Monday, June 18, 2018

Create Two, Three, Many Stonewalls

I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone its Pride Month. Its been advertised everywhere from Google to Twitter. A coming out party for the wholesale corporate appropriation of an underground movement. Its not even Queer Pride Month anymore, that title has become too politically incorrect, it might make the straight world uneasy. It's LGBTQ Pride Month, that Disneyfied assimilationist alphabet soup cooked up to get the breeders comfortable enough to bother curing AIDS.

Not that I have anything against Pride Month, quite the contrary, I'm very proud to be a genderfuck lesbian. I'm just apoplectic over the fact that I finally came out just in time for my community to sell out. If you were to go on the advertisements and fanfare alone you'd think we were celebrating the day that drone strike sociopath Barack Obama granted us the right to government sanctioned monogamy. The liberal establishment who suddenly loves us so goddamn much always seems to fail to mention that Queer Pride Month was originally launched to commemorate a violent uprising against the very state they hold so near and dear.

June became Pride Month in celebration of the Stonewall Uprisings of late June, 1969. After the NYPD launched another violent raid against another underground gay bar, the Stonewall Inn, in Manhattan's Greenwich Village, the T-girls and gay boys decided they weren't in the mood to get bashed again by a bunch of bribe taking, sexually confused, neckless, cretins with badges. June 28, 1969 was the day the fags bashed back. And they bashed hard. These weren't today's garden variety house queers either. This mob was a beautiful patchwork of the colors of the queer rainbow that have been erased by the LGBTQ establishment in favor of marketability. These were the drag queens, unpassable trans women, Radical Faeries, and flannel bound bulldykes, my people. We took on the state and we fucking won. We literally kicked the ass of the meanest police force in the country, digging our nails into their thick necks and cracking their jar-heads wide open with bricks. By the time we were finished with our enemies in blue they were running for their lives from the queer volcano they ignited.

This was the birth of the Queer Liberation Movement. Within weeks a score of revolutionary organizations were hatched across the Five Boroughs and eventually the country. Influenced by fellow anti-colonialist urban guerrilla movements like the Black Panthers and the Latin Kings, they weren't asking for reform, they were demanding revolution and they were declaring war against the state that oppressed them. This is precisely what the mainstream left and their assimilationist quislings are trying to pink wash with their politically castrated Pride Month and the tragically defanged LGBTQ movement. Queer liberation has always been an inherently anti-statist movement and contrary to popular belief our fight is far from fucking over.

To paraphrase the late Che Guevara, we need to create two, three, many Stonewalls. We need to create a Stonewall in every red light district being gentrified by corporate "family" fascists. We need to create a Stonewall in every prison where trans people are cruelly quarantined into isolation for their own protection when it's the guards who are the real threat. We need to create a Stonewall in every public school where children are segregated and deprived based solely on the contents of their genitalia. We need to create a Stonewall in every clinic that denies people basic services for not conforming to the gender on their birth certificates. We need to create a Stonewall in every tax-exempt church that still advocates abuse against their children, our children. We need to create a Stonewall in every federal agency that victimizes our people for crossing the border or trying to make a goddamn living with their own bodies. We need to create a Stonewall at the headquarters of every pharmaceutical lobby that takes our tax dollars through corporate welfare and jacks up the cost of hormones sky high to a level that only a pampered bitch like Caitlyn Jenner could afford.

And we need to create one great big queer fucking Stonewall uprising in Washington D.C. where a fascist empire presides over its unwilling subjects across the globe with all the mercy of the Marquis De Sade. Where the pitiless war machine orders drones and bombs and bullets to murder our brothers and sisters and everything in between with endless wars and homophobic puppet regimes. We need a million Stonewalls, dearest motherfuckers. And we need to keep that fire burning until we chase every pig out of town.



Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack: Songs That Influenced This Post

* 1969 by the Stooges
* Queen Bitch by David Bowie
* Revolution by the Beatles
* Saints by the Breeders
* Queen by Perfume Genius
* Street Fighting Man by the Rolling Stones
* Your Dog by Soccer Mommy
* Ahead by Wire
* Modern Girl by Sleater-Kinney 

Monday, June 11, 2018

Fuck You, God (....I Love You)

I don't have to tell anyone who's read this blog that I have a rather complicated relationship with god. I seem to swing violently from dewy eyed new age mysticism to church burning blasphemy. Chock this up to being raised in the wrong gender in a decidedly fag-bashy diocese of the Catholic Church. Being told in so many words that your true self belongs in hell, forever, by a bunch kiddy-diddling fuck-heads in backwards collars tends to leave a mark.

On the other hand, I was also raised by a devout and loving mother who seems to see angels all around her and believes with all her heart that they serve every creature, big or small or queer. I never shared her undaunting faith, like my chemist father, I've always been a little more skeptical, but goddammit if I didn't respect the absolute hell out of it and on more than a few occasions the power of my mother's faith has felt like a salvation on a desperately damned planet of false prophets and self-serving hate-mongers.

So, yeah, my relationship with spirituality is kind of complicated. At no time does this manic washing machine of existential cataclysm get more absurdly bipolar then in times of severe crisis. And wouldn't you know it, this week turned out to be a real fucking dumpster fire. I was suppose to take the week off and go to the Jersey shore with my folks and my brother, a trip we scrape together for and look forward to all year. But last week some snoozing twat ran over our momentary tranquility with a fucking car, literally.

My 59 year old father was out for his daily mourning run last Tuesday when, out of nowhere, he gets completely shit-housed by some overworked paper man asleep at the wheel. Broke both legs, a foot, his nose, carved up his face like a goddamn Christmas roast and left him in a pool of blood for my brother to find him. My father is the strong silent type, not very emotional, but he's the glue that holds the rest of the whack-jobs in this fucking family together. When he got creamed, we all got creamed.

I've already been fighting off a particularly nasty bout of depression and anxiety all month long and when my mother woke me to the news that my dad was in the emergency room, I went into a kind of spiritual split personality disorder. On one hand, I clutched a rosary in my fist like a closeted Republican at Mardi Gras, begging god to give us a fucking break. On the other hand, I was spitting bullets at Christ for being such a fucking cunt.

We work hard and suffer our asses off all year, hanging on to one goddamn week away from our miserable existence and you plaster our soft-spoken patriarch on some ass-wipes grill like a goddamn grasshopper? What the shit is your fucking problem, son of god? Cancer, Lyme disease, depression, Alzheimer's, gender dysphoria, and now fucking car crashes? What's next? Bubonic plague? You'd think we nailed you to that fucking cross ourselves. Give us a fucking break for once. Kind and loving god, my fat tranny ass.

This was where my already severely scarred brain was at when we went to see my father in the hospital. My brother was a goddamn trooper but me and my mother could barely keep our collective shit together. You'd think the car hit us, twice. But god speaks in weird accents when you least expect it. In this case it was through my black and blue father. This man of few words said two things from his hospital bed that blew my mind like an acid trip. He told us he felt bad for the bastard who hit him and he told us it was a miracle that it wasn't worse.

Perspective is a tricky bitch. Just when you think you've got it all figured out, you don't. I think maybe god, supposing such an entity exists, is pretty similar. If my crippled father can see the bright side through black blood bandages then maybe god isn't such a cunt after all. Maybe that very compassion is god and we all have a bit of her inside us. I don't know. But I thank god or whoever-the-fuck that my father is alive to gently show us our place with his strength.

Hold on there, dearest motherfuckers. Somethings out there, it's bigger than us, and together we're going to carry that weight.



Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post.

* A Deal With God by Kate Bush
* In Heaven by Japanese Breakfast
* Selfish Feelings by Christopher Owens
* Strange Condition by Pete Yorn
* Rejoice by Julien Baker
* There Is a Light That Never Goes Out by the Smiths
* On My Knees by Middle Kids
* It's Okay by Dead Moon



In loving memory of Anthony Bourdain, who taught me how to tell the truth until it hurts. Godspeed, you fantastic bastard. You won't be forgotten.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Rise of the Decadents: Notes From a Spenglerian Faggot

In spite of my Freudo-Marxian syndicalist roots I pride myself on being something of a cafeteria philosopher, taking a little influence here, there, and everywhere, even from the fringes. Fuck, who am I kidding, especially from the fringes. Wack-jobs make the best visionaries. But as far as the far right is concerned you'll be hard pressed to find any work of philosophy with anything resembling intellectual depth. Even the non-racial shit (few and far between) is plagued with the kind of half-baked mysticism that's only fascinating to a pre-teen metal-head (been there, done that). I make an acception, however, for the work of German Conservative Revolutionary Oswald Spengler, in particular his World War era magnum opus Decline of the West, which is more than worth thumbing through, even for a genderfuck anarchist derelict like me.

The basic thesis is that the world is broken up into distinct cultures (Greco-Roman, Persian, etc.) that tend to have a shelf life of roughly two thousand years. Every culture rises, stagnates, and develops into a civilization once its creative impulse wanes. And every civilization falls into a murky abyss of cultural decadence (people like me) and monetary greed (people like Trump) from which a new culture springs, starting the cycle over again. The focus of Spengler's theory was that at the dawn of the First World War, Western Civilization had reached it's winter time. The Faustian Civilization, as Oswald referred to the stagnant West was bleeding out. It's organic aristocracy of philosophers and prophets had been replaced by a plastic plutocratic elite. It's spirituality had been replaced by the paper god of money. It's temples had become transformed into veritable piggy banks for greedy heretics. And most foreboding of all, the West had entered into a final state of militant Caesarism with it's increasingly desperate populace looking to enigmatic strongmen for guidance in the turbulence.

Sounds familiar, right? Much like his fellow Teutonic doomer, Karl Marx, Spengler's philosophy seemed a bit presumptuous at the time but with each passing generation it seemed to become more and more relevant. It seems downright prophetic in today's crumbling American Century. We as a society have lost all meaning in an era of total technological isolation and savage environmental devastation. While the already damned American Empire makes it's dogmatic death march to World War 3 with the rising culture of Eurasia and the oceans begin to boil like Satan's cauldrons, our directionless citizenry can't seem to be bothered to so much as look up from their flickering devices to see the growing mushroom clouds on the horizon. The few who do look to uber-statist demagogues like Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders to save them from themselves. As the Mountain Goats once sang, the warning signs all bright and garish, too far in number to ignore.

On one hand, as a stalwart anti-imperialist, I'm tempted to welcome the destruction of this violent civilization with arms wide open. On the other hand, being an openly perverted genderless heretic, I have to ask, where do I stand in this Faustian winter time. According to many figures on the Splenglerian right, it's people like me who represent the decadence that is drowning what remains of civilization in a slurry of iconoclasm and sin. I'm gonna just rip the fucking needle off the record right now and take the dangerously contrarian position of agreeing with my enemies. Sinners like me are gutting this rotting civilization like a goddamn jack-o-lantern and I say good riddance. In fact I would argue that this controlled cultural demolition is precisely the cure that Doctor Spengler ordered.

What so many people on the right and the left fail to recognize is that Spengler was not an ideologue or even a pessimist. He was an analyst and a decidedly pragmatic one at that. Spengler didn't view the observations in Decline as inherently bad or inherently good but rather as inherently inevitable. To Spengler cultures were complex organisms and, like all organisms, They're born, they live, and they die. My personal spin on this theory is that decadents like myself are a necessary part of this life cycle and that the rise in queer identity can be directly traced to it. When a culture stagnates into a civilization the only right thing to do is to put it out of its misery. That's where we come in.

The unholy decadents achieve this end by upending everything that the prisoners of the collapsing West hold near and dear. Dated notions of gender, race, government, and religion, all must be purged in the fires of a cultural revolution that only freaks like us can wage. Think of us as Faustian lumberjacks, chopping down the dead trees of a derelict society to make room for a new forest. Radical traditionalists shouldn't look upon us as a historical aberration but rather as a nomadic tribe like that of the Mongol hordes, laying the ground work for a new dynasty with our acts of constructive vandalism. However, I say it's high time the decadents take it a step further and form a Spenglerian race all our own.

According to Spengler, the only power stronger than the opium of capital is blood aka race. Counter to the standard biological interpretation of race popular with the poseurs of the Third Reich and the alt-right, Spengler defined race as a people united in outlook. If this doesn't describe the queer community and our more radical allies then I don't know what does. And who better to construct a new culture than the wreckers of the last, a ragtag stateless tribe of faggots, trannies, dykes, witches, doms, power bottoms, anarchists, libertarians, whores, Gnostics, occultists and other assorted liberated radicals. Together we can create our own civilization, the anti-civilization of post-modern stateless tribalism. A new spiritual awakening beyond the tired trappings of stagnant puritanical dogma. A new pantheistic religiosity that defies the boundaries of the last. No color. No gender. No gods. No masters. Maybe this wasn't quite what Spengler and Marx had in mind but they taught me that a proper understanding of the patterns of the past can help us define our future. Call me their bastard dauphin and quiver.

This is a call to arms, dearest motherfuckers. As the West crumbles beneath our stilettos let us form a new culture of unfettered liberty. Let the queer age begin and let it begin with me. After all, every new beginning comes from some other new beginnings end....



Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack: songs that influenced this post

* Closing Time by Semisonic
* Man-Size by PJ Harvey
* Fake Empire by the National
* Old College Try by the Mountain Goats
* Geyser by Mitski
* Rise by Public Image Ltd.
* Honey Bunny by Girls
* Turn It On by Flaming Lips



P.S. I'll be going to the shore next week to get my head straight. It's a yearly necessity. So there'll be no post next week. But never fear, my crazy faggot ass should be back in fine form two weeks from today. PEACE- you know who.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Donald Trump: The Accidental Isolationist

I've grown sick to my skull hearing about that mythical beast known as Donald Trump the Isolationist. Word of this crypto-zoological wonder began to percolate from right wing peaceniks and left wing warmongers alike on the campaign trail. This wasn't pure crazed madness, it was by design. That brilliant crypto-fascist psychopath Steve Bannon recognized that the meat and potatoes set back in the Rustbelt had had it up to here with seeing their jobs go south and their children come home without limbs from another pointless military quagmire in a country they've never heard of. Under the dark ones guidance, the Donald gleefully chummed the proles in flyover country with quasi-isolationist riffs on NATO and bad trade deals in a routine that played like Pat Buchanan with dick jokes. He even hijacked that Old Right saw-horse, America First. My neighbors in rural Pennsylvania ate it up and asked for seconds.

Of coarse anybody with even a cursory awareness of the Donald's rap sheet knew from the jump that this was just the latest scam from a morally bankrupt career flim-flam man. Anyone who's been to Atlantic City in the last twenty years can testify to the total worthlessness of Trump's word. From the Jersey Turnpike that once great city looks like one big ghetto trapped in the shadows of a gigantic graveyard of colossal empty casinos towering like gravestones with Trumps name stamped on them. He took a government bailout and left an entire community holding his bag of shit. This is what that asshole does and judging by the serial bombing senators he's spent decades bankrolling in both parties (aka the Swamp), I didn't expect much different in the White House. That and the fact that for every "maybe we should get along with the Russians" you had at least twelves "lets bomb the shit out of them"'s. But people, Americans in particular, here what they want to here.

Sadly, over a year into this mess, there are still plenty of fine paleo-anti-interventionists who are still holding on to the dream long after it's become a nightmare. Justin Raimondo of antiwar.com is the most blaring (and depressing) example of this delusional mental illness. Once one of the finest voices in the antiwar movement, Justin has reduced himself to the pitiful role of Trump's top antiwar cheerleader. To people like Justin, no amount of drone strikes, cluster-bombs, or dead brown children can convince them that they wasted their vote on a two-bit warmonger with a flea-bit hairpiece. There is nothing "America First" about illegally bombing Syria and aiding and abetting twin genocides in Yemen and Gaza. However, irony of ironies, Donald Trump's specific brand of belligerent gunboat diplomacy has had some inadvertent Isolationist results. I speak specifically of his happy clusterfucks in Korea and Iran.

In spite of what Trump and his "Nobel!" chanting cheerleaders would have you believe about Korea, Kim did not succumb to Trump's childish schoolyard threats of nuclear holocaust and finally cave to peace after half a century of only slightly milder American belligerence. The motherfucker kept building ICBMs until he had one capable of deterring an American intervention and then used the leverage to play Gorbachev. I do believe however that Trump's violent temper tantrums did have an effect on one Korean statesman. South Korean president Moon Jae-In seemed ready and willing to mediate his country's diplomacy through the traditional American network of do-nothing bullshit until Trump began openly contemplating a second Korean War on social media like Gossip Girl with a red button. It was only after it had become painfully clear that the Donald was more concerned with his dick size than even do-nothing bullshit diplomacy that Moon made the unprecedented decision to get in touch with the North through China and start the ball rolling towards peace without us. The Trump administration did everything in their power to sabotage this process before it became brutally clear that they had finally lost South Korea's loyalty after decades of using their peninsula like a giant toilet for the Military Industrial Complex.

It was only after peace between the two Korea's became inevitable that Trump, ever the opportunist, decided to swoop in and take credit for a historical peace deal rather than accepting his rightful role as the ass who lost East Asia completely to relative diplomatic sanity. This is why I'm not surprised or even particularly concerned about the Donald's fourth quarter flip-flopping on the Singapore summit. His excuses are all bullshit. Pence and Bolton attempted to sabotage the deal with their sweet nothings about treating Kim to the "Libyan model" of diplomatic dagger proctology and Trump rolled with it. But the dye is cast and these desperate little shits know it. The peace process began before Trump decided to piggy-back it and it will only grow stronger if he finally ditches it. Now there can be no question that this is a uniquely Asian peace deal and the continent has little use for the American Empire's malign influence any longer.

Many people interpreted the Donald's actions towards Iran as being at least initially antithetical to the Korean situation but our knuckle-dragging president's intentions and their cataclysmic results for US influence remain shockingly similar when carefully inspected. Trump's militant hatred for the Islamic Republic and the P5+1 nuclear deal are two of the few things the bastard has remained consistent on. Hardly shocking, considering that that predator-Zionist casino cancer Sheldon Adelson basically paid him for a war with Iran. But in the wake of Trump's heavily publicized shredding of a deal that the Iranians jumped through their own collective asshole to comply with, a strange thing happened. Europe, much like Korea, finally told America to go fuck itself. In the last few weeks Germany, France, and the EU have gone out of their way to preserve the peace deal, blocking sanctions and even cozying up to Xi's China and Putin's Russia. It appears that Trump's half-cocked attempt to spark yet another war in the Persian Gulf has instead resulted in pushing Europe even closer to their neighbors in Asia and speeding up the inevitable rise of the Eurasian Century that poses the greatest outside threat to America's moribund empire and thus the planet's greatest hope for peace.

Don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of opportunities for war with Korea and Iran. As long as that craven war-junkie John Bolton has an office in Washington, World War 3 is always on the table. But the unintended consequences of President Trump's slap-dash chauvinism have actually done far more to isolate America than any legitimate America-Firster probably could have accomplished before crossing the wrong grassy knoll. Trump is far from an isolationist, he's just a fantastically inept imperialist. Perhaps Justin Raimondo and Co. have reason to celebrate after all. The man they elected may be a sexist, xenophobic, trigger-happy, con artist but he's also something far less gross. Donald J. Trump is the accidental isolationist and, god help me, that puts a smile on my tranarcho-Marxist mug a mile wide.

Keep up the bad work, dipshit! Make America shrink again and we'll drown that rabid critter in the same fucking toilet where you found that merkin stapled to your scalp.



Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack: songs that influenced this post

* Isolation by Joy Division
* Nobody Cares by Superorganism
* I Wanna Be Your Dog by the Stooges
* Turning Japanese by the Vapors
* Requiem by Killing Joke
* Loser by Beck
* Surrender by Cheap Trick
* Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of Them All by Father John Misty
* White Light/White Heat by the Velvet Underground
* Mr. Brightside by the Killers

Monday, May 21, 2018

Germany/Israel/Palestine: A Demonology In E-Minor

Two children are brought up in a tumultuous household. Both parents are deeply in debt and traumatized by their own demons and they chose to take it out on their children. The oldest is humiliated, scapegoated, and blamed for all his parent's misfortunes. The youngest is left to the mercy of the oldest who in turn blames the younger sibling for his own abuse and torments him with horrors that shock even his derelict parents. Outside forces chose to intervene and the youngest is separated from the violence of his family.

But the youngest child can't escape the demons of his violent past. He's placed with a new family in a new home in a new town. But the wounds remain open and with no abusers left to confront, the child takes on the role of the abuser and seeks to settle the score with his new siblings. Their innocence is rendered irrelevant by their adopted sibling's blind rage. Their bodies are bruised and bloodied. Their property is stolen and broken. Their once happy home is transformed into a veritable prison. Their lives are made a living hell. Soon they fall prey to the very same demons their adopted sibling inherited and begin to turn to increasingly violent and self-destructive means to fend off their abuse to little avail. Soon they turn their violent impulses towards each other and themselves.

Germany found itself the scapegoat of a world war they didn't ask for. Humiliated, depressed, and depleted, they directed their rage against the very weakest members of their population; Gypsys, commies, queers and most especially Jews. The Jewish people became the source of everything that ailed Germany. Bad economy- blame the Jews. High crime rate- blame the Jews. Tiny dick- blame the Jews. There was no grievance too petty to be pinned on these people. They became human lightning rods. The state could do no wrong as long as they had the Jews to blame their flaws on. But soon scapegoating and state sanctioned terrorism wasn't enough. The hideous nature of Germany's demonology became too grotesque to be contained behind a concrete mask of bureaucratic sanity. Terrorism gave way to slavery and slavery gave way to wholesale slaughter. Picturesque Prussian villages became company towns devoted to the booming industry of genocide on a level never seen before in the developed world. Everyday people became willing monsters. Untold millions perished. Entire families. Entire Neighborhoods. An entire generation of European Jews pulverized into a fine pink powder. Millions. Millions....

Once the acrid smoke of the death camps settled, the survivors were gathered by their victors and rather than being aloud to properly confront their demons face to face, they were transferred back to the Holy Land where they were guaranteed a biblical paradise under the circumstances that they remove the locals and provide a toehold for the victorious Allied Powers in the tumultuous post-Ottoman Middle East. Before the trauma of the Holocaust, the majority of European Jews rejected Zionism as a radical (and sacrilegious) fringe movement that bastardized the text of the Talmud to justify racially motivated acts of terrorism against civilians (including Jews) in the British Mandate of Palestine. But racked with the fresh wounds of genocide, sensible educated people found themselves possessed by the very demons of their tormentors and the Nakba began. Suffering under the dangerous delusion of being the chosen people, the new Israelis unleashed their pent up rage against the innocent people of Palestine.

What has transpired is 70 years of slow burning ethnic cleansing and apartheid. Millions murdered, maimed and displaced in an orgy of explicitly racist state violence that has become increasingly genocidal with each passing year. And it all feels so hauntingly familiar. People herded into ghettos, starved and deprived of basic human rights. Handsome young black-clad commandos cackling with sadistic glee as they open fire on crowds of unarmed children fleeing for their lives. A seemingly modern democracy becoming increasingly indifferent to the horrors committed by the officials who represent them, officials who speak increasingly of a single racially pure state and a final solution to their Arab problem. It has become almost obnoxiously obvious that the victims have become the victimizers, the oppressed have become the oppressors, the prey have become the predators.

Nations are a lot like children. When they develop in safe, nurturing environments they tend to grow into relatively stable democracies. When they're raised in households possessed by violence and abuse, they develop into sociopathic states and like any sociopath they tend to pay it forward by creating more victims who all too often develop into victimizers themselves in a hollow attempt to even the unbalance of their powerless pasts. It's a vicious cycle that seems to repeat itself over and over again.

Hamas, an organization once possessed by this vicious cycle, now seems to be trying to rise above it with the Gandhiesque civil disobedience of the March of Return. Their noble attempts at peaceful resistance have been met with machine gun fire and cruel praise by western leaders for the "restraint" shown by the perpetrators of these massacres. Israel and its handlers don't seem to realize that they are sowing the seeds of their own demise. Every Reich has its Stalingrad and Israel's Stalingrad is the very people they've failed to destroy. I continue to maintain that a single state solution is inevitable and in spite of Israel's best efforts the Palestinian population has only swollen in the face of the Nakba. Once Israel burns the last of its bridges with its chauvinistic brinkmanship it will be left alone on an island with a deeply traumatized majority of oppressed people who may not be as willing as the "terrorists" in Hamas to break the cycle.

The greatest tragedy of the Holocaust is that many of its survivors have become the new Nazis. This isn't a politically correct position to take but history hasn't left me with any other conclusions. A beautiful people with a long proud tradition of radical resistance to tyranny, from Moses to Emma Goldman, have had their good name soiled by a state that carries their name in spite of being the antithesis of everything they represent. I pray to a god we all share that Palestine doesn't meet the same fate.

Rise above, dearest motherfuckers. Rise above.



Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack: songs that influenced this post

* Rise Above by Black Flag
* Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2
* Bulldog Front by Fugazi
* Don't Look Back In Anger by Oasis
* Zombie by the Cranberries
* Lexicon Devil by the Germs
* Polly by Nirvana
* My Name Is Luka by Suzanne Vega
* Severed by the Decemberists

Monday, May 14, 2018

Why I Don't Smoke Pot

I've never been particularly shy about my opinions regarding drugs (see Legalize Everything). My general philosophy is, when in doubt, legalize it. Marijuana? Legalize it. Ecstasy? Legalize it. Heroin? Fuck it. And legalize it. The prohibition of consensual human behavior isn't just immoral, it's impossible and the state knows it. The point of prohibition isn't to prevent drug use, Its to get rich failing. Between the arms industry and the Prison Industrial Complex, prohibition is a booming cottage industry, made in America. In Guadalajara, the cartels sling dope. In Washington they sling guns and shackles. One can't exist without the other. It's a marriage made in hell.

But my fixation with intoxicants transcends the stuffy corridors of law and order. I love drug culture and I always have. Hunter S. Thompson, Kurt Cobain, Allen Ginsberg, Courtney Love, Timothy Leary, Lou Reed, virtually all of my favorite people are junkies which is made somewhat ironic by the fact that aside from the staggering regimen of prescription pills I require to maintain some assemblage of sanity, I'm about as Straight Edge as Ian goddamn Mackaye (Google it, you rubes). Don't smoke, Don't drink, Don't toke, Don't trip. It's not like I'm not curious. I've always wanted to experiment. I had a lot of friends in school who did, but to quote the Hives, I've always been "too messed up to even mess around".

With my myriad gumbo of mental health and nervous system maladies, I could probably benefit a great deal from some more organic narcotics, marijuana and psilocybin in particular. However, I could also just as easily trigger some kind of apocalyptic melt down without the proper consultation. But with the rise of the medical marijuana industry and psycho-friendly, high CBD strains like Northern Lights and Querkle, realizing my lifelong ambition of high functioning stonerdom has become a very graspable reality. So naturally when my home state of Pennsylvania became the latest state to legalize, I was stoked. But still I don't smoke. Why? You ask.

To put it bluntly, I'm too poor to get high and the law fucking sucks. In spite of the fact that my crippling social anxiety has kept me from maintaining employment for over a decade, Medicaid doesn't cover a drug that could help me to chill the fuck out without all the negative side affects of hardcore benzodiazepines. And the state of Pennsylvania doesn't even recognize agoraphobia as an eligible condition for its medical marijuana program. It's almost like they don't want the mentally eccentric to escape the bureaucratic straight jacket of the welfare state....   

Regardless, even if I were deemed eligible by Pennsylvania's designated wizards of pot, good dope doesn't come cheap. A gram of a CBD heavy indica like Harlequin can run upwards of $75 bucks and PA's medical marijuana law is what they call a No-Smoke Law. Supposedly designed for "public safety" (that old fascist trope), it makes every cannabinoid besides high-priced vapeable concentrates illegal in spite of the fact that there still remains zero solid evidence connecting smoking cannabis with lung disease.

This effectively makes getting stoned a classist right reserved for upwardly mobile suburbanites with disposable income, not white trash fags like me. It also forces patients to rely completely on the big business producers that carry the tools in Harrisburg in their back pockets. Rather than being able to grow our own plants, free from pesticides and carbon dioxide, the citizens of Pennsylvania are left to the mercy of an incestuous cartel of predator capitalists and government bureaucrats. And my state isn't alone. In neighboring states like New Jersey and New York, medical marijuana is next to impossible for anyone to obtain, essentially making it legal in name only. People either have to move to a state with (slightly) saner laws or resort to the black market, which brings us full circle.

I think we need to except the unfortunate fact that medical marijuana as we know it is a bust. Nothing substantial has ever been gained by turning the marketplace into a bureaucratic cobweb of who knows who, who blows who. These laws are a slick form of stoner payola from the very same people who make a mint off prohibition. Let rich white folks get high while people too poor (or too free) to buy into this rigged system get buttfucked by the people's stick. The only exceptable approach to marijuana or any other controlled substance for that matter is full legalization without exception. There is no such thing as a glass half full in a democracy because any glass left half empty will inevitably be filled with shit. And that's exactly what my state's pot laws are; pure weapons grade shit.

Smoke em if you got em, dearest motherfuckers. But this motherfucker isn't smoking a damn thing that I don't grow myself.



Peace, Love & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

* Little Green Bag by the George Baker Selection
* Die, All Right! by the Hives
* Hit So Hard by Hole
* I'm Set Free by the Velvet Underground
* Lithium by Nirvana
* Coming Down by the Dum Dum Girls
* Some New Kind of Kick by the Cramps
* White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane

Monday, May 7, 2018

Shout Theater! For the Persian Gulf

I was fifteen the last time we invaded the Persian Gulf (something of a national pass-time). I was young, confused, and like most kids that age, a bit stupid. I was conservative like my parents, I thought Korn was the best band since Kiss, and I was so far in the closet over my gender identity that I thought it was a studio apartment. I was dumb as shit alright, but I was still smart enough to recognize that invading Iraq was a bad idea. Being stupid, I was fully on board with Afghanistan. I suffered under the national delusion that invading that black hole would somehow vindicate the deaths of the people killed primarily by American allies on 9/11. But Afghanistan made sense. It added up on some level. I mean, at least Bin Laden was there (maybe). But even in my nu-metal damaged teenage mind, Iraq felt insane.

None of the "facts" added up. All of the "evidence" seemed sketchy at best. And I couldn't fight the creeping feeling that people were rushing to drop bombs before they could come to their senses. But I was a conservative Catholic boy in a purple state and everyone who I loved and trusted seemed to buy into this bullshit hook, line, and sinker. Of coarse we should bomb Baghdad, Saddam Hussein is a wild animal, he funds his enemies in Al-Qaeda and runs a WMD program so incognito that even the UN can't see it. It felt like my whole universe had up and lost its goddamn mind. Up was down, black was white, and things would never be the same.

That was how it all began for me. I was radicalized the night they bombed Baghdad. I remember watching the skyline of that beautiful ancient city explode like fireworks that Sunday after my parents had gone to bed and feeling physically ill. People were dying and no one I knew seemed to fucking care. The next day I got up and horrified my tiny Catholic school by showing up with a peace sign strapped to my arm. I spent the whole day fighting, with classmates, with teachers, with clergy. By the time the bell rang I was exhausted. But I never felt more alive. I had taken a stand that not even my parents believed in and I held my ground. I was hooked on chaos. That was the day Nicholas Reid, good Catholic boy, died and, in many ways, that was the day Comrade Hermit, genderfuck anarchist fire-starter, was born. It would have been downright fantastic if it made a difference. But America has never been as smart as its stupid, rebellious, youth. And now it feels like 2003 all over again.

I invited you, dearest motherfuckers, on this stroll down memory lane because I'm pretty sure we're headed back for yet another clusterfuck in the Persian Gulf. Bibi Netanyahu has hit the road again with his classic "the sky is falling unless we bomb it black" prop comedy routine (now with PowerPoint!). And our latest man-child president has been paid handsomely by bloodsucking cretins like Sheldon Adelson to decertify the Iran Nuclear Deal and set the stage for a cataclysmic showdown that could easily end in World War 3.

 At one time we might have been able to rest our hopes on the shaky ground of the Donald's spastic dog-like attention span but with the Wonder Twins of neocon doom, Mike Pompeo and John Bolton, jabbing their fork-tongues into his unwashed ears, I'm pretty sure we're shit out of luck. Our last hope may be praying to Mary Magdalene, the patron saint of righteous sex workers, that Stormy Daniels can sabotage Trump's mojo with raw footage of her pegging the war-monger in chief with a 13 inch strap-on and an apple in his mouth. Then again, sexual humiliation never slowed that Super-Predator and fellow Lolita Express frequent flyer Bill Clinton down, so this may be the end of the road.

Our best hope may be to fight war like fifteen year old fire-starters. Young, angry, and just a little bit stupid in the Quixotic sense of the word. It may be time to charge the windmills. That pied piper of youth rebellion, Abbie Hoffnam, would say in times like these the only thing left to do is shout Theater! in a crowded fire. Take to the streets. Jam the Capitol phone lines. Burn a flag. Deface a monument. Holler and cuss at any adult too emotionally tone-def to give a fuck about the piles of young corpses that may soon line the streets of Tehran like crimson snow-piles after a blizzard of shrapnel. This country doesn't learn lessons. Lets fucking blow it up like 1968. In the eternal words of H. Rap Brown, "If America don't come around, we're gonna burn it down."

Well gather your matches, dearest motherfuckers. We've got a theater to light. It may be what's left of the Persian Gulf's only hope.



Peace, Love & Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

* I Won't Back Down by Tom Petty & the Hearbreakers
* Shoots & Ladders by Korn
* Nocturnal Me by Echo & the Bunnymen
* Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire
* In the Streets by Cheap Trick
* Disarm by Smashing Pumpkins
* Kill For Love by Chromatics
* Mandinka By Sinead O'Connor
* Shout It Out Loud by Kiss
* Firestarter By the Prodigy