the form of a bad cover of the Munsters theme or writing a song about how cool it is to drink cheap beer until you puke.

The members and adherents of most 1980's punk and metal simply weren't educated, intellectual, or hell OLD enough to really be able to express much more than blind rage and disillusionment with the status quo. This is where FIFH were brilliant in their approach. Rather than being the atypical "hate your mom and skate against Reagan" band, they decided to endorse radical Islam, suicide bombings and the wholesale killing of Americans in a way that seemed just a little too serious to completely be a joke. They pushed almost everyones buttons,and that is why I like them so much. Not to mention (as I said before) even on a musical level they were a cut above the rest.

By the time Fearless broke up in 1990 the hype about Iran was starting to fade. The Ayatollah had died and was replaced by the not- as- scary Ayatollah Khamenei in 1989, and well... you just didn't hear much about Iran in the news anymore. That would all change in 2005 when ultra conservative President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was elected to office.

When I first saw Ahmedinejad he was on CNN talking about how Tehran was hosting a conference to prove that the Holocaust never happened. While giving this address his backdrop was a giant photo of a poppy field. In lieu of the fact that Iran has a HUGE heroin problem, all I could think to myself was "Is this guy out of his mind?"

From there on out, Ahmedinejad has only gotten more and more outrageous. The problem is, I'm too jaded with the mainstream media to take anything I hear about Iran (or any other country for that matter) all that seriously. Many of my peers have eschewed similar sentiments to my grandmother's, saying that the pint sized despot just "looks really evil" but to me he looks like a sleazy used car salesman who desperately avoids neckties for no good reason. Even with all the "OMG, Iran is gonna nuke Israel and start world war three!" you hear on the news, 1, 2 or maybe 20 times a day, I honestly don't see them as a threat. If they bombed anyone they'd be turned into the world's biggest ashtray in a nanosecond, and the fact that Iran is not trusted or liked by anyone in the world speaks volumes as to how powerful they actually are.

The Iranian government is not exactly loved by its own people either, as evidenced by the disorder which ensued after their election this summer. Ahmedinejad was elected for a second term, but detractors cried "fraud" and took to the streets. Both Ahmedinejad and Khameni (who still remains the "supreme leader" of Iran, although you barely ever hear about him) claimed that the US and Israel were behind the protests. Say what you want about Iran, but the disorder this summer proves that their population hardly represents a united front against Zionism, Western imperialism, or anything else, regardless of what their leaders say.

With Iran back in the number one spot as America's bogeyman, Fearless Iranians From Hell's music is as relevant as ever. Omid was quoted as saying that with the Ayatollah they had "The number one punk rock PR man" and I feel that this statement is 100% accurate. In fact, you could look at Iran as being the most punk rock country on earth. They're hated and misunderstood by just about every other nation on the planet, sans North Korea. They refuse to hang out with the cool kids from the United States or to sit with the jocks in Russia. They won't hang out with the science geeks in China and they hate the rich kids in Saudi Arabia. Iran truly is that weird kid who nobody understands.

And as long as they have their mouthy Muslim midget president's colorfully threatening commentary, and the mainstream American media constantly showing his stupid, smirking face on the news, he's likely to remain our bogeyman for quite awhile. After all, he provides a very convenient distraction from the myriad of social and financial issues we're currently dealing with here in the US. If there's one thing that a great Texas hardcore band taught me, it's that the media LOVES to push our buttons and keep us in fear at all times. This is how they control us. Really here in the "free" United States, the information we receive is not a whole lot more truthful than the information the Iranians receive.

So I say- fuck being controlled by fear.





some Fearless Iranians From Hell interviews can be found here:


http://www.anus.com/metal/about/interviews/fearless_iranians_from_hell/